The Reckoning - 3 (39 page)

227
Orn, and I am for certes a Christian. Not even my worst enemies have ver accused me of being a heathen! Go on, what else?"
"He ... he should be brave." Elizabeth faltered; he was stroking her cheek with her own braid again.
"Well, I agreed to marry you sight unseen. What could be braver than that?"
She giggled and he moved closer. "What other virtues must your husband possess?"
Elizabeth tilted her head so she could look up into his eyes, green and glittering and surprisingly long-lashed. "He ... he should be generous and good-hearted and ..." She got no further; he'd begun to laugh again.
"Alas," he said, shaking his head in mock regret, "that I am not."
Elizabeth was flustered. "Not . . . not generous?"
"No . . good," he said softly, and Elizabeth felt an odd shiver go up her spine, a physical chill that was both fear and excitement.
Davydd was very close now; his hand slid down her arm, propelling her forward until their bodies were touching. "Say yes, Elizabeth. I'll teach you to swear in Welsh and laugh in bed, and we'll have handsome children for certes!"
Elizabeth had the strangest sensation, almost of vertigo, as if she were teetering upon a cliff's edge. She hesitated a moment longer, and then let herself go, trusting in Davydd to catch her as she fell. "Yes," she breathed, "yes," raising her face for his kiss.
Davydd was too tall to embrace Elizabeth comfortably, a problem he solved by pulling her toward the chair, sitting down, and drawing her onto his lap.
Edward had been right about her; she was featherlight and willow-slim, but he was discovering that her body was soft, with more curves than he'd first thought. He kept her kisses gentle, soon felt her lips part, her arms go up around his neck.
Elizabeth was lost, amazed by her own body, by feelings unfamiliar, erotic, and compelling; she never heard the door opening. But Davydd did, glancing up in time to see Edward come to an abrupt halt. And the startled look on
Edward's face was sweeter even than Elizabeth's eager, virginal kisses.
ON November 12th of God's Year, 1276, the royal council of the English "^ing judged Llewelyn ap Gruffydd to be in rebellion, and war was declared against
Wales.

17
*l WINDSOR CASTLE, ENGLAND
May 1277
U, UPON his arrival at Windsor, Roger de Mortimer found Edward and Edmund in the sunlit upper bailey, watching a shooting match. Edward was in an expansive, relaxed mood; few would have suspected he was a man about to lead an army into
Wales. "You're just in time, Roger. I want you to see this."
They'd already drawn a number of spectators, men as intrigued by the contest as by the King's presence, for the archers were not using the crossbow. The staves of these weapons were much longer than those of the more familiar bow, more than five feet in length, and they were firing fletched arrows with eye-blurring speed, evoking murmurs of awe from those watching.
Not from de Mortimer, though, for he was no stranger to the longbow; it was the weapon of choice in much of Wales, particularly in the South. Moreover, he was travel-stained and saddle-sore and irked by the nonchalance of Edward's greeting.
Although Edward did not expect to take the field himself until the summer, he had been waging war against the Welsh for months, having launched a three-pronged assault upon Llewelyn's lands from Carmarthen, Montgomery, and
Chester. His battle commanders had won some impressive victories, but none had been as spectacularly successful as de Mortimer, for in April he had seized
Llewelyn's castle at Dolforwyn and restored Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn to power in
Powys. Having dealt Llewelyn ap Gruffydd such a crippling blow, de Mortimer felt that he deserved a more effusive welcome than he'd gotten, and he listened impatiently as Edward extolled the virtues of the Welsh longbow instead of his own exploits.
"Yes, yes, I know," he said testily, "the longbow has a greater

229
nge. And Your Grace is right; it is more easily mastered than the ossbovv. But do you not want to hear my report?"
"Why? After all, you sent me word as soon as Dolforwyn and Buellt fell. What more is there to say?"
De Mortimer's fatigue had dulled his perception. His temper flared;
ot until Edward laughed did he realize he was being teased. Waving the others away, Edward clapped him playfully upon the back. "Tell us " he said, "and leave nothing out. If ever a man was entitled to boast a bit, you are for certes!"
Mollified, de Mortimer began, "Well, it was lack of water that forced the
Dolforwyn garrison to surrender . . ." By the time he concluded, the sun was hovering over the horizon, reflecting the burnt orange of a summer dusk. "And ere I left Buellt, I gave orders to begin construction of a new castle on the site. The old one was razed to the ground by Llewelyn years ago, was beyond restoring. But once it is done, you'll command the entire Wye Valley."
"What of Llewelyn ap Gruffydd? Are his whereabouts known?"
"I heard that he was fighting along the Upper Severn. He's all but lived in the saddle for months now, trying to hold back the tide. But once you cross the River Dee, he'll disappear into the fastness of Snowdon, dare us to follow. This is what the Welsh always do. You can rarely draw them into a pitched battle. They prefer will-o'-the-wisp tactics, excel at ambush and night raids, and when you try to track them down, they disappear into blue smoke."
"They'd be fools to do otherwise," Edward said matter-of-factly. "No Welsh prince could ever hope to put as many men in the field as the English Crown can. So they rely upon that godforsaken, wild land of theirs to repel invaders. And often as not, it does. My greatgrandfather, my grandfather, and my fatherat one time or another, they all braved those Welsh mountain passes, and they all ended up fleeing back across the border, marking their trail with wooden crosses, shallow graves."
Edward, too, had sought conquest and glory in Wales, had suffered a humiliating defeat at Llewelyn's hands. But de Mortimer was not the fool who'd remind him of that youthful failure; he kept a prudent silence.
"No," Edward concluded, "whenever we did prevail, it was because we were able to turn their own weaknesses against them. Thank God they're such a jealous, quarrelsome people, more suspicious of one another than any enemy beyond their borders."
De Mortimer grinned. "Ah, we're talking now of Davydd, are we? do owe you a debt, Ned, for not sending him to fight alongside me.

