The Reckoning - 3 (64 page)

keen for vegetables than were the English, and Edwyn's kitchen garden held only onions, leeks, garlic, and cabbage. Ellen's inspection was rather cursory, and they soon moved on to the evenly spaced rows of the herb garden.
Here were grown the medicinal plants used to make ointments and potions. The scent of rue wafted toward them upon the balmy summer air, and all about them was the evidence of Edwyn's industry, his Merlin's touch.
Juliana watched a fragile white butterfly dance upon the breeze while Ellen and Edwyn discussed his strategy for repelling the moles that were every gardener's scourge. But Ellen's usual enthusiasm was oddly lacking today; in a surprisingly short time, Edwyn was free to resume his other duties and the women were entering the flower garden that was Ellen's Welsh Eden.
Enclosed by neatly trimmed hawthorn hedges, the garden had been laid out with exacting care, for symmetry and proportion and uniformity were the gardener's goal; it would have been unheard-of to allow flowers to grow in the helter-skelter disorder to be found in Nature. The rectangular, raised beds were bordered by low wattle fences, and the centerpiece was a flowery mead, a sea of billowing Welsh grass adrift with daisies. Turf benches were scattered about, and a small fountain bubbled beside a trellised arbor, a shaded haven besieged by climbing roses and entwining honeysuckle.
Setting down her watering pot, Ellen took the scissors Juliana was preferring, began to gather an eclectic bonquet of Madonna lilies, blue columbines, and peonies. "If you take these," she said, "I'll cut some roses."
"Ellen ... I do not mean to pry. But I'd have to be blind not to see that you're troubled. Would it help to talk?"
Ellen shook her head, a moment later let out an unladylike oath. With
Juliana's help, she managed to extract the thorn embedded in her thumb.
Picking up a dropped rose, its ivory-white petals smeared with Wood, she hesitated, then said, "I suppose I have been distracted this ^orn. It is just that. . . that Llewelyn and I quarrel so rarely. It was so needless, too, an argument that blew up like a summer storm, with no

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warning, no sense to it. I know I am making more of it than I ought But this was the first time that we'd quarreled and then gone to bed angry . . ."
Juliana plucked a red rose, held it out to Ellen. "Send him a peace offering."
Ellen reached for the flower. "I know the rose is a token of love but I think
Llewelyn might be won over more quickly by a roast carp " rice savory, and those angel-bread wafers he so fancies."
"Well, then, why are we tarrying in the garden when we ought to be seeking out the cooks?" Juliana prompted, and within moments they were on their way to the kitchens. Taking action had done much to raise Ellen's spirits, and by the time they returned to her bedchamber, she was discussing her planned "peace dinner" with a resurgence of enthusiasm. As they set about putting their cut flowers in clay pitchers, it was Juliana who first noticed the white cloth trailing from the bed canopy. Puzzled, she walked over for a closer look.
"Ellen, what is this doing here?"
But Ellen was a soldier's daughter. One glance at that makeshift white banner and she began to laugh, for she understood its significance at once. Flying over her marriage bed was a flag of truce.
ELLEN was alone in their bedchamber when Llewelyn entered, sitting in a window-seat as she embroidered a linen altar cloth. She was an accomplished needlewoman, had been laboring that summer upon a new set of vestments for the priest of Dolwyddelan's parish church. Nestled beside Ellen in the window-seat, Hiraeth gave Llewelyn an intent, faintly suspicious stare;
although the little dog was resigned by now to this intruder's presence in its mistress's life, it had yet to offer him more than a grudging tolerance.
Fortunately, he got a warmer welcome from his wife. Putting aside her sewing, she rose at once, facing him with just the hint of a smile.
The white flag had been taken down, folded neatly, and laid upon Llewelyn's pillow. "Does that mean," he asked, "that you reject my offer of a truce?"
"No, my lord husband. It means that you've no need of a truce, for I would make an unconditional surrender."
"Without even knowing my terms? How very brave of you," he said, and they both laughed, moved into each other's arms. When they turned toward the settle, they discovered, though, that Hiraeth had already anticipated them, and was comfortably curled up on the cushions, regarding them with regal forbearance, a queen deigning to share

