The Reckoning - 3 (71 page)

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sinc^e ^ ^once Candlemas. That seemed more than odd. Call it a sixth sense if you ^ ^^*-u:*u will' but 't *s one l've come to trust. Still, though, I had nothing but s~^ f *2t suspicions . . . until today."
' > "I was right, then, about that man?"
' v "Yes. He brought me a right strange story, gotten from a cousin dee-j? ^^^^r'^^P in his cups. Mayhap it was the mead talking, mayhap not. But the man rv- ^ rdsn was boasting that he knew a valuable secret, one that the
English wox-oUtf-^,-^*-*011^ pay well to hear, that plans were being laid to steal lead from the K^ ^zf se King'8 mine at Flynt."
H; Ellen understood the significance of that at once, for dinner-table talk_ j^j .--^c-jLJk in the de Montfort household had focused more often than not upon sieg^esjw ^^^-ges, wars, and weaponry. "Lead for mangonels and trebuchets," she saica, vfT ~^*^*i&, and Llewelyn nodded. "Did this braggart reveal who was planning the t5j ^~ se theft?"
-» "Indeed, he did," Llewelyn said, with a twisted, mirthless smile. "Me."
- "What? I do not understand!"
- "Neither did I, lass ... at first. But what better way to reassure womolij,^.^-crould-be rebels than to make the rising mine? The irony of it is that is wh~y yr_*^-»-^'riy our good Samaritan rode for Llanfaes in such haste, to warn me tha-t }~_^*st mY plans were being put in peril by his cousin's bragging. Did I me:«^*nt=.^^r:«*ntion yet that this cousin is a man of Powys, having lived all his life in fclufy t* the commote of Maelor
Cymraeg?"
~ Ellen gasped. "Llewelyn Fychan's lands," she said, and again he nodak^-^c^a'dded grimly. "I remember you telling me that he was one of the lords mo> s»«r^ ^>scast stubbornly set upon war. But would he dare to defy you, Llewelyn? Wc^tmj^-^c^ oould he dare to make use of your name like this?"
"Not if left to his own devices. He does not lack for courage, but neL-tt~tj;.__=s*-i*t"ither is he a man to seize the moment. If he truly is laying plans for a reti^ .f ^a-rebellion against the English Crown, we can be sure he is following, not H
Jc^»1
not H },-?* *»t leading."
"Who, then? Rhys Wyndod?"
"He is a more likely suspect than Llewelyn Fychan. But I do not thi^olft,_-»i3^*nk ne'cl dare to defy me like this, either, not after our
December me^-«*93 ^oseting at Dolwyddelan." He looked at her somberly, the strain and exii^fk^J-vrfhaustion showing clearly now in his face. "In truth, Ellen, I can think of ^m

^^ ^^ only one man wno would."
Ellen swallowed. Jesus God. "Your brother?" "Who else? I found myself remembering something at dinner tonij^lwk- 4«iSnt- MY cousin of Powys was one of the first Welsh lords to surrender to -tH} .y ** the English Crown, within weeks after Edward declared war upon us_ O ^, . . Can you guess who accepted his surrender, who most likely talked him nj^jx-an into it?"
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"Davydd," Ellen whispered. Dear God Above, no, not now sudden pallor alarmed
Llewelyn. He reached out swiftly, drew he his arms.
"You must not be afraid, cariad. If these are indeed straws i ^rjnd, I'll soon know for certes. I've already taken measures to deal this, have summoned Madog
Goch to Llanfaes, and sent men tc out more about that theft at the Flynt mine.
If need be, I'll con Davydd with my suspicions, too. I cannot do that yet, beloved without proof that he is the cat amongst the pigeons. But this I s to you, that if something is afoot, I'll put a stop to it. I'll not le man put at risk what I've worked all my life to protect. And I'll I harm come to you or our son. I promise you that, Ellen," he said kissed her gently upon the mouth.
"Now I want you to make a prc in return, that you'll put this from your mind,

that you'll not let peace be poisoned by shadows and suspicions."
Ellen entwined her fingers in his. "I promise," she said, and smiled at each other, as if they did not know she lied.
30
LLANFAES, WALES
March 1282
DY midnight, the storm had spent its fury, last echoes of unseasonal thunder were dying away in the distance, the wind no longer banged relentlessly against creaking shutters or r°of shingles spiraling up into the black, cloud-choked sky. ( doaked the Welsh countryside, and soon, so did sleep.
But for Llewelyn, sleep was becoming harder and harder to c ^d then, to keep.
He'd dozed fitfully, jerking awake at every t derclap. Even after the storm passed over, he tossed and turned vely, unable to shut out the sounds ricocheting about in his head "istinctive inner voices that whispered of dire forebodings, that arj

