Joanna (21 page)

Because all knew it would be impossible to move the men until they had tasted the women they had dragged from the burning town and examined the prizes they had taken, the king did not plan to move for the next few days. Discipline was relaxed to celebrate the victorywith the inevitable result. Quarrels broke out over women, over loot, from simple drunkenness. Geoffrey was not in the mood for celebration. He took his share of the valuable property, but he could not bring himself to take one of the weeping girls nor join one of the convivial parties. He would gladly have drunk himself into insensibility, but he did not get a chance. Before he had dipped very deep into the wine, he heard that the king’s daughter Joan, who was Lord Llewelyn’s wife, had ridden in and was pleading with her father to make peace with her husband. That lightened Geoffrey’s spirit a little. The king was fond of Joan. There was some hope that Bangor would be the last holocaust Geoffrey would carry on his conscience.

He was waiting to hear what would come of Joan’s visit when someone discovered he was sober. From then on,   Geoffrey was busier than ever, settling disputes, pacifying the combatants, and punishing those who transgressed too far. On the afternoon of the third day, one of the king’s squires found him over in Wenneval’s camp with a kneeling, weeping woman embracing his knees and two bloodied men, both nursing sore sword hands, shouting at him. To either side of the disarmed combatants, large groups of men were sheathing weapons.

It was clear enough what had happened without asking. Two battle captains had become embroiled over a woman And each had called upon his troop to support him. Then someone less drunk had realized where this was leading and had sought the nearest authority figure to settle the dispute before a minor war broke out in the camp. That was not the squire’s business, however.

“Lord Geoffrey,” he called over the voices of the angry men.

Geoffrey turned his head. “Be still!” he roared at the two he had just forcibly separated.

“Lord Llewelyn had just ridden in under safe conduct. The king desires that you come to him.”

Although the men had fallen silent at Geoffrey’s demand, the moment he turned his head to look at the squire they began to inch toward each other, growling. Hastily, Geoffrey turned back, lifting the sword he carried bared in his hand just a trifle. “Be still,” he ordered again.

His voice was quieter, but the men not only shrank back from each other but away from him as well. There was a sudden deep blaze of rage in the young lord’s eyes, which had turned a strange golden color, that boded no good for its object. The woman hamstringing Geoffrey by her embrace fell silent also, but she still clung to him, shuddering with dry sobs of fear.

“Tell my lord,” Geoffrey said to the squire without turning his head, “that if I come to him now, Lord Llewelyn will be treated to the interesting sight of a full-scale war going on among our own men. Since I doubt this would induce him to make terms quickly, I must believe I will be of   more use to my lord in the camp than at council.”

It was a reasonable enough excuse and Geoffrey did not believe that this particular squire had any animosity to him. Probably the message would be delivered as it had been given. Actually, he did not care how it was delivered. He had no intention of being present when Llewelyn made submission at any cost, even if he had to take to his bed and pretend he was dying. It was outrageous that the king had summoned him. John knew perfectly well that Geoffrey had often been Llewelyn’s guest when he had served under Ian. He must have known also that Geoffrey had received many kindnesses from Llewelyn. Only John’s warped mind, Geoffrey thought, could seek to increase the Welshman’s misery and shame by summoning a man to whom he had been a gracious host, offering favors, to witness Llewelyn’s humiliation.

Geoffrey was still furious when, late that night, Salisbury came to his tent. Geoffrey heard his father exchanging a low-voiced conversation with Tostig, who slept across the doorway of the tent, and got out of bed. “Come within. I am awake.”

“What ails you, child?” Salisbury asked anxiously, peering at Geoffrey in the dim and uncertain light of an ill-shielded oil lamp.

“A sickness in the stomach and a sour taste in the mouthand it is no sickness of the body, father, so do not ask what physician has seen to me.

“What do you mean?”

“I was house guest to Lord Llewelyn, I cannot say how many times, a servant to his clan brother and vassal, a child he gave sweets, a young man to whom he pointed out with a wink the fairest and most available maidens. Lord Llewelyn himself taught me to use the long bow and praised my singing of Welsh songs. What kind of man, who had received so many kindnesses, would go to witness his humbling? What kind of a man would
bid
me witness it?”

