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

seen Joanna truly angry. He hesitated, then made a gesture of ismissal.The other men in the tent withdrew, leaving him alone with h* daughter.I did not betray you, Papa. Yes, I love my husband, but I am not st "If t0fee' Suilty about that, not anymore." Joanna drew several un"A, y "reaths;regaining some of her composure, she said more calmly, ' apa, do you not see? The human heart is not like a loaf of bread; if

352I give a large portion to Llewelyn, it does not follow that I must then giVe you a smaller slice. I love you both, in different ways. If I stood withLlewelyn on Sunday, it's not that my love for him was greater, but rather that his need was greater."John said nothing; she could not tell whether her words were reaching him or not. "Papa, you told me once that your mother and father had ever used you and your brothers as weapons against each other You said you could not please the one without first damning the other I'm asking youno, I'm begging you. Do not do to me what they did to you.""Joanna . . . that's not what I ever meant to do. Surely you know that?""What I know, Papa, is that I love you and I love Llewelyn, and the two of you are tearing me apart!"John flinched. "I never wanted that, lass," he said softly, "I sweat it."Joanna moved around the trestle table, moved into his arms. He hugged her close, then stepped back and smiled at her. "I think it a good thing I had sons. Daughters are much too resourceful at getting their own way, are much harder on the heart!"Joanna took her cue from him, did her best to echo his wry, teasing tone. "Ido not know about that, Papa. I'd wager most daughters are more docile and biddable than a man's scapegrace sons.""So would I, until this morn. In truth, Joanna, I never suspected you had such a temper!""I am your daughter, Eleanor of Aquitaine's granddaughter. Are you not the one always telling me that a pure-blood horse breeds true?"John laughed, and it was as if their estrangement were forgotten, as if all were as it had been. But as much as Joanna wanted to believe that, she knew it was not so, for either of them.As she followed John from the tent, Joanna discovered that the Welsh were waiting for her. Llewelyn was already astride his chestnut stallion. He watched as John escorted Joanna toward her mare, as they embraced and John helped her to mount. He raised his hand then, gave the signal to depart. ButJohn still retained his hold on Joanna's reins."Be sure," he said, "that you take care of my daughter.""Your Grace need not worry about my wife. You take care of my son."Joanna saw the look that burned between them; the very air seerne charged with static. She had no illusions left, knew their truce would n° last. There would be a reckoning. There would be another war, a there was nothing she could do, for both men wanted it so.

29CAMBRIDGE, ENGLANDMarch 1212JOHN rode into the riverside town known as Cantebrigge at dusk on Good Friday, settled himself and his court in the stone-and-timber castle built by William the Conqueror.Cantebrigge was a sprawling, unwalled town of some two thousand inhabitants, like most of the English towns Gruffydd had seen in the past seven months in that it had a marketplace, a leper hospital, a disproportionate number of stone churches, a Jewish ghetto called the Jewry, and a gallows, stocks, and pillory. But Cantebrigge was also home to a university with a large, raucous student population, in consequence of which it had more than its share of alehouses and bordellos.Passing through the town, Gruffydd's companions took enthused notice of the latter, began to make plans for a night of disreputable pleasures. As ever, it struck Gruffydd as strange indeed that in some ways he should have greater freedom as a hostage of the English King than as the son of Gwynedd's Prince.In Wales he'd been conscious at all times of his rank; as Llewelyn's firstborn son, he was accustomed to being the focal point of stares, the target of whispers. Unable to escape his identity, he could only do his best to live up to it, and his dread of being roade to look ridiculous had imposed upon him an unwilling chastity. He'd known there were women of easy virtue, women of the brake and bush who'd lay with a man for money. But each time he was tempted, he would begin to fear that he might not know what to do, that the w°man would laugh at his inexperience and, far worse, then tell everyne about his inept fumbling, his greenness.But once in England, he discovered that for the first time in his life, ^" W^C !»*-»* 1.1 i £ _ 1.1. !_ i. 1 1 _: -^l_ L i__11T*!-. ^ -- Jden was not the center of attention, not known by sight to all. The sud-anonymity was unsettling, but liberating, too. On a night in mid-

354November, he'd accompanied some of his fellow hostages to a Hereford bawdy house and had lost his virginity to a plump Saxon whore named Edwina, who smelled of sweat and garlic and charged him half a penny but called him "love"and put to rest any lingering doubts about his manhood.Now, when his friends Collen and Emlyn pressed him, he fell ln with their plans willingly enough. He was beginning to want more than hurried couplings on fetid, scratchy straw, to want a bedmate he did not have to buy. But he did not see much likelihood of his forming an attachment of the heart at theEnglish court, and if he could not ease his loneliness, his heartsick yearning for Wales, he could at least relieve his body's needs.It was