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since Candlemas. That seemed more than odd. Call it a sixth sense if you will, but it is one I've come to trust. Still, though, I had nothing but suspicions
. . . until today."
"I was right, then, about that man?"
"Yes. He brought me a right strange story, gotten from a cousin deep in his cups. Mayhap it was the mead talking, mayhap not. But the man was boasting that he knew a valuable secret, one that the English would pay well to hear, that plans were being laid to steal lead from the King's mine at Flynt."
Ellen understood the significance of that at once, for dinner-table talk in the de Montfort household had focused more often than not upon sieges, wars, and weaponry. "Lead for mangonels and trebuchets," she said, and Llewelyn nodded. "Did this braggart reveal who was planning the theft?"
"Indeed, he did," Llewelyn said, with a twisted, mirthless smile. "Me."
"What? I do not understand!"
"Neither did I, lass ... at first. But what better way to reassure would-be rebels than to make the rising mine? The irony of it is that is why our good
Samaritan rode for Llanfaes in such haste, to warn me that my plans were being put in peril by his cousin's bragging. Did I mention yet that this cousin is a man of Powys, having lived all his life in the commote of Maelor Cymraeg?"
Ellen gasped. "Llewelyn Fychan's lands," she said, and again he nodded grimly.
"I remember you telling me that he was one of the lords most stubbornly set upon war. But would he dare to defy you, Llewelyn? Would he dare to make use of your name like this?"
"Not if left to his own devices. He does not lack for courage, but neither is he a man to seize the moment. If he truly is laying plans for a rebellion against the English Crown, we can be sure he is following, not leading."
"Who, then? Rhys Wyndod?"
"He is a more likely suspect than Llewelyn Fychan. But I do not think he'd dare to defy me like this, either, not after our December meeting at
Dolwyddelan." He looked at her somberly, the strain and exhaustion showing clearly now in his face. "In truth, Ellen, I can think of only one man who would."
Ellen swallowed. Jesus God. "Your brother?"
"Who else? I found myself remembering something at dinner tonight. My cousin of Powys was one of the first Welsh lords to surrender to the English Crown, within weeks after Edward declared war upon us. Can you guess who accepted his surrender, who most likely talked him into it?"

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"Davydd," Ellen whispered. Dear God Above, no, not now. Her sadden pallor alarmed Llewelyn. He reached out swiftly, drew her into his arms.
"You must not be afraid, cariad. If these are indeed straws in the vvjnd, I'll soon know for certes. I've already taken measures to deal with this, have summoned Madog Goch to Llanfaes, and sent men to find out more about that theft at the Flynt mine. If need be, I'll confront Pavydd with my suspicions, too. I cannot do that yet, beloved, not without proof that he is the cat amongst the pigeons. But this I swear to you, that if something is afoot, I'll put a stop to it. I'll not let any man put at risk what I've worked all my life to protect. And I'll let no harm come to you or our son. I promise you that, Ellen," he said, and Idssed her gently upon the mouth. "Now I want you to make a promise in return, that you'll put this from your mind, that you'll not let your peace be poisoned by shadows and suspicions."
Ellen entwined her fingers in his. "I promise," she said, and they smiled at each other, as if they did not know she lied.
30
LLANFAES, WALES
March 1282
DY midnight, the storm had spent its fury. The last echoes of unseasonal thunder were dying away in the distance, and the wind no longer banged relentlessly against creaking shutters or sent r°of shingles spiraling up into the black, cloud-choked sky. Quiet doaked the Welsh countryside, and soon, so did sleep.
But for Llewelyn, sleep was becoming harder and harder to catch, and then, to keep. He'd dozed fitfully, jerking awake at every thunderclap. Even after the storm passed over, he tossed and turned res"Vefy, unable to shut out the sounds ricocheting about in his head, the instinctive inner voices that whispered of dire forebodings, that argued