Salisbury sat down on the stool and gestured Geoffrey to get back into bed. “You will take cold if you stand naked in   the chill night air,” he said absently, his mind obviously on his son’s complaint. After a few minutes he shook his head. “I believe you are oversensitive my son. The Welsh princes, some of whom are tied to him in blood, made no objection.”

“Oh, you do not understand!” Geoffrey cried. “It is different for them. They are changeable as the wind. This day they say they have a grudge against Llewelyn and would stamp on his head. Tomorrow they will run to him, crying that they are oppressed by others, and they will humble themselves and beg pardon and both will weep and, for a little while, all will be mended between them. Do you think Lord Llewelyn is a fool? He knows them and their ways. He knows Ian and me and our ways. Was not Owain there? Could I took my foster brother in the face at such a time? How
could
the king summon me for such a purpose? Rather he should have sent me to gather faggots for”

“Geoffrey!”

The sharp, angry tone of authority cut off Geoffrey’s voice. He clamped his teeth over the remainder of his furious words, but his eyes still smoldered. Salisbury sighed. Over the past few weeks he had forgotten how young Geoffrey was. To the boy it seemed as if a blow to the pride killed more surely than a blow to the body. Geoffrey had yet to learn that pride was like the fabled Hydra. If its head was cut off, two more heads grew in that place. Meanwhile, there was no use trying to force him to do something that would hurt him and embarrass him more than anyone else. John would simply have to get along without Geoffrey’s advice.

“You have mistaken the king’s intention,” Salisbury went on, speaking more gently now. “You did not stop to think that John has many, many vassals. Do you believe he remembers the upbringing and friends of each of them? What was in his mind was that you had contributed much to this victory, and he wished to share it with you. If he ever knew you were beholden to Llewelynwhich I doubthe had forgotten. He has very many things to think of and   many troubles. Do not blame him for this small oversight. I will remind him tomorrow of your tie to Llewelyn. He will honor you the more that you served him so faithfully despite that tie and that you do not wish to bring more pain upon a defeated man.”

Geoffrey looked down at his hands, which were clenched so tight upon the bedclothes that his fingers ached. Deliberately, he loosened them and allowed his hands to lie open. He did not believe a word his father said. Perhaps Salisbury did not lie on purpose; he never could see his brother’s real ugly nature. It was true that John had many vassals; however, Geoffrey was not only his nephew but was deputizing for Llewelyn’s clan brother. The king could not have forgotten that nor that Geoffrey’s knowledge of the Welsh, which John had found so useful, had come from his experiences in Llewelyn’s court when he had been Ian’s squire.

Perhaps, Geoffrey thought, trying to be fair, John could not know that there was real liking between myself and Llewelyn. John was not unreasonably harsh to the squires of his vassals, but he hardly knew they existed.
He
would never trouble to teach them new songs or show them how to track game, or tease them gently about their conquests in love. The effort to see the king’s side of it was not much of a success. Geoffrey had scarcely gotten so far when the first thought recurred. It was not for himself that Geoffrey had been summoned, but as Ian’s deputy. John neither knew or cared about what, if any, relationship existed between Geoffrey and Llewelyn. It was to display Geoffrey as Ian’s substitute, to point out that the horrible destruction in Wales was his idea, to make bad feeling between Ian and Llewelyn, if it was possible.

“I will be obliged to you if you can bring the king to excuse me from attendance upon him while Llewelyn is here,” Geoffrey said. Then he lifted his eyes to his father’s. “I will not come in any case, unless I am bound hand and foot and dragged. I am sorry if I displease you, father, but I assure you that it is less out of disobedience to the king than out of fear of what I might be driven to do or say.” Tears   rose in his eyes. “I am none so proud of my share in this victory when I look on the blackened corpse of what once was a fair town. You warned me, and I did not listen. I am sorry now.”

Salisbury rose and patted Geoffrey comfortingly on the shoulder. “Do not think you are the only one. No man likes to see such things. Do you believe it gives me joy? I can only tell myself that if a town must burn, why then, it is better that it be a Welsh town than an English one. And think instead that this may bring peace to Wales and then this one burning will save many, many others.”

“Do you think so, papa?” Geoffrey asked with a spark of eagerness.

“I
hope
so,” Salisbury replied, then smiled. “At my age, child, hope is all that is left.” The smile died. He looked away, staring blindly at the blank side of the tent. “I am no longer sure enough of anything to believe.”

Then reassured as to his son’s physical health, Salisbury went out. He could do little for any other distress Geoffrey felt. Time and growing older would cure his qualmsif they ever would be cured. Geoffrey watched the tent flap settle behind his father and looked at the space for a while longer. Finally, he sighed and reached down beside the bed for the case that held a flagon of wine and goblets. He opened it, not really looking at what he did, and fumbled for a goblet, but he missed his aim and his fingers slid down behind the flagon where they encountered a small roll of parchment tucked in a corner. Startled, he withdrew it quickly and got out of bed to unroll it in the best light he could get from the lamp. He read the signature first, and his fixed expression gave way to a smile. It was Joanna’s letter, which he had put away safely and then forgotten completely in the press of his responsibilities. He reached over for the blanket on the bed and drew it around him, his eyes on the letter. Joanna was certainly wise to remain on good terms with the Church, he thought. Only a fool would believe there would not soon be a settlement. She showed foresight also in collecting extra supplies although he knew now they   would not be needed. His eyes traveled a little lower, checked, went back to reread.

She had wanted to come to Oswestry “only for the pleasure of greeting and the pain of parting!” Geoffrey sighed. Not half as much as he wished to go to her at Clyro this moment. He wished she had come, knowing quite well he would have been furious had she done so and that he could not have spared her a moment. But ClyroWhy should he not go to Clyro? He was doing no good here. He sighed again. That was not true, and he knew perfectly well he could not get leave to go even if he were to be so dead to his responsibilities as to abandon his men. Still he longed for Clyro, for the green hill, untouched by fire, and the dour gray keep lapped in peaceand for Joanna.  
p.

Joanna returned to Clyro from a whirlwind tour of her mother’s property almost a week later than she expected. She found Sir Peter already at home and two letters waiting for her. One was a terse note from Geoffrey to tell her that Llewelyn had yielded and that he hoped she would remain, as she had said she would, at Clyro. He expected soon to be able to escort her back to Roselynde or wherever else she desired to go.

Sir Peter enlarged upon this, saying that he had been given leave to return home as soon as it was sure Llewelyn would make terms. Lord Geoffrey intended to see the other vassals out of Wales, however, to be sure they did not “forget” the war was over. Joanna was rather surprised that there was not a single personal word in the letter, not even a “loving husband” preceding the signature, but she assumed that Geoffrey was very busy and put the note aside with only a slight feeling of disappointmentuntil she opened the second missive.

This was from Lady Ela and was equally terse, bidding Joanna at all costs to rid herself of the company of Henry de Braybrook. In this matter, Lady Ela wrote, it was less dangerous to flout the order of the queen than to give substance to the rumors Isabella was spreading. It did not matter how innocent the relationship between Joanna and Braybrook was in truth. As Joanna well knew, Ela pointed out, no one wished to believe in innocence.

Dumbfounded, Joanna read and reread Lady Ela’s letter. Then her eyes passed from it to Geoffrey’s, which still lay on the table. Color flamed in her face, making her eyes as pale and bright as stars. She was far less infuriated by the   slur cast by Geoffrey’s jealousy on her purity than by the slur cast on her good taste. “Braybrook,” she muttered furiously. “As if I would even spit on that mouther of empty phrases, that braying ass. Just because Geoffrey will roll in a bed with any piece of offal that offers itself, does he think I do not know the worth of what I give? Does he think me so much a fool as to take false coineven in the name of love?”

Caution was innate in Joanna, however, and she did not spill her rage onto parchment, later to be regretted. First she asked Lady Mary whether any nobleman had come seeking her. Being assured that none had, she called Brian and went riding until time and physical fatigue cooled her temper. It then occurred to her that Geoffrey
might
be guiltless. It was not impossible that he had written before he heard any rumors, and his reserve might be owing to some cause at which she could not even guess. She had no intention either of answering his note or of waiting at Clyro longer than necessary to redistribute the extra provender she had assembled there. Geoffrey needed to learn that a polite request was more likely to win compliance to anything reasonable than a curt order.