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

without emotion. Joanna could read nothing in them, not even recognition- Although she and her father were only some ten feet apart, it sudjgnly seemed to Joanna that the distance was widening with each silent second that passed. And thenJohn had turned away, was walking rapidly toward the abbey, not looking back.Joanna watched, and there was a part of her that wanted nothing so much as to run after him, to try to make things right. But she did not uiove; she could not.She looked so desolate, so achingly vulnerable, that Llewelyn put his arm around her shoulders. She had, he thought, burned more than a bed this time;she had burned a bridge.He said nothing, but Joanna knew it, too. "He'll never forgive me," she said softly, "never."IT was dusk before John summoned Llewelyn to the monks' frater. He watched as the Welsh entered the dining hall, waited until Llewelyn and Joanna approached the dais, and then said cuttingly, "A woman has no place in the council chamber. Have your wife await you outside."Joanna flushed, and John discovered that hurting her did nothing to ease his own hurt. She curtsied, looked first at her father and then at her husband, and John was swept with rage when Llewelyn nodded, as if he had the right to confirm a royal command. He saw now that the younger man had not washed away the dried blood on his throat, knew that was no less deliberately done than his own refusal to see Llewelyn for more than six hours, and at that moment there was nothing he would not have given to revoke Llewelyn's reprievesave only the life of his brother.The hall was crowded. John was flanked by the Earls of Chester and Pembroke, was accepting a wine cup from his cousin, William de Warenr>e/ Earl of Surrey.Llewelyn recognized most of the Normans gathered around the dais. Eustace deVesci looked, as ever, like a man nursing a Perpetual toothache. Beside him stood his cousin Robert Fitz Walter, nose friendship with de Vesci was mystifying to those who knew them est' for Fitz Walter was a swaggering, jovial prankster and braggart, er'y unlike the aloof, sardonic de Vesci. FitzWalter, whose estates , re primarily in Essex, looked no happier than de Vesci to be emoiled in John's vendetta against a Welsh Prince. But Llewelyn notedCjat even the Marcher lords, like the Earl of Hereford and Richard de ^ e' did not appear to be savoring John's triumph. To Llewelyn, that^arnatic and intriguing evidence of the growing estrangement be-

346tween John and his barons, that they could take no pleasure in any vic. tory that strengthened the crown.With a start, Llewelyn realized what he was doing, standing midst the burning embers of a charred ruin and envisioning it resurrected from the ashes and rubble, no less ambitious in design, far more impregnable to attack. It was heartening to discover that he had not yet lost all hope, even now as he braced himself for what was to come, for the price he would have to pay forJohn's truce. He knew, just as John did, that it was not a peace.John wasted no time. "I expect to be compensated in full for the cost of this campaign. But I am not vindictive. Since I know what a poor, wretched countryWales is, how limited your resources are, I am willing to take payment in livestock. I shall want some of your best horses, hawks, and hunting dogs for my own use, will let you know how many. But you are to pay tribute to theEnglish crown in cattletwenty thousand head.""Christ!" Llewelyn was staggered. "You do not understand how dependent we are on cattle. If you reduce our herds by twenty thousand, my people will starve!""You're the one who does not understand. You're not here to argue, to negotiate. You're here to listen whilst I tell you what I want from you. And what I want are cattle . . . and land. All of Gwynedd west of the River Conwy, the four cantrefs you call the Perfeddwlad."With one stroke he'd just cut Gwynedd in two, gained half of North Wales for the English crown. Llewelyn stared at him, saying nothing, taking what meagre consolation he could from a grim resolve, that claiming the Perfeddwlad would be easier than holding onto it.It was not difficult for John to guess the tenor of his thoughts, for he'd made no effort to dissemble, and everything about him, from his stance to the set of his mouth, spoke of silent defiance. More than ever, John regretted what he'd done for love of his daughter. But he had one great advantage over most men, a lesson learned at bitter cost during those years he'd dwelt in the shadow of a brother he hated, in the shadow of the crown. He knew how to wait."Whatever my other faults, naivete is not amongst them. I know, of course, that you cannot be trusted out of my sight, that an oath of honor means no more to a Welshman than it would to an infidel Saracen. Therefore, I shall have to take measures to make sure you keep faithwant thirty hostages as pledges for your fidelity to the crown. They a^ to be wellborn, the sons of your Welsh lords, scions of noble Houses.Llewelyn knew it was a common Norman custom to take hostage5' knew John had in custody not only the daughters of the Scottish Kin& but the sons of those of his own lords who'd fallen into disfavor. Eve

r347the powerful and respected Earl of Pembroke had been forced to yie tvvo of his sons to allay John's feverish suspicions. But knowing th did nothing to easeLlewelyn's sense of outrage. "As you will," he sa tersely/ not trusting himself to say more."You are to select them, to take upon yourself the responsibility fi their fate. But of the thirty, one must be your son Gruffydd."Llewelyn's head came up sharply. "No1."There was a sudden, tense silence.