The Reckoning - 3 (15 page)

CASTELL Y BERE, WALES
December 1272
1 HAT year winter was late in coming to Wales.
The first storm of the season did not hit until early December, and even then, it was not a full-blown tempest. The top of Cader Idris was glazed with snow, but Llewelyn ap Gruffydd's stronghold on the lower slopes escaped with a mere dusting, and those traces were washed away by the next day's rain. By dusk the sky had cleared, and the moon was soon rising above the last lingering clouds.
But a freezing wind had driven all the inhabitants of Castell y Bere indoors, vying for space before the open hearths.
The south tower keep had been partitioned off to provide its Prince with a private chamber. Cadfael and Gwilym were standing by its door, casting wistful glances toward the fireside bench and their cooling drinks of mulled wine. But the Lady Arwenna was not one to be denied, and they'd been trapped for the past quarter hour as she laid out her instructions in meticulous, numbing detail.
"You understand, then? As soon as Lord Llewelyn's scribe leaves his chamber, you're to see that no one else is admitted. The cooks are preparing a special dinner, and I want it served precisely half an hour after I enter my lord's chamber. But I want that sweet wine from Cyprus served first. And remember, we are not to be disturbedfor any reason whatsoever. Is that clear?"
They nodded glumly, and she was off to intercept one of the wine bearers. She was a graceful woman, quite curvaceous, and Gwilym could not help admiring her sensual walk even as he yearned to see her fall flat on her shapely rump.
"We serve our lord, not his doxy," he said indignantly. "Why did you not tell her so, Cadfael?"

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Cadfael chuckled indulgently. "My God, but you're green! That is one fine-looking woman, as ripe as they come. And our lord has only j^en bedding her for the past fortnight. There's a lesson you'd best learn fast, my lad. If you want a man to share a flagon, you wait till he's drunk his fill."
Gwilym had begun to bridle. "But Lord Llewelyn is not a man to let a woman meddle where she oughtn't"
Cadfael was laughing again. "Gwilym, Gwilym, you've much to learn. A wise man lets a woman have her way in minor matters, a cheap price for household peace."
Arwenna heard the laughter, could feel their eyes following her. She'd have been surprised if they didn't stare, for she was accustomed to attracting male attention; men even said hers was a beauty worth dying for. She was twenty-eight, twice widowed, and each of her husbands had died in her bed within a matter of months. Her mournful marital history had given rise to predictable lewd jokes about her potent sexual charms. Arwenna knew of these jokes but was not offended by them. In fact, she rather enjoyed the notoriety.
Men's desire and women's jealousy were the coins of her realm, and she was a lavish spender.
Tonight she had taken particular pains with her appearance, had mapped out her strategy with a military precision utterly at odds with her sultry image, for men dazzled by her beauty often failed to see the steely ambition camouflaged as feminine vanity. To be a Prince's concubine was no shame, and she'd settle for that if she had to, but she saw a chance for more, much more. She was the luckiest of women, for God had given her a lovely face, a voluptuous body, and a very fertile womb. Both of her husbands had been well past a man's prime, and yet with each she had conceived, giving birth to two healthy sons. If she could give Llewelyn ap Gruffydd a son, he might marry her.
The strength of her plan lay in its very simplicity. She need only please
Llewelyn, in bed and out, until, God willing, his seed took root in her womb.
It was odd that none of his bedmates had gotten with child, for his wretch of a brother spawned like a salmon. But each of her husbands had been past sixty and Llewelyn was only forty and four. For once, time was on her side.
She smiled at the thought, deliberately deepening her dimples, a smile she meant to use upon Llewelyn. She could arouse his lust easily enough, but could she ensnare his heart? He was not a man to be bewitched with sugared words, seduced with flattery. There was a wariness in the way he viewed the world;
even in bed, he held back. Well, e need not love her, he need only marry her.
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A child crossed into her line of vision, that bastard get of his brother's.
Davydd, the heir-apparent . . . for now. How she'd enjoy denying him a crown.
She had not always disliked Davydd, although his indifference had rankled. She could not understand why he had never even flirted with her, for if only half the stories told of him were true, his conquests were approaching legendary proportions. Not that she'd have yielded; she set a higher price upon herself than he'd have been willing *^to pay. She had still wanted him to try, though, and had been irked when he had not. And then, a few months ago, she'd overheard several men teasing him about her, urging him on. But he had merely laughed, saying he preferred a challenge, and for that insult, Arwenna would never forgive him.
The sight of his daughter brought back that memory, took the smile from her face. She did not like to be reminded of Davydd, did not see why Llewelyn must be burdened with his brother's brat. Well, not for long, not if she had her way, and she would.
Llewelyn's scribe had finally departed, but as Arwenna started for the door, so, too, did Caitlin. Quickening her step, she headed the child off just in time. "Lord Llewelyn is not to be disturbed. Go on now, run along."
Caitlin stood her ground. "But it is urgent," she said, and Arwenna's annoyance flared into active dislike. What an odd creature she was! How many eight-year-olds used words like urgent? No wonder she had no playmates. Mayhap
Davydd was not so much to blame, after all, for not wanting her. She'd seen several of his other daughters. Pretty little lasses they were, beribboned and well-mannered. What a contrast to this bedraggled waif; did the child even own a comb?
"Lord Llewelyn has no time for you. You'll have to wait," she said coolly.
Even then, Caitlin did not move, stood watching until Arwenna closed the door.
Llewelyn was rereading a letter he'd just dictated to the English government, yet another letter of protest. Not that he expected much from it. More fool he, for ever believing English promises. He'd had Gloucester's Caerphilly
Castle at his mercy. But the Bishops of Lichfield and Worcester had begged him to lift the siege, swearing that Caerphilly would be put under royal control.
In a moment of madnesshow else explain it?he'd accepted their assurances on behalf of the English government. And no sooner had he withdrawn than
Gloucester retook the castle, set about making it the most formidable stronghold in all of South Wales.
Llewelyn's hand tightened upon the parchment. Their double" dealing over
Caerphilly only confirmed his worst fears about their good