230
I hear he has driven poor Warwick well nigh mad with his griping and swaggering. Is it true he dared to demand that his men be paid wage as if he were an English lord? That he even balked at sharing the bootv from his raids into Wales?"
Edward nodded ruefully. "All true and a trial to my patience, I must admit.
Having him with us, though, is like having a lance leveled at Llewelyn's throat, so it is worth the trouble to keep him content. Bear that in mind, Roger, for he's on his way to Windsor even as we speak Warwick warned me that he's heard rumors about English lords laying claim to Welsh lands once the war is done, so we're going to be treated to yet another spectacle of Welsh indignation at full blaze. But now that you know, resist the temptation to bait him, if you please. He will be difficult enough to placate as it is."
De Mortimer made a gesture of exaggerated, extravagant submission. "As Your
Grace wills it, so shall it be ... even if it does spoil my fun! Now, if you have no further need of me, I am going to find myself a bath and a bed and a wench."
Edmund had so far taken no part in the conversation. But as de Mortimer started to turn away, he said, "Roger, wait. There is something I would say to you. As you know, our kinswoman, Eleanor de Montfort, is dwelling here within the castle. Upon his past visits to Windsor, my brother has made her welcome at his court, and I assume this visit will be no different. But I have no doubt that Ellen would find your presence painful"
"Why?" De Mortimer's brows rose mockingly. "Because I adorned my gatehouse at
Wigmore with her whoreson father's head? Surely the lass would not hold a grudge over a trifle like that?"
Edmund was not amused. "Stay away from her, Roger," he said bluntly.
De Mortimer's surprise was no longer feigned. "And if I do not?"
"You'll be giving grief to a girl who has had more than her share. And you'll be making an enemy, one you'll not want."
De Mortimer laughed. "I think I can bear the great burden of Ellen de
Montfort's enmity!"
"Not Ellen . . . me, "Edmund said, and Roger de Mortimer stopped laughing. To
Edmund, it was like watching a house preparing for a siege, shutters slamming, bolts sliding into place; de Mortimer's face went blank, black eyes narrowing in sudden, wary appraisal. It was a look he'd never given Edmund before, one that took an adversary's measure and found reason for caution. It was a look
Edmund liked. He rarely felt the need to wield his power as the King's brother in so blatant

231
, gfuon, but he never forgot that he had it. After today, he knew de tfortimer would not forget it, either.
Edward had been an interested, amused witness to this exchange. He genuinely enjoyed Roger de Mortimer's company, but he also enved seeing the cocky
Marcher lord discomfited, and he moved to Fdmund's side, watching as de
Mortimer strode away.
"Very deftly done, Little Brother," he said approvingly. "Roger needs to be thwarted from time to time, or else he tends to become utterly insufferable.
But you need not have feared for Ellen. I care as much for her welfare as you do, would not stand idly by if she were being baited by Roger."
Edmund gave him a startled, searching look, but he could find no evidence of irony in his brother's last words; apparently Edward saw no conflict in being both Ellen's protector and her gaoler. "Ned . . . we're well into her second year of confinement. Surely you do not mean to hold her indefinitely?"
"Of course not! I truly do care for the lass, Edmund, and not just because she's Harry's sister. She has pluck and common sense, and the very sight of her is enough to please any man not stone-blind!" Edward grinned. "No, I wish her well, and if I can, I will see her wed to her willful Welsh Prince. If I
cannot, I'll find her a more suitable husband. One way or another, we'll soon know what her future holds."
"And what do you think the future holds for Wales?" Edmund was very curious about his brother's ultimate aims in this war, felt he had a right to know, for he was to command Edward's army in South Wales. "I understand that you've ordered your Justiciar to introduce English law into Ireland, saying that
Irish law is 'detestable to God.' I assume you are no less disapproving, then, of Welsh law and custom. And I know full well that you and Llewelyn ap
Gruffydd were fated to clash, for you see him as just another of your vassals whilst he stubbornly insists upon seeing himself as an independent ally. So you have cornpelling reasons, both as a Christian and as a King, to seek the conquest of Wales. And I cannot help wondering if that is what you mean to do."
Edward looked thoughtfully at the younger man. "What you say
18 true enough. As England's King, I do believe Wales must be more securely yoked to the Crown. And as a Christian, I have a duty to wean
We Welsh away from their more heathenish practices. But I am also a soldier, lad, am not about to snatch at any crown that comes within reach, the way our father would, never thinking to count the cost. Look the needless trouble he brought upon himself by trying to make you
^"8 of Sicily! Yes, I want Wales. I am not sure, though, that it would worth the price I'd have to pay. We'll have to see what happens,

