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

of army encampments, one in which there were neither willing harlots nor unwilling captives.They were watching Joanna with avid interest, but warily, too, for her gown was a finely woven wool, her veil a gossamer silk. She could hear them murmuring among themselves, speculating whether she was a "Crogin," a contemptuous slang term for the Welsh; that would, she realized, have made her fair game. At last one of the men rose, sauntered toward her. "What can I do for you?" he asked, and while the words themselves were innocent enough, both his smile and his tone Were slyly suggestive.'TMothing whatsoever," Joanna snapped. Although he was already acking away, warned off by the jeweled rings adorning her fingers, she cled maliciously, "But I shall tell my father the King of your concern,"" had the dubious satisfaction of seeing him blanch. The men could have retreated any faster had she revealed herself to be a witch;

336r337within moments she was all alone on the walkway, filled with a rage as unfocused as it was impotent, that what should now matter most m Llewelyn's own realm was not that she was his wife, but that she was John's daughter.A man was emerging from the monks' frater. He came to an abrupt halt at sight of Joanna, then limped toward her. She was no less surprised to see him. For several years, Hugh Corbet had been suffering from the disease known as the"joint evil," and his health was no longer up to the rigors of a military campaign."You've come on Llewelyn's behalf?" he asked, and she nodded."Yes. And you?""At the King's command."Joanna felt a chill. How would she ever get her father to listen if he was as vengeful as that, enough to make Llewelyn's ailing stepfather an unwilling witness to his downfall?"Joanna . . . when you see the King, weigh your words with care He is in a foul temper this morn. He got word, you see, that William de Braose has been stricken with a mortal sickness. It's said he's sure to die."Joanna's eyebrows rose. "I'd have thought my father would be gladdened by news like that!""I expect he was. But he was not so glad to hear that Stephen Langton was at de Braose's deathbed, that he means to officiate at de Braose's funeral.""Good God, no wonder Papa was wroth!""With cause," Hugh conceded. "It is Langton's way of spiting the King, of course. For all that the Pope has anointed him as Archbishop of Canterbury, he dares not set foot on English soil. But de Braose was formally outlawed, declared a traitor to the crown. It's not fitting for Langton to pay such honor to a rebel.""It may not be proper, but it certainly is political!" Joanna shook her head, bemused. "I wonder if my father will release Maude de Braose once her husband is dead. I'd think he Hugh? Whatever ails you?""I thought you knew. Maude de Braose is dead." Hugh hesitated, no longer metJoanna's eyes. "She . . . died in prison.""No, I did not know." Joanna frowned. "Strange that Llewelyn never mentioned it. Surely he must have heard." But then she forgot all about Maude de Braose and her dying husband, even forgot abou Hugh, for a familiar figure was coming down the north walkway. Gatn~ ering up her skirts, she ran to meet her brother."Thank God, Richard! I prayed you'd be here. Papa . . . he wl see me?""Did you ever doubt it?" Richard had his mother's pale blue ey see mer ften remote, not easily read; she saw in them now only pity. "He sent e to fetch you, awaits you in the small parlour next to the Chapter House.""Richard . . . tell me the truth. Do you think he'll heed me?" "Ah, Joanna..." But as reluctant as he was to answer, when he did, it was with uncompromising honesty. "No, I do not.",0nN did not say anything, merely held out his arms, and for a few brief nioments Joanna tried to take refuge in memories, sought to find again m her father's embrace the protected peace of childhood."I've been so frightened, Papa," she confessed, finding it as easy as that to revert back to the role decreed for her so long ago at Rouen. John, too, seemed reluctant to let go of the past, speaking softly and soothingly as if hers were still childhood hurts, of no greater moment than scraped knees or a lost doll, hurts to be healed with smiles and the promises of sweets."I know, lass. But all will yet be well for you. I'll make it so, I swear.Come now, seat yourself at the table. I've food set out for you; you can eat as we talk."Joanna did as he bade, watched as he acted as cupbearer for them both, but not

for Richard or Will. She had no appetite, though, merely toyed with the bread and cheese put before her. John took a seat facing her, said, "You've been much on my mind, Joanna. I'd not have you suffer for sins not yours, think Ihave found a way to make certain you do not. Tell me of your son, of David.It's lucky, in truth, that he's too voung to understand what's been happening.""I would that were so, Papa. But Davydd now wakes in the night whimpering, has begun to talk about creatures lurking out in the dark, hiding under the bed.And Elen, too, senses something is amiss. She has""When will he be three . . . November? And the age of majority am°ngst theWelsh is fourteen, no? Of course, he'd need guidance and c°unsel long after that, would need"'Papa, what are you saying?"'I am saying, sweetheart, that you need not worry, that I mean to fotect your son's inheritance. I shall have to take much of Gwynedd n«er the control of the crown, but I'll leave David a fair share, that I°mise." He leaned across the table, with a smile of familiar, fond nri, the smile that invariably