Here Be Dragons - 1 by Sharon Penman (best inspirational books txt) 📕

326r327"You are wrong, Llewelyn, so very wrong." Joanna brushed away tears with the back of her hand. "You do not know him as I do. Why will you not believe me?Why will you not at least try to allay my father's fears? You know he is of a mistrustful nature, know how quick he is to suspect the worst. He has never truly trusted you after you defied him and seized Powys, we both know that.And now, when he learns that you gave shelter to an enemy like William deBraose""You do not understand at all, do you, Joanna? You still do not see. This is my land, the land of my father and his father before him and his father before him. I am of the House of Cunedda, who ruled in Gwynedd in the fifth century after the birth of the Lord Jesus Christ. Can your Norman kings trace their ancestry back seven hundred years? I think not, yet they dare to sneer at our customs, to mock our heritage and our language."I am Welsh, Joanna, and even now you cannot comprehend what that means.Normandy, Anjou, Englandit is all the same to you of Norman birth. Your people have dwelt in England for over a hundred years, yet you do not think of yourselves as English. You do not sicken when uprooted or exiled, you do not recognize the kinship of the tribe, which goes beyond the cenedl, the kinship of blood. You know nothing of hiraeth. And you will never understand what Ifeel when I see Norman castles guarding Welsh mountain passes, when I hearFrench spoken instead of Welsh in the valley of the Rhondda, knowing French might one day be heard in the valleys of Gwynedd, too."Joanna had listened in stricken silence. Their most heated quarrels had not frightened her so much. Not since the first days of her marriage had she felt as she did now, as an alien in a world that would never make her welcome, that she could never understand."You are right, Llewelyn," she said softly, wretchedly. "I do not understand.I would to God I could, but I do not. I love you, though. Does that count for nothing?""I know you love me, Joanna. But you believe your father is in the right and Iam in the wrong, believe all would be well if only I'd act as a proper vassal, submit myself unto the King's will."She could not deny it, and that frightened her all the more. How much strain could a marriage absorb, how many quarrels before the foundation cracked, split beyond repair?"I know that of a sudden we seem to be arguing all the time, and I hate it, Ido. I will not lie to you. There have been times this summer when I have not liked you very much. But I never stop loving you/ Llewelyn, no matter how angry I get. You must believe that." She paused for breath, forced herself to ask. "You . . . you do still love me."Ah, Joanna, how young you still are . . ." He crossed the charnber' stopped before her. "When I married you, you were an appealing, c°u'rageous child. You've grown into a beautiful, courageous woman, and I have learned to love you, breila. But""No," she entreated, reaching up and laying her fingers against his mouth."You say you do love me. Let's stop with that, let's not talk any more .please. Love me, Llewelyn. Make me forget all but you."He tilted her face up, kissed her, gently at first, and then he lifted her in his arms, carried her to the bed, where he did make her forget. . . for a rime.WHEN William de Braose, under escort, entered the solar of the King's castle at Bristol, he felt no surprise at sight of so many highborn witnesses: theEarls of Salisbury, Derby, Surrey, and Chester, Eustace de Vesci and GeoffreyFitz Peter, John's Justiciar. De Braose understood all too well. There was no longer need for caution, no longer need to fear betrayal, not with de Braose's wife, son, and grandsons under close guard in this very castle.De Braose was actually glad of an audience. Derby and Chester had intervened

on his behalf, had persuaded John to issue a safe-conduct, and de Braose thought John would be more likely to honor it in the blaze of full noon. He knelt, said, "I have come to beg my King's pardon, to ask what I must do to make amends, to regain your trust.""Indeed? Shall I tell you how to mend a broken trust? Pluck the feathers from a goose, scatter them to the four winds. Then gather them all up, each and every one, and put them back on the goose. It is as easy as that."John had won triumph after triumph during his two months in Ireland, had scattered his enemies, brought the ever-rebellious Irish barons to heel, hadMaude in his hands and her husband on his knees. But he did not look like a man savoring his victories; he looked drawn and tired, almost haggard, and deBraose could take no comfort from what he read in those narrowed hazel eyes."I have offended you, and for that I am well and truly sorry. But I am loyal to you, my liege, would never betray you. Let me prove myself. Set for me a task, I'll not fail you." De Braose sought to slow his breathmg, added very softly, "Christ, John, it never had to come to this, I swear it."John's favorite falcon was perched upon his left arm, talons digging lnto the padded leather wrist-guard. It was unhooded, made harsh, gut^tfal sounds low in its throat, and John stroked the sleek feathers with a gloved hand, spoke softly and soothingly until it quieted. "My lords of Chester and Derby, amongst others, have urged me to show mercy. I °uld not want it said that Iwas arbitrary, unjust. Mayhap we can yet

318reach an accord. If you