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j,er domain. "Never doubt that I love you," Llewelyn said wryly, "for Only a man hopelessly smitten would put up with that beast of yours, tfovv ... I have a suggestion, Ellen. If the Truce of God can forbid shedding of blood on holy days or in the Lord's House, why can we not consecrate our marriage bed, too, as a place where no quarreling shall be permitted?"
Ellen laughed, agreed that henceforth the boundaries of their bed would be as hallowed as the church threshold, and they sealed their pact with a kiss. "I
wanted to make a proper, formal surrender," she confided, "but as a woman, I
was at a distinct disadvantage, having no sword to offer up to you, my lord."
To her amusement, he gallantly promised her free use of his sword, and she agreed, with mock gravity, to accept his offer that very night. But as much as she delighted in their erotic banter, she felt that she owed him a genuine apology, one she tendered now in all sincerity, for it was a wife's duty to keep harmony in the home.
"My ill temper was even more inexcusable," she said, "for I well knew why you were so testy these past few days. Is the tooth any better, my lovethe truth now?"
"Much better," he said, so emphatically that she knew he lied, and decided to ask Edwyn for feverfew, since the cloves did not seem to be helping.
Dislodging Hiraeth, she insisted that he stretch out upon the settle and pillow his head in her lap, all the while marveling that a man so conversant with the perils of the battlefield would yet go to such stubborn lengths to avoid having a tooth pulled.
"Just lie back," she coaxed. "The world will not come to an end because you take your ease for a brief while." She stroked his hair, gently caressing his temples, a smile hovering about her mouth, for their jesting about swords had triggered an old memory.
"My parents quarreled far more frequently than we do/' she said, "but it never seemed to poison the pleasure they took in each other . . . mayhap because they both thrived upon chaos! I remember °ne quarrel in particular, when I was eleven. My father had broken his leg in a fall from his horse, and it could not have happened at a worse tone, for he'd been about to sail for France, where the French King had agreed to mediate his dispute with the English
Crown. Instead of arguing his cause in Paris, he found himself bed-ridden at
Kenilworth Castle, i" a truly vile temper. On the day in memory, he'd had a blazing row ^th my mother, and she'd stalked out, leaving him to lie alone in bed ^d fume. When I came into the bedchamber, he demanded to know why his squire had not answered his summons, and I explained that fte rest of the household were loath to face him when he was in such

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a foul mood. He seemed surprised, asked if he was such a bad patient and was quite taken aback when I told him he'd been a truly dreadful patient so far!"
Ellen laughed softly, and Llewelyn reached up, traced the curve of her cheek.
"You were not afraid to be so plain-spoken, cariad?"
"Afraidof my father?" Ellen laughed again, this time incredulously. "Not ever!
He was always gentle with me, more than I doubtless deserved, for looking back, I can see I was more indulged than I ought to have been. My brothers, too. Papa demanded so much of all others, especially himself, and not enough of us. But to return to Kenilworth Castle, he said that I'd convinced him that he'd best make amends with Mama, and he needed my help. He sent me back to the great hall, Llewelyn, proudly bearing his battle sword to surrender to my mother!"
This was a pastime they both enjoyed, swapping memories of the yesterdays they'd not shared, for their marriage was still new enough that they had much to learn about each other. Ellen in particular liked reliving her past and delving into his, although it saddened her to discover that her childhood had been so much happier than his. The de Montfort family's binding cords had been hammered out of finely tempered steel, like the best swords almost impossible to break, but Llewelyn could not recall a time when his family had not been torn asunder by conflicting loyalties, by the estrangement between his father and grandfather. Ellen found it a little easier to understand the puzzling, often inexplicable contradictions in his troubled relationship with Davydd after getting glimpses into her husband's storm-buffeted boyhood. And the more she learned, the more she yearned to give him children.
"They are all too rare," she said regretfully, "our quiet moments together like this," and indeed, the words were no sooner out of her mouth than her sentence was punctuated by a discreet knock. Llewelyn gave Ellen a rueful look, shrugged, and within moments was gone, hastening back to the great hall to receive a courier from the English King.
By now, Ellen was accustomed to such abrupt disappearances. Fetching her sewing from the window-seat, she resumed working upon the altar cloth. But
Eluned and Juliana soon entered, and she put i' aside for more secular concernsmaking herself ready to preside wi"1 Llewelyn over the evening's meal.
She would not normally have changed clothes, for they entertained no guests at
Aber that night. Bu' her reconciliation with her husband still had a final act to be played out later, in the privacy of their newly sanctified marriage bed, and she wanted to look as pleasing as possible for him.

