She got no further. Gruffydd’s outrage, his sense of injustice and injury overrode all else, swept aside the last shreds of his restraint. He’d always suspected Joanna of trying to poison Llewelyn’s mind against him, but in his worst imaginings he’d never expected her to concoct so blatant, so brazen a lie. Had she been a man, he’d have already exacted his vengeance. But his was a society in which women were not to be subjected to violence. Even now the ingrained discipline of a lifetime held, and he did the only thing he could do, flung the contents of his wine cup into Joanna’s face.
Joanna gasped, no longer had to feign anger. “You’re a lunatic, an utter and absolute lunatic!” she cried, backing away, frightened by his fury. The hall was in pandemonium; through a roaring in her ears, she heard voices rising, saw a blur of shocked faces, most registering stunned disbelief of what they’d just seen. And then Llewelyn had reached her side, and she forgot the pretense, forgot she had sprung this trap herself, threw herself into his arms with a heartfelt, “Thank God you’re here!”
“You’re not hurt?” He waited only for her to shake her head before he swung around to confront his son. “All your life I’ve made excuses for you, found reasons to explain away your deranged behavior. I cannot even begin to count the times I’ve overlooked your tempers, your blunders. But no more. This time you’ll answer for what you’ve done.”
“But it was not my fault!”
“It never is, is it? You’re always the injured innocent, never accountable for your own actions. It’s as if your entire history begins and ends with those years you spent in English prisons. Well, that was thirteen years ago, Gruffydd, and my patience has at last run out.”
Senena was tugging frantically at Gruffydd’s arm. “Do not argue with him, love, I beg you. Do not say what you may later regret!”
Gruffydd ignored her, did not even hear her. “Your patience? What of mine? You talk of making excuses for me. What do you think I’ve had to do for you? I’ve watched for years as you shamed yourself, shamed us all, watched and could do nothing about it. I do not know why this last surrender surprised me so. You’re so eager to stay in the good graces of the English King that nothing else matters to you…least of all, pride. I once accused her”—he pointed toward Joanna—“of bewitching you, and you denied it. But how else explain your actions? You demean yourself before the English King, allow de Burgh and Pembroke to humiliate you, to—”
“That is enough, Gruffydd!”
“What do you call it, if not humiliation? You can posture all you want, boast that you’re a brother sovereign of the Scots King, but the truth is that you’ve shackled us to the English throne, made us vassals of John’s son. And yet we’re likely to look back upon your reign as the Golden Age of Gwynedd, in comparison with what would befall us under Davydd! Christ, Papa, you must see him for what he is, a craven weakling, a pampered milksop who’d panic at the first hint of trouble, and yet you’d have him over me! You’d forsake your firstborn, abandon our ancient laws of inheritance, and all to please a Norman-French bedmate!”
“I do see Davydd for what he is, and I see you for what you are, irresponsible and willful and foolish beyond belief. You talk of governing Gwynedd, and yet you cannot even govern your own temper. You’re a child, Gruffydd, a child at two and thirty, and it is time you faced the truth. I would never have turned Gwynedd over to you. Should evil befall Davydd in my lifetime, I’ll choose Tegwared then, or even Adda’s son. But not you, never you, for you’d blunder into a war you could never win, destroy the work of a lifetime in less than a twelvemonth.”
Gruffydd was stunned. “You’d do that? You’d truly choose Tegwared over me?”
“Yes.” Llewelyn’s voice was very cold. “If it came to that, I would.”
In the silence that followed, Gruffydd could hear the ragged, labored sound of his own breathing; it seemed so loud to him that he feared others, too, might hear. Senena was plucking again at his sleeve; her eyes were wet with tears. “Beloved, please. Come away now.”
“Not yet.” His voice sounded strange to him, as if coming from a distance. “So you do not think I’m fit to rule? Well, go ahead, have Davydd acknowledged by the English, by the Pope, the Marcher lords. The Lord Jesus Himself can anoint him, for all I care. For it will avail you naught, old man. Your power stops this side of the grave. Once you’re dead, I’ll take what is rightfully mine. I’ll take Gwynedd and I’ll take my vengeance.”
Llewelyn had gone very white. “Do you think I’d let that happen?”
Gruffydd forced a laugh. “How can you stop me? You’ll be safely gone to God, remember?”
A muscle had begun to jerk in Llewelyn’s cheek. “Courage such as yours is not always a blessing, Gruffydd. Sometimes it can be a curse.” He no longer sounded angry, sounded oddly dispassionate and distant, and then, as Gruffydd puzzled over the cryptic meaning of his words, he raised his hand, said, “Seize him.”
Llewelyn’s household guards looked utterly appalled, but they did not hesitate, at once surrounded Gruffydd, drawing their swords. Gruffydd’s reaction was as instinctive and as explosive as his white stallion’s had been; he made a dive for the window seat, for his sword. But although the sharpening stone still lay untouched, the sword was gone, for Ednyved did not believe in taking undue risks and had quietly appropriated the weapon. Trapped in the window seat, Gruffydd drew his dagger, turned to face his pursuers. They advanced warily, nervously aware that Llewelyn’s command had been to seize him, not to slay him, and they made no attempt to stop Senena when she darted between them.
“Gruffydd, you cannot fight them! Beloved, save yourself, I beg you!”
Gruffydd had friends in the hall, had men sworn to him