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

wine cups. His neck began to ache as he craned upward, searching for familiar faces. He could not find his mother, and he began to feel a suffocating sense of panic. He wanted to get away from the smoke and loud laughter, the bodies walling him in on all sides. He wanted his mother.But it was not Joanna that he found; it was Llewelyn. It had never occurred to him to seek out his father for comfort. He loved Llewelyn very much, but he was very much in awe of him, too. His need was now so great, though, that he could wait no longer. He had to know, and he edged his way forward until he could pull at the sleeve of his father's tunic.Llewelyn glanced down. "Should you not be abed, lad?" He was turning back to the adults encircling him, when his son tugged again at his arm."Papa? Papa, am I Welsh?" he said, and saw with relief that he'd succeeded in catching his father's full attention, for that was not always easy to do."Come with me," Llewelyn said, and led Davydd up the steps onto the dais, sat the boy down in his own seat. "Now," he said, "what would make you ask a question like that? Of course you are Welsh.""Is Mama Welsh?" Davydd asked, very low."No, lad. Your mother is of Norman-French descent.""Then . . . then I'm not Welsh," Davydd concluded despairingly, and Llewelyn swiftly shook his head."You are Welsh, Davydd. You are my son, and under our law, that makes youWelsh, as Welsh as anyone in this hall, me included."Llewelyn smiled at the boy, but Davydd ducked his head. He'd begun to pull at the embroidery decorating the seat cushion. "If Mama is Norman, I must be halfNorman.""That's right, you are. Welsh by law, and half Welsh and half Norman by blood.""But the Normans are your enemies, Papa.""Yes, some of them are. But not all. I have many English frien < Davydd, menI'd trust far more than I would a Welshman like Gwe^ wynwyn. To have Norman blood is no shame, lad. After all, you are ashamed of your mother. Surely you do not think less of her for Norman?" , gtgi"No! I love Mama more than anything. But ... but what o p na? Mama is Norman; what am I? If I'm not fully Welsh and fully Jorrnan, then I'm nothing!""Ah, Davydd, no. You could not be more wrong. Most people have nly one heritage. But you have two, your mother's and mine. That ves you more than my other sons, makes you doubly blessed."Davydd was silent for a time, plucking absently at the cushion threads. "I had not thought of it that way," he admitted. "But what of Math, Papa? If you mate him to a spaniel, the puppies will be curs."Llewelyn reached out, brushed the hair back from Davydd's eyes. He did not doubt now that Davydd was mouthing something he'd overheard; no six-year-old would ever have drawn such an analogy on his own. "You know that roan stallion of mine, the one I bought at Michaelmas? I got him in Powys, because they are celebrated for the fine horses they breed. Horses of Spanish stock, crossed with sturdy Welsh mares. Crossbreeding can bring out the best of two strains, Davydd. In horses .. and in men."Had he said what the boy needed to hear? He was not yet sure, for Davydd's was not an easy face to read. "We should have told you ere this. But your mother finds it painful to talk about her father, and so we kept waiting . . .""The English King is truly Mama's father?" Davydd had absorbed too many shocks this night for one more to have much impact. "He's a bad man, Papa."

"Yes, lad, he is. That's why it hurts your mother so.""I'm glad, then, that I did not talk to Mama, that I talked to you." Davydd then astonished Llewelyn by saying, "To be both Welsh and Normanis it like . .. like being a bridge, Papa?""Yes, Davydd, exactly like that." Llewelyn was that rarity among parents, one capable of making a realistic assessment of his offspring, tallying up both strengths and shortcomings. He was very fond of Tegwared, but saw him for what he was, a good-natured, amiable youth, both generous and feckless, equally lacking in ambition or malice. Marked and Gwenllian were eager to please, easy to content, neither as UVer nor as stubborn as Gwladys. Elen was his free spirit, his secret °nte. And Gruffydd was his firstborn, the son wild and reckless and c°urageous and wronged.ut Davydd had remained an enigma. A quiet, self-contained child, w [ft* little8iven ei{her to confidences or complaints, and he was so Wo ehaved thatLlewelyn sometimes found himself wishing the boy SUCL eak free, put frogs in his sister's bath, or ink in the holy water, sa Prar>ks were an exasperating but expected part of the rites of pasr°ugh boyhood, and it baffled Llewelyn to have a son so sedate,

464Iso unlike himself. This sudden glimpse into bavydd's mind was a revelation, therefore, the first intimation he'd \^ tjiat this son could b special."Your brother Gruffydd is back in the h^ j^t's g° over and talk to him," he suggested, not noticing when Davydd lagged behind."Papa . . . Papa, will Gruffydd go away ^Kam?"Llewelyn turned, smiled reassuringly att^e boy "No, lad, he'll not go away.Not ever again."Davydd stopped on the steps of the d^is stoOd watching as his father crossed to Gruffydd. Davydd's sister^ ^ere already there, clustered around Gruffydd in an admiring circ]e At fae sight of Elen in Gruffydd's lap, Davydd felt a sharp surge of a hitherto unfamiliar emotion, jealousy.Something nudged his leg, and he looke^ down to see Math, gratefully wrapped his arms around the dog's ruff ,,j wish you'd bite him," he whispered, but without any faith that M^^ would. Gruffydd would give him bones and win him over. Why sh^uld ^aih be any