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faith. He could still hear his father's words, echoing across so many years.
He could still see his father's face, the prison pallor, the haunted eyes, the bitterness of betrayal. Gruffydd ap Llewelyn, who'd deserved better from life than he'd gotten. He'd loved Wales with a doomed passion, but he'd died on alien soil, plunging to his death from the Tower of London's great keep in a foolhardy escape attempt. Yet he'd left a legacy worth more than gold, a cry from the heart. "Never forget, Llewelyn, that the world's greatest fool is a
Welshman who trusts an English king."
When the door opened, he glanced up with a preoccupied frown. At sight of
Arwenna, though, he smiled, and she found herself marveling how easily he shed years and cares. "I'm glad," she said, "that you smile so seldom. I only wish you saved them all for me." She'd thought that was a well-crafted compliment, but saw now that it was a wasted effort.
"Do I smile so seldom?" he echoed, sounding surprised, and she nodded, then very ostentatiously slid the door latch into place.
"If I'd known it was so easy to capture a Prince," she murmured, "I'd have done it long ere this."
Llewelyn's face was impassive, but she knew him well enough by now to catch an amused glint. "What are your terms?"
"An entire night alone, just the two of us," she said, and as she moved within range, he rose, drew her to him. She came eagerly into his arms, lifting her mouth to meet his. But after a few moments, she stepped back, laughing up into his face, smoothing her gown.
"Ah, my love," she said ruefully, "we've no time, for the dinner will soon be served: venison frumenty and marrow tarts, a fresh pike."
"You feed your prisoners well. Those happen to be my favorite foods."
"I think you'll find me to be a very generous gaoler/' she said, and as he laughed softly, she turned to open the door for the wine bearer. After pouring the wine, she moved behind him, began to massage his shoulders. "How tense you are, sweetheart!" Leaning over, she kissed the nape of his neck. "I happened to see your brother's Caitlin earlier this eve. Davydd has quite a few baseborn children, does he not?"
Llewelyn grinned. "So many, in fact, that I've heard men claim it would be easier to find the Holy Grail than lasses who'd said Davydd nay!"
"I would," Arwenna said righteously, but Llewelyn looked more amused than impressed by her avowal.
'Did he ask?" he said mischievously, much to Arwenna's irritation. She was too clever, though, to lie.

