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

a curlew cried, a rising mournful plaint that went unanswered.Morgan pressed a crucifix into Llewelyn's hand. "Come with me to the chapel.I'll say a Mass for her soul, and afterward, we'll talk ..."Llewelyn looked at the crucifix, let it drop into the rushes. Turning away from Morgan, from them all, he walked rapidly across the hall.Unlike Baldwin, who'd been listening in utter bafflement, Stephen had grasped enough for appalled understanding. He took a quick step toward the door, butEdnyved caught his arm."No," he said. "Let him be. There is nothing any man can say now that will ease the pain. I know; I did lose my wife in childbed, too."Morgan retrieved the crucifix. "It is God's will," he said, sounding very tired, and Ednyved turned upon him with something much like anger."I can tell you, Father, that is but little comfort to a man who's just lost his wife!""It is all we do have, Ednyved." Morgan's grey eyes met Ednyved's brown ones, held them steadily. "I know Llewelyn, better even than you do. AH his life he has always gotten what he wanted, has shrugged at obstacles that would have daunted other men. It has been his strength, that utter assurance, the certainty that he can shape his own destiny. But you see, he's never learned to deal with defeat. He's never had tountil now."Ednyved nodded. "Yes," he said softly. "You do understand."THE air was cool and damp against his face. Llewelyn slid from the saddle. The sky was no longer visible, stars hidden by leafy clouds of oak, torch, and hazel. Here was no woodland quiet; the night echoed with 'he white-water sounds of river raging against rock. Llewelyn could see a ghostly gleam of white through the trees as the cliffs rose up above the bank. The roaring was louder now. Rhaeadr Eywnnol.his people called

340it, the Foaming Fall. Even at midday the water was always dark near the rocks, lightening to a paler green in the shallows. Now it was the black, est of blacks, faintly silvered by moonlight. Above the pool surged the River Llugwy, spilling down onto the rocks in a wild, white cascade of foam.Llewelyn did not know how long he stood there, scant inches from the cliff.Instinct alone had drawn him to Rhaeadr Eywnnol,where he'd so often come withTangwystl, just as instinct had guided him during those hours alone on the heights of Moel Siabod. He had no memory of where he'd been, merely a blurred awareness of time passing, darkness blotting out the light. There was only numbness, an inability to accept Morgan's words as true. Tangwystl was dead.He knew that. And yet how could she not be waiting for him at Aberffraw? How could she be gone forever from his life?Exhaustion at last led him back to Dolwyddelan Castle. They were watching for him; the drawbridge was lowered by the time he rode up the north slope, and a groom was waiting to take his stallion. He crossed the bailey, noting with dull surprise that the sky showed pale grey along the horizon. Mounting the steps into the keep, he all but stumbled over his son."Gruffydd? Gruffydd, lad, what are you doing out here?"The boy blinked sleepily, looked about him as if he, too, wondered why he was not in bed. His face was puffy, streaked with dirt from the stairs. "I was waiting for you, Papa."Lifting Gruffydd in his arms, Llewelyn carried him into the keep. Rushlights burned in wall sconces, the bed coverlets were turned back, a large flagon of mead and a loaf of manchet bread had been set out on the table. But the chamber was empty; the servants who normally slept on pallets were nowhere to be seen. Mead and solitudeall his friends could think to offer him."Sit beside me, Gruffydd. There is something I must tell you . . . about your mother."Gruffydd had Tangwystl's green eyes; they were, Llewelyn now saw, swollen and rimmed in red. "Uncle Rhys told me, Papa, told me Mama is dead."Llewelyn touched the boy's cheek, stroked his hair. "You understand what that means, lad?"Gruffydd nodded. "That I will not see her anymore." Tears escaped his lashes, smudged a grimy path down his face. "Uncle Rhys said Mama's soul has gone toGod. But. . . but when my dog died, Papa, you buried him in the ground. WillMama be buried, too? I do not want her buried, Papa, do not want her in the ground . . .""Oh, Christ ..." Llewelyn stumbled to his feet, backed into the

241table- Gruffydd had, with those few words, made Tangwystl's death eal at last.The merciful numbness, the stunned sense of disbelief gave way before the image now burning into his brainTangwystl covered ^th dirt, lying alone under cold, dark earth, Tangwystl who'd so loved light and summer warmth.The flagon rocked as he bumped the table, and his fingers closed of their own accord around the handle. The earthenware jug shattered on impact against the hearthstones, scattered clay fragments into the rushes. The flames sputtered and hissed; fingers of fire shot upward, feeding upon the sudden surge of air.Gruffydd still sat upon the bed, staring wide-eyed at the wreckage strewn about the floor. And then he scrambled down, ran to Llewelyn. "Do not cry, Papa, please ..."Llewelyn knelt, and Gruffydd wrapped his arms around his father's neck, sobbed into his shoulder. "Hush, lad, hush. I did not mean to frighten you."Gruffydd's tears were wet upon Llewelyn's face; his son's breath, hot and gasping, rasped against his ear. "It is all right to weep for her, Gruffydd.But the pain will ease, I promise you . . ." And in seeking to comfort his stricken son, Llewelyn finally found a small measure of comfort for himself.12ROUEN, NORMANDY}um 1202«i"WV YHEN do you depart for Fontevrault Abbey, Joanna?""At week's end, Papa said." Joanna sat on the bed, began to brush her stepmother's long, silky hair. "Will you tell me about her, Isabelle?""About Eleanor? What could I add that you have