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f for action. Dawn was still three hours away when he made the decision to yield to them.
It had been two days since he'd learned of the planned theft at the Flynt mine. Two days since he'd sent for his constable, Madog Goch. But he could wait no longer; already his nerves were stretched as taut as a hide staked out for scraping. Madog Goch was not the only key to this puzzle. Llewelyn Fychan would also have the answers he sought, and he meant to have them with no more delay. He had no doubts whatsoever that in any clash of wills with his cousin, he would prevail.
If only it were not a holy day, he'd leave at first light. But this dawning
Sunday was one of the most sacred on the Church calendar. Yew and willow would be blessed in lieu of palm, and triumphantly borne round churchyards throughout England and Wales, and the rood, veiled during this bleak season of penitence and self-denial, would be revealed for the eyes of the faithful, from morning Mass till evensong. Lent was at last ending. Holy Week was upon them, and the time for rejoicing was nigh. No, he could not ride out on Palm
Sunday, for then Ellen would know how truly troubled he was.
He shifted so he could see his wife's face. Her breathing was even, peaceful;
he could only hope that so were her dreams. Carefully lifting the corner of the sheet, he let his eyes wander over her body, lingering upon her swollen belly. As he watched, he saw the skin ripple, like the surface of a pond, and he smiled, thinking Bran was wakeful, too, this night. The wonder of it had yet to fade, that he could actually see his son moving within Ellen's womb.
He'd always assumed that intimacy was to be found in bed. But now he knew better. Naked bodies could entwine like ivy and oak without souls ever touching; he'd coupled with women whose names he could not even remember afterward. There could be no greater intimacy than this, watching as his wife grew large with child, nurturing within her body a life sprung from his seed.
How could men take such a marvel for granted? Why seek out miracles and yearn after holy relics when God's greatest blessing was bestowed so close to home?
Ellen stirred in her sleep and he drew the coverlets up over her shoulders, gently extricated her long night plait from under his arm. In past wars with the Crown, he'd feared defeat, not death. It had been easy enough to say "Thy
Will be done" when his life alone was at stake. But now the scales were out of balance, and he found himself haunted by the greatest dread of all, the fear of those who loved. If he died fighting the English King, what would befall his wife and son?
Eventually, though, his exhaustion muffled his internal voices, and he slept.
When he awoke again, the room was still dark, he'd lost all sense of time, and his name was being whispered in an urgent under-

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tone. Opening his eyes, he saw a worried face peering through the bed hangings.
"Goronwy ap Heilyn has just ridden in, my lord, insists upon seeing you straightaway"
"What time is it?"
"Very early, my lord, a good two hours yet till dawn. But he swore by all the saints that his news could not wait."
"Tell him," Llewelyn said softly, "that I'll meet him in the great hall after
I dress"
"Llewelyn." Ellen's hand slid along his arm. "I am awake," she said, "and I
would hear, too, what brought Goronwy to you at such an ill-omened hour ... if
I may?"
He was deceived neither by her quiet question nor her calm demeanor, could gauge in her eyes the depths of her fear. "Fetch Goronwy here," he said, and when Goronwy was ushered into the bedchamber, he dispelled the younger man's doubts with a brusque, "You may speak freely in front of my wife."
Goronwy was mantled in wet wool, unshaven, bleary-eyed. One glance at him was enough to confirm Llewelyn's suspicions, that he'd ridden all night to bring his "news that could not wait." He made a perfunctory obeisance, politely averted his gaze from his lord's lady, even though Ellen had the coverlets drawn up to her chin, and said, without any preamble whatsoever, "This past week your brother sought me out, swore me to secrecy, and then confided that he and your kinsmen in Powys and Ceredigion were soon to rise up against the
English King. He said he knew how raw my own grievances were, and he thought I
deserved a chance to throw my lot in with them."
"What did you tell him?"
"The truth, that my heart would be with them, but I could not break faith with my Prince." Goronwy was trembling with fatigue and cold, for although the rain had ended hours ago, he was soaked to the skin. Without waiting for Llewelyn's permission, he slumped down upon the closest stool. "For three days now, I've been at war with myself, and it was not until yesterday that I knew what I
must do. I never thought I'd be one for disavowing my sworn oath, but I came to understand that Id rather betray my honor than betray you, my lord."
"You've served Wales well this day," Llewelyn said, no more than that, but for a man chary of praise, sparing with accolades, it spoke volumes, and Goronwy flushed with pleasure. "This rising, ^oronwy . . . can you tell me when or where?"
"Alas, no, my lord. Only that Davydd said 'soon.' "
There was a bell-rope by the bed. Llewelyn grapsed it, yanked, and when a servant appeared, he gave terse instructions to rouse the cooks,