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With her ladies' help, she donned a softly draped gown of emerald silk, Llewelyn's favorite shade, and over it, a pale green surcote. y\j. though the
Church constantly preached against the use of cosmetics earnestly deplored the sin of vanity, Ellen found herself squarely on the side of majority opinion, that there was nothing wrong in seeking to enhance God's gifts, which she proceeded to do with powder, lip rouge, perfume, and a mouthwash of honey and myrrh. She was already anticipating her private time alone with Llewelyn much later that night, and as she turned away from her mirror, she laughed suddenly, remembering Amaury's skepticism about bonfires and beds, thinking that a priest, even a priest as clever as Amaury, could not hope to understand the bond that could be forged between a man and a woman, if they truly committed themselves to their marriage vows, if they were reasonable in their expectationsand if they were very lucky.
Ellen's high spirits lasted as long as it took her to cross the bailey and enter the great hall. Even before she reached the dais, the silence in the hall had alerted her that something was very wrong. The King's courier was nowhere in sight, but Llewelyn held in his hand a parchment bearing the royal seal of the English Crown. "Here," he said, as Ellen drew near. "Edward's commission has issued its findings about Arwystli."
There was not yet need for torches; the light lingered well into the evening hours during Welsh summers. Ellen took the writ, read that the royal commission had determined by inquest which laws and customs had been recognized in the reigns of Edward's predecessors, and by these laws, so would justice be rendered unto the Prince of Wales. Ellen had grown up at court, was familiar with the deliberate ambiguities of diplomatic jargon. But even by those lax standards of clarity, this document was hopelessly obscure, so cryptic as to seem incomprehensible to her. "What exactly does this mean, Llewelyn?"
"It means," he said tersely, "that we'll not be using Welsh law," and when his suspicions would later be proved correct, there was no surprise; by then, she had concluded, as he had done, that Edward would have no need for such deceptive equivocation if he meant to adhere to the Treaty, to let Welsh law control. Now, though, she could °nly look up into her husband's face in dismay, seeing a man standing at the cliff's edge.
NINE days after the findings of Edward's commission were published, ^ court ruled that Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn's suit against Roger de Mortimer must be decided by Welsh law, as the lands in issue were s'tuated in Wales.

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27
HAFOD-Y-LLAN, NANHWYNAIN, WALES
September 1281
LLEWELYN often stayed at Nanhwynain, the largest of Aberconwy's abbey granges, for its twelve thousand alpine acres encompassed some of the most scenic vistas in all of Gwynedd. From the open window, he could see the mountains he so loved, Eryri's awesome "Haunt of Eagles." Stars had begun to glimmer through the twilight, and he could hear the distant baaing of the sure-footed sheep that were the grange's greatest resource. It was a peaceful, pastoral scene, but for once he was blind to the beauty of his homeland, so preoccupied was he with political strategy and statecraft, so intent upon his next move in his high-stakes chess game with England's King.
Turning from the window, he said, "I wanted to speak with you both ere the council meets, to let you know what I shall propose to them. I have attempted to abide by the English King's treaty, and what has it gotten me but mockery and insults? For a Welshman seeking justice, the least likely place to look must be in an English court. He'd have better luck hunting virgins in the bawdy-houses of the Southwark stews, tracking fabled beasts like the centaurs of ancient Greece, or the monster that is said to lurk in a lake on Cader
Idris."
Dai smiled at that, and Goronwy laughed outright, but their amusement was grim; these days, most humor in Wales had sharp edges. Llewelyn took a swallow of cider, regarding them intently as he drank"We have," he said, "been playing a game in which Edward provides the dice, keeps score, makes up the rules as he goes along, and has the power to cry 'forfeit' should he somehow lose.
Well, I think it is time to teach him about Welsh games of chance. I mean to invite a new player into the game."
Dai and Goronwy exchanged speculative glances. But Goronwy ^as, as always, too impatient to wait, and blurted out, "A Marcher lord?"
Llewelyn smiled. "Yes," he said, "what better place to look for an ally than in the Marches? That stratagem served my grandfather well, for never did his power burn so bright as in those years after he'd allied himself with the Earl of Chester. Only time will tell if it works as well for me, but it is the only trail still open."
Both Dai and Goronwy were nodding appreciatively, offering Llewelyn a foretaste of the approval he expected to get from his council. "Who, my lord?
The Earl of Gloucester?" The guess was Goronwy's, and it was a shrewd one, for
Llewelyn and Gloucester had been allied together once before. But Llewelyn, still smiling, shook his head.
"No," he said, "not Gloucester. My cousin, Roger de Mortimer."
They looked startled, then dubious. "None would deny that Gloucester is about as affable as a cornered badger," Dai said slowly, "but he does have a few scruples. Whereas de Mortimer would cut his own grandmother's throat if you made it worth his while."
Llewelyn didn't dispute it. "Fortunately for me," he said dryly, "I am not the man's grandmother. If we begin to tally up all his flaws of character, we'll still be talking come Judgment Day. But he has certain attributes that make him an ideal ally for my purposes. He is clever, ambitious, ruthless, and"Llewelyn paused"Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn's neighbor."
DAI had gone, Goronwy still lingered. Dai had seen the advantages of
Llewelyn's scheme, but he'd seen the dangers, too. If Goronwy did, he must have dismissed them as negligible, for his imagination was soaring, unencumbered by any earthly tethers. His zestful enthusiasm was contagious, appealing, a very likable aspect of his personality. But it was also why
Llewelyn had chosen Dai as his Seneschal. Goronwy's opinions were always interesting, often amusing, occasionally ingenious, but never objective, never balanced. Now his partisan passion was at full flame, so pleased was he that