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

said nothing. If he was moved, like Step" ' by pity, it did not show in his face. Pembroke walked toward him/s"Some of those Welsh hostages are just lads, have not yet reached manhood. My lord, I ask you not to do this. Do not take your vengeance Up0n the innocent.""You'd do better to tell that to Llewelyn ab lorwerth," John said coldly-"He's the one who chose to gamble with the innocent, not I. If his son's life means so little to him, why should it mean more to me? No, jny lord Pembroke, he set the stakes for this wager. I'm merely collecting what's due me."Will had been listening in appalled silence. He'd known this war would be a brutal one, but the cold-blooded killing of helpless hostages, many of them youngsters, far exceeded his worst expectations."John, I beg you . . .""Do not, Will. Do not."Their eyes locked, held until Will could bear it no longer, had to look away."At least," he mumbled, knowing how ineffectual his protest was and despising himself for it, "at least spare Llewelyn's son . . . for Joanna's sake. If you murder the boy, Llewelyn will be bound to blame her. Do not do that to her, John.""It matters little whether Llewelyn blames her or not. He'll be dead ere the

summer is out."Richard waited to see if Will would argue further. When Will did not, shoulders slumping in demoralized defeat, eyes averted from that which he'd fought a lifetime against acknowledging, Richard realized that Will's moment of truth was his, too. His every instinct told him to keep silent, to distance himself as he'd always done, even as he moved toward his father."I think it could work to your advantage to spare Gruffydd, Papa," he said softly. "Llewelyn would be half crazed with fear for the boy. You could make use of that fear, hold it over his head like the sword of Damocles. To have leverage like that over an enemy ..."He saw John's eyes narrow and he dared to hope he'd hit upon the one argument that might stay his father's hand."There is much in what you say, Richard," John conceded, "and I'd agree with youbut for one thing. Llewelyn ab lorwerth is a dead man, ar|d there is no need to seek leverage over the dead."John glanced about the hall, saw that no one else meant to speak. "I ant it done this forenoon," he said. "The sooner they die, the sooner Word of their deaths will reach Llewelyn."f lrst one to suffer from Llewelyn's rebellion had been his son. Gruf-tos status had been changed overnight from that of highborn hostagePrisoner of state. As yet, he was not being abused, and his confine-

372ment was in castle chambers, not the dark, airless dungeons that fille(j him with such fear. But his days and nights were passed under guard and he was finding it harder and harder to keep at bay his most persistent enemies:boredom and loneliness.Soon after their arrival at Nottingham, he had been escorted to the uppermost chamber in the Black Tower, and then left alone. The room was sparsely furnished, containing only a bed, trestle table, bench, and chamber pot. He wandered about rather aimlessly for several moments indulging in the fantasy that occupied most of his waking hours, thoughts of escape. A pity the window was not large enough to squeeze through; mayhap he could have knotted the bedsheets, lowered himself down into the bailey once dark came. He never passed a church now without thinking of sanctuary, never picked up an eating knife without evaluating it as a weapon.His meal had already been laid out for him; there was a glazed clay flagon brimming with ale, a round, flat loaf of bread marked with a cross, a chunk of goat's cheese, and a baked pigeon pie. Gruffydd would have liked to believe that his friends were eating as well as he, but he had no way of knowing. In these six weeks of his captivity, his isolation had been complete.He was reaching for the clay flagon when the door opened. At sight of the three men, Gruffydd stiffened. It may have been the way they moved toward him, hands on sword hilts, saying nothing. It may have been the rope coiled from one man's belt. Or it may have been a more subtle indicator, an inborn sense of sudden danger. Gruffydd did not pause to puzzle it out; his reaction was as instinctive as it was immediate. He got to his feet, and as the first guard approached the table, he swung the flagon in a wide, deadly arc. It shattered against the man's face; he screamed and staggered backwards.They had not been expecting resistance, and that gave Gruffydd a momentary advantage. He overturned the table onto the second man, dived for the doorway.Had the third guard been slightly slower in his reflexes, he would have made it. But the man was cat-quick; slamming the door, he flung himself atGruffydd.He at once regretted it, for he could match neither Gruffydd s strength nor his desperation, and he found himself in a savage, noholds-barred brawl in which he was getting much the worst of it. Unable to unsheath his sword, he soon stopped trying to keep Gruffydd fr° reaching the door and concerned himself only with keeping Grufryo from killing him.After what seemed a lifetime to him, his comrade untangled him5 from the wreckage of the table, came to his aid. Even then, it took two of them to subdue Gruffydd, and the struggle ended only when

373anaged to draw his sword, put the blade against Gruffydd's throat, d snarl, "Give me an excuse, go on, just blink1"They forced Gruffydd to kneel, jerked his arms behind his back, began to bind his wrists tightly together, cuffing him about the head and shoulders when he resistedThe third man had taken no part in the fight, was slumped, moanine, against the wall But now he stumbled to his