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bestir the men asleep in the hall, and saddle every horse in the stables After that, he sent Goronwy off to the hall under orders to eat a hearty breakfast and steal an hour^s sleep if he could. And then, he was once again alone with his wife.
They looked at each other in silence. Llewelyn covered her hand with his own.
"I'll put a stop to it," he said, in what was both a prayer and a promise, and
Ellen nodded somberly.
"My lord husband," she said, "go with God."
LLEWELYN delayed his departure just long enough to gather as many men to his banners as he could on such brief notice. He had, of course, his teulu, the men of his household guard, and those of his Seneschal, as well, for Dai was already at Llanfaes, having been summoned as soon as Llewelyn's first suspicions had begun to smolder. Goronwy, too, had brought an armed escort of his own, and as word spread, the island tenants of Llewelyn's desmesne manors hastened to buckle their scabbards, to saddle their horses. The friary church bells had not yet rung for Morrow Mass as Llewelyn spurred his stallion into the waters of the narrow, perilous strait that separated Mon from the Welsh mainland. They headed east at first, following the coast until they reached the Conwy estuary. Spurning the abbey ferry as too slow, they forded the river at Cymryd, then swung inland.
Goronwy guessed that they had at least thirty miles to cover, over roads still muddy in stretches. For a time, too, they were battling against a stiff headwind. But Llewelyn's unspoken urgency had communicated itself to his men, and every last one of them was determined to ride until he could no longer stay in the saddle. The miles and hours blurred behind them. By late afternoon, they had reached Davydd's lands in Rhufoniog, and the sky was still streaked with fading light as Dinbych Castle came into view.
Dinbych was a formidable presence, set upon a high hill, the chief jewel in
Davydd's crown. Smoke curled up from chimneys, lights flickered at the upper windows of the apsidal towers, and armed men patrolled the walkways of the outer curtain walls. Llewelyn exchanged grim looks with Dai and Goronwy, sharing the same thought, that this was a castle garrisoned for war. For a moment, he wondered if Davydd would dare to deny him entry. But he soon saw there was no need even to demand admittance, for the drawbridge was coming down, the barbican going up. Llewelyn swiftly divided his men, taking with him enough to discourage treachery, leaving some behind to bear witness as a further precaution. His banner was known on sight throughout Wales; he passed without challenge into the heart of his brother's citadel-
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As they strode into the great hall, they were greeted not by Davydd, though, but by his wife. Elizabeth seemed unnerved by their arrival, for her smile was brittle, her welcome overly effusive. The tension in the hall had affected her small son, too. Llelo had always struck Llewelyn as a cocky, inquisitive child. Yet now he hung back at their approach, shadowing his mother's footsteps, a little fist tightly entwined in the folds of her skirt.
"Elizabeth, I cannot afford the indulgence of good manners, not this day,"
Llewelyn said abruptly, cutting off her prolonged queries about Ellen's health. "I must speak with Davydd straightaway."
"He is not here, Llewelyn."
"Where is he?"
Elizabeth averted her eyes. She had no qualms about lying to a man she mistrusted, but she did not want to lie to Llewelyn, and her reluctance showed in her face. Llewelyn stepped forward, caught her hand in his. "Tell me where he is, Elizabeth. You must not lie to me, lass. There is far too much at stake for lies."
"So you know," she said softly. "And you are enraged. Davydd said you would be. But you must not think he was plotting against you, Llewelyn, not this time. He wants you at his side, God's truth, he does. He told me so, even