The Reckoning - 3 (19 page)

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ueid for years, as was the case with Tudur's son, Heilyn. But she'd not pown they might be sacrificed. The hangings at Nottingham gave a ev? and sinister significance to the practice, and she turned troubled green eyes upon her father. "Were you not once a hostage of the English, too, Papa?"
Davydd nodded. "For seven years. My mother turned Rhodri and me over to the
English King in return for his help in freeing my father."
There was much Caitlin did not know of her own House's history, for although
Llewelyn enjoyed reminiscing about his grandfather, he rarely spoke of his childhood, the other members of their family. "What of you, Uncle?" she asked.
"Why were you not offered as hostage, too?"
"That was my mother's intent. She'd brought Davydd, Rhodri, and me with her to
Shrewsbury, where she hoped to come to terms with the English King. My father was being held at Cricieth Castle by his half-brother; war had broken out between them upon my grandfather's death. Henry promised her his aid. Of course he later reneged, sent my father and Owain to the Tower. But at the time, she believed him, agreed to surrender her sons. Davydd was only three, Rhodri even younger, but I was past thirteen, with a mind of my own. I
overheard the English King talking in the abbey garden, and that same night, I
ran away."
"You came first to our bedchamber," Davydd said suddenly, and Llewelyn gave him a surprised look.
"Yes, I did. You remember that?"
Davydd was surprised, too. "Yes ... I do. You gave me something?"
Llewelyn nodded. "My crucifix. Also two of the angel's bread wafers I'd stolen from the abbey kitchen, one for you and one for Rhodri. Of course you ate them both!" Then his grin faded. "You asked to come with me, and for a mad moment, I truly considered it. I soon realized, though, that I'd not get far, a green, scared stripling with two bairns in tow. But it was hard, lad, leaving you behind." He smiled ruefully. "For the longest time afterward, I suffered the guilt pangs of the damned, fretted that"
Davydd set his chair down with a crash. "That is ridiculous! Why should you feel guilty when it was none of your doing?" He'd spoken so sharply that they were all staring at him. Shoving his chair back, he Pushed away from the table.
Snatching up his mantle, he strode toward the door. But as soon as he jerked it open, he reconsidered. The rain was gusting sideways, stung like sleet. He stood there for a time in the porch recess, watching e storm's fury, struggling with an anger no less intense and just as foreseen. He'd often heard people speak of a "keening" wind, had stnissed it as poetic hyperboleuntil tonight. As it whipped through

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the trees, his ears were filled with the sound, a high-pitched wailing that did evoke haunting echoes of grief.
"Davydd?" The wind had muffled Llewelyn's footsteps, and Davydd jerked violently at the sudden touch upon his arm. Swearing, he leaned back against the porch railing, away from the revealing glim, mer of Llewelyn's lantern.
"Davydd, what is amiss? I've never seen your nerves on the raw like this. All night you've been shying at shadows." Davydd caught a flash of white, a fleeting smile. "I'd have wagered you were the one cock whose feathers could not be ruffledhad I not been watching you for these past hours. Is it trouble you can talk about?"
"Can you not guess? Whenever you see a man playing the fool, can you doubt that you're looking at a woman's handiwork?"
Llewelyn fought back a grin, tried to remember the name of Davydd's latest lady. "Tangwystl?"
"She wants us to wed, and I do not, was reckless enough to tell her so. Women do not fight fair. There are no formal declarations of war, no truces, and they take no prisoners. I won the battle. So why do I feel like the sort of lowborn knave who'd steal from a church alms box, seduce a nun, and for good measure, kick Caitlin's puppy?"
Llewelyn was laughing openly by now. "As you said, you won the battle. Just be sure to invite me to the wedding. Listendid you hear that?"
Davydd had. He tensed as riders took form out of the wet blackness beyond the porch. They were heading for the stables when the lead rider recognized
Llewelyn. "My lord, it's meCynan ab Ivor! We set out this morn from Llyn
Tegid, did not think we'd make it this far. The roads to the south are all washed out, and we just missed a mudslide on the Powys border. I have never been so scared in all my born days, God's truth!"
"See to your mounts, Cynan, then go into the hall to dry off and get fed." The wind had shifted; the rain had begun to slant under the porch roof, and
Llewelyn jogged Davydd's arm. "Lef s go inside ere we drown."
Davydd did not hear him, had heard nothing after "The roads to the south are all washed out." He stared at his brother, and then began to laugh. So God, too, was on Llewelyn's side!
DOLBADARN rose up on a spur of high ground between two ice-blue lakes.
Shadowed by the highest peaks of Eryri, the castle's vistas were among the most scenic in Gwynedd. Year after year, Owain ap Gruffy"" had gazed out across the lake, watching as low-lying clouds drifted &

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from the southwest, spangling the valley with showers of silver rain, tching as December snows crowned the summit of Yr Wyddfa, as barren oaks budded anew and mountain ash embraced autumn gold. ue watched wood sorrel bloom and die, watched as swallows arrived each April, fled before the first frost, watched as eagles soared above the crags of Eryri. The seasons blurred, his youth melted away with the spring thaws, and, ever so slowly, so did a lifetime's rage.
His hatred had sustained him during the early years of his captivity, his visions of vengeance. But time had proved to be as much his enemy as Llewelyn.
It became harder and harder to cling to hope. Eventually he was forced to face a shattering truth, that the brother he'd so underestimated was not going to free him. Llewelyn had won their war. The years that followed were the worst, for, without hope, he had only selfpity to hold on to. When it had begun to change, he could not say, so gradual had it been. He still hated Llewelyn, but it was a muted passion now, a banked fire when once it had been an inferno.
His confinement was not stringent. He was denied no comforts, treated with the deference due his bloodlines, and he was permitted an occasional visitor, was not cut off entirely from the world beyond Dolbadarn's walls. He had his good days, a bedmate when he had need of one, the satisfaction of knowing that he'd not been forgotten, that even among Llewelyn's staunchest supporters, he could find some sympathy for his plight. All he lacked was all that matteredhis freedom.
On this mild day in mid-March, he was dicing with Dolbadarn's castellan when the guards brought word of his brother's arrival. Owain was always delighted to have any visitors at all, but no one was more welcome than Davydd, the one person in Christendom to whom he still felt connected, his lifeline to memories of the man he used to be.
Davydd rushed through the usual courtesies, dismissed the castellan as soon as it was politely possible. As always, he felt a small shock at sight of his brother, found himself thinking: Jesu, he's an old man! Owain was fifty-five.
In his youth, he'd been called Owain GochOwain the Reda tribute as much to his fiery temper as to his fiery red hair. The hair had long since gone grey, and the temper was not much in evidence these days, either. Sometimes Davydd had the unsettling sense that he was visiting a ghost, tending a flame already quenched.
Once they were alone, Davydd shot the bolt into place, leaned back gainst the door. "Make yourself comfortable, Big Brother, for I have
MUite a tale to tell. Have you ever heard of a rebellion that was rained out?"
Owain was soon sitting bolt upright on the bed. But he did not errrupt.
Although it was obvious he was listening intently, his face s impassive.
Usually his every emotion was flourished aloft like a e banner, but now Davydd could read nothing of his thoughts.

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When Davydd finally concluded with a deliberately dramatic account of the
Candlemas storm, Owain waited a moment and then said crisply "Go on."
"Go on? Is that not enough? What else would you like me to confess whilst I'm at it?"
For the first time, Owain showed surprise. "You did not make another attempt on Llewelyn's life?"
"No." Davydd's smile was sardonic. "Owen was nearly swept off f a cliff by one of those mudslides. His night out in the rain seems to have dampened his zeal for our noble enterprise."
Owain did not share his smile, for as fond as he was of Davydd, he'd always been baffled by his brother's perverse brand of humor. "So it is Owen who is now loath to pursue this plot further?" he asked, with enough skepticism to shake Davydd's bravado.
"And me? Is that what you're asking, if I want to let it lie? What if I do?"
Owain had rarely heard him sound so defensive. "You know, lad," he said quietly, "there is no shame in balking at murder."
Davydd expelled a pent-up breath. "I had not expected it to be so hard, Owain.
I had the right. It is Llewelyn who makes a mockery of Welsh law, not us. Why should I not try to take what was mine? But sitting across the table from him that night, knowing what I knew . . . Christ, Owain, I could not do that again. There has to be another way." "I wish you'd known our father the way I
did," Owain said unexpectedly, sounding so earnest that Davydd had to smile.
"Papa used to say that each man's honor depended upon where he drew the line.
Papa drew it too far out; it made him slow to suspect, easy to betray. I've wondered at times, lad, where you drew it."
"So did I," Davydd said slyly, and Owain smiled. "Well, at least now you know.
But why did it have to be murder? I'd have been more than willing to let
Llewelyn have my chamber here at Dolbadarn."
Davydd gave him a look of amused affection, for that was as close as Owain ever came to humor. "Gruffydd and Owen were loath to take such a risk. They wanted him dead."
"I cannot blame them for that," Owain conceded. "Llewelyn makes a bad enemy. I
should know!" Rising, he moved to the table, poured wine into two cups.
Handing one to Davydd, he said, "But I shall miss you, lad. It's not likely, after all, that we'll meet again." "Why not? Owain, are you ailing?"
"No, but you'll have to seek safety in England" Owain broke off/ staring at the younger man. "Mother of God, Davydd, you cannot mean to stay!"
r in
"Why not?" Davydd
welyn?"
"I'll not deny that the?*6 is a dan8er' O^- If I stav' l wa§er mY
lands my freedom, mayh^P mX Ufe- But if l flee' l lose a11 for certes-"
Owain was appalled. "Davydd, the danger is too great. I know
Llewelyn, better than you - Do not delude vourself that You could §et him to forgive you. Have you learned nothing from my mistakes? I've lost nineteen years of my li/e because J held Llewelyn too cheaply, could not see the flint in his soul. K is irue that there was ever m ^ between us and it is no less true th^ tf he has a weakness, it is his fondness for you But do you truly thin* *«* he/d overlook murder? You could not talk your way out of this, lad-
God helP you tf you m foolish enou8h
40 Davydd shrugged. "With so much at stake' Owain' God helP me if I do not try."
DAVYDD and his men w^re having breakfast in the guest hall of Aberconwy Abbey.

The o&eT abbey guests had departed at first light, but Davydd was a late rise?*"' and a hungry one. He'd never shared the common belief that breakfc»st was a shameless indulgence, liked to joke that he believed in indulging the flesh at everv opportunity, a jest that shocked the brothers of thi* austere
Cistercian order. He saw no reason this morn to hurry out into the rain, not with such a long ride ahead of him; his lands in Dyffryn ^lwyd were a day's journey away, and the roads were mired in April &ud- He was signaling for more cheese when new arrivals were ushered >nto the hal1' but uPon recognizing the man in the lead, he pushed the bench back, the food forgotten. "What are you doing
*ere, Rhys? This is an abbey, r not a border bawdy-house!"
Rhys ap Gruffydd grii^ed' unoffended. He was Tudui^s nephew, grandson of the great Edny^611' and Uke his celebrated kin, he had been !°ng in Llewelyn's service. put Davydd knew what his brother did not, *at Rhys's loyalties were
^ot rooted deeP- They'd struck UP an easy friendship, "like recognizing Uke'"
Davydd Joked' and to some degree, *at was indeed true. RhyS did find Davydd's rowdy companionship m°re congenial than that

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"I thought you were with Llewelyn at Aber?"
"I was, rode out just this morn. I'm on my way to Creuddyn, but one of our horses threw a shoe. Davydd ..." Lowering his voice "Something right strange is going on at Aber. Yesterday a man high in Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn's favor was secretly taken to Llewelyn's chamber, and after he left, Llewelyn was as tautly drawn as my best longbow. My uncle Tudur was also in a vile mood, even more soured than usual. And soon after, Llewelyn announced abruptly that he would be leaving on the morrow for his castle at Dolforwyn. I know for certes that he'd planned to remain at Aber for another fortnight. Something is in the wind, but what? And why Powys?"
Rhys was disappointed that his news had such little impact; Davydd said nothing. "Are you heading east, too, Davydd? If so, we can ride together."
Davydd roused himself with an effort. "Where I go, you'd not want to follow."
Rhys couldn't tell if Davydd was joking or not. "And where is that, pray tell?"
"Into the lion's den," Davydd said, without a glimmer of a smile.
LLEWELYN'S seacoast manor at Aber had long been a favorite residence of the princes of Gwynedd. One of its advantages was its location; it was but six miles from the see of the Bishop of Bangor, eight miles from the abbey of
Aberconwy. Davydd rode through the gateway before noon. There he drew rein, looking upon a scene of utter confusion. Men were splashing through the mud, carrying saddles and bridles, leading pack horses from the stables. Others were lugging out small coffer chests and bedrolls and wooden crates. Dogs darted underfoot, barking furiously, dodging kicks from harried servants. The air was thick with sputtered oaths, with threats and counterthreats. Moving a princely household from one manor to another was a massive undertaking even under the most ideal circumstances. With but a day's warning, all was predictable chaos.
It was a sight that would normally have had Davydd roaring with laughter. As it was, the unintentionally comic antics of these pressured men barely registered with him. The impulse that had sent him galloping for Aber, that had compelled him to face trouble head on, rather than waiting and wondering, while fearing the worst, suddenly seemed an act of incredible folly. But it was too late to retreat. His uncle was emerging from the great hall, swerved abruptly in his direction.
"Davydd? What are you doing here, lad?"
Einion looked surprised, but not suspicious, and Davydd took hear*