232
Edmund, once we've brought Llewelyn to bay. Then . . . mayhap the we'll know what God wants me to do."
WINDSOR had always been a favorite residence of the English kings, and Edward was no exception. This was his fourth visit since Ellen had been brought from
Bristol Castle, and each time the royal entourage rode into the lower bailey, she was assailed by such a conflicting welter of emo-
1 tions that she despaired of ever sorting them out. She'd been a prisoner now for seventeen months, and she was starved for news of the world beyond
Windsor, desperate for any scrap of information about her husband or brother.
She was also so lonely, so bored, and so restless that she welcomed the excitement of Edward's arrival, welcomed any escape from the deadly monotony of her days. One faded into the other, her life trickling away like the grains of sand in the hourglass by her bed, and if she found her comfortable confinement so onerous, what in God's Sweet Mercy must it be like for Amaury?
And yet the mere sight of Edward was enough to set Ellen's every nerve on edge; it was, she thought, the way a rabbit must feel when it caught the scent of fox. After an evening in her cousin's company, she was often too tense to sleep, for the pretense was taking its toll. She was finding it harder and harder to hide her true feelings, to play the role Edward expected, that of
Harry's sweet little sister, an innocent pawn in need of male protection.
How could Edward be so blind? She and Juliana spent endless hours attempting to puzzle it out, for she was terrified that she might make a misstep, give herself away. They'd finally concluded that even the cleverest of men could have a flawed imagination, be utterly unable to put himself in another man's place, to see any point of view but his own. That made sense of sorts to
Ellen, for it also seemed to explain why Edward could not admit that Llewelyn had genuine grievances. She well knew that if Llewelyn had dared to harbor a man who'd plotted Edward's assassination, her cousin would have been outraged.
Yet he'd not only sheltered Davydd and Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn, he shrugged off
Llewelyn's complaints as if they were of no consequence.
Ellen suspected that most men shared Edward's affliction to some degree; her own brothers had, for certes. But whilst such singlemindedness had been vexing at times in Harry or Bran, it was truly frightening in a man who wielded the manifold and God-given powers of kingshipMuch to Ellen's disappointment, Hugh was not with Edward. He had been left behind at Westminster to nurse an infected tooth, would not be joining them until Edward departed for the west on June 10thQuestioning Edward at length, Ellen had been able to satisfy herseu

233
Hugh's malady was not life-threatening. But Hugh was her only dowto *ne worid'
and she felt his loss keenly, now more than ever, ^th war so close at hand.
She discovered, though, that even with Hugh gone, she would not , ve to face
Edward alone and friendless, for Edmund and his wife were art of the royal entourage. Ellen and Blanche had known each other . prance; in the years before her marriage to the King of Navarre, Blanche was often at the French court, a favorite with her aunt, Marguerite, and her cousin, Philippe. And with Edmund, Ellen did not have to feign affection. She did not even mind that he had been given her father's forfeited earldom, for he had played no part in her family's downfall, having been stranded in France until after Evesham.
But that nostalgic childhood fondness flared into intense, heartfelt gratitude once Blanche confided that Edmund had tried to persuade Edward to move Amaury from Corfe to Sherborne, a castle under his control. Ellen did not doubt that
Edmund would be a far more generous gaoler than his brother, and she clung to the hope that he might yet sway Edward. It was a frail hopeshe knew thatbut the only one Amaury had.
WATCHING as Eleanora bade goodnight to her small son, Alfonso, Blanche observed, "That is a rare sight, indeed, England's Queen without a swelling belly. But it's been fully a twelvemonth since she was brought to bed of her last babe. So any day now I expect an announcement that yet another one is due."
Ellen nodded. "I cannot help wondering," she said, "if those constant pregnancies, one right after another, might be why her babies are so sickly.
She never has a chance to regain her strength, does she? My mother raised six out of seven children, but Eleanora . . . My God, Blanche, she's lost five of her ten so far. How strong she must be, to have survived such sorrow ..."
Blanche hesitated, on the verge of sharing a crucial confidence, that she suspected herself to be with child. But she did not, for she enjoyed keeping secrets; not even Edmund knew yet. "Edward has been very attentive to you tonight. Does he always show you such favor, Ellen?"
"Yes, we are very friendly, my cousin and I. He thinks it is quite natural that I should let bygones be bygones. I daresay he expects me to bid him a fond farewell on Thursday next, waving gaily from my Prison window as he rides off to make war upon my husband."
"Ah, Ellen, be bitter if you will. God knows you're entitled. But self-pity serves for naught. Do not give in to it, not yet. I have a suggestion to make
... if you're interested?"