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"No," she admitted tersely. "To get back to Caitlin, I do not understand why she does not live with Davydd. Does he not take care of his other children?"
"He claims them as his, sees that they want for nothing. But I doubt if it even occurred to him to take any of them under his roof. Davydd's not one for rocking cradles. With his other children, it matters for naught; they live with their mothers' kin. But Caitlin's mother is dead." | "Why you, though?
Why not Davydd?"
He shrugged. "She'd passed her first three years at my court, so why uproot her? The little lass has had a haid enough road to travel. Being born out of wedlock is no shame in Wales, but being half English is. Mayhap if her mother had been highborn. . . . But she was a serving wench, and Davydd never made a secret of it. Then, too, Caitlin is ... well, she's not like other children.
She goes off by herself for hours at a time, is so quiet that strangers have asked if she's mute. She has a remarkable way with animals of any sort, and after people saw her playing in the meadows at Dolwyddelan with a wild fox cub, they started saying she was fey."
Llewelyn set his wine cup down. "No, she's not had an easy time. Children can be cruel to those who're somehow different. I remember a few years ago, overhearing them taunting her, making fun of her Irish name, calling her
'catleek' and 'catkin.' Later, I took her aside, explained that there was a
Welsh form of Caitlin, and suggested that she might like to call herself
Catrin. She thought about it, keeping those great, green eyes on me all the while, and then she shook her head, said very solemnly, 'But Caitlin is who I
am.' "
He laughed, but Arwenna did not. Lord God, he was truly fond of the chit!
She'd have to mend that fence and right quick. Now, though, she'd best tell her side first, ere Caitlin came whining to him.
"I have a confession, love," she said and gave a light laugh. "I had j my heart set upon being alone with you this eve, was not willing to j share you with anyone else, and that included Caitlin. You do not mind, ' do you?"
"No, I suppose not. But what did Caitlin want?"
"She did not say, just mumbled something about it being 'urgent.' " Arwenna laughed again, indulgently. "Childrenhow they dearly love to make mountains of every molehill!"
"No," Llewelyn said slowly, "not Caitlin." Arwenna could not hide her dismay, and he smiled reassuringly. "You need not fret. A few moments for the lass, and the night for you."
By the time he'd sent a servant in search of Caitlin, Arwenna had regained her confidence, and when dinner arrived, she insisted upon

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erving him herself, buttering his bread, hanging on his every word, remising enough with her smiles to blot Caitlin's very name from his memoryor so she hoped. But the servant soon returned, reported that the child was nowhere to be found.
Arwenna stood watching in disbelief as men fanned out, under orders to search all of the buildings in the castle bailey. Waiting until no others were within earshot, she said coaxingly, "My love, the dinner grows cold, and for what? No harm has befallen the girl. I'm a mother myself, remember? I know children, believe me. Caitlin is off sulking somewhere, will come out when she is ready."
"No," Llewelyn said again, "not Caitlin," but this time in a very different tone, and Arwenna hastily changed tactics.
"Llewelyn, you told me yourself that she oft-times goes off to"
But Llewelyn was turning away, for there was a sudden commotion by the door.
Arwenna followed, inwardly seething; if that wretched child was not found soon, the entire evening would be spoiled. And then people were moving aside and she saw. One of the stable grooms stood in the doorway, holding a small limp body in his arms.
"I found her in a stall," he said hesitantly. "At first I thought she had been kicked by one of the horses, but then I heard the cat. Trapped up on the rafters, it was, my lord, and I'd wager she tried to climb up after it ..."
Llewelyn reached out, took the little girl carefully into his arms. Her eyes had rolled back in her head and her long, loose hair was matted with straw and blood. But as he lifted her, she made a small whimpering sound, and he took heart from that.
"Llewelyn . . ." Arwenna plucked at his sleeve as he passed. He gave her one glance, no more than that, but what she read in it caused her to shrink back, watching helplessly as he carried Caitlin into his bedchamber. She was soon able to convince herself, though, that he'd forgive her once his anger cooled.
She'd not yield her dreams so easily, would not be thwarted by a moonstruck, misbegotten foundling and a flea-bitten stable cat.
WHEN Caitlin was four, she had fallen into a pond. She still had bad dreams about it sometimes, reliving that slow-motion struggle to reach the surface.
She was trapped in that same dream now, thrashing about m terrifying blackness, drowning all over again. Gradually, though, she could detect faint glimmerings of light, and she swam toward them, up °W of the depths and into the shallows where it was safe.
At first the light hurt her eyes. She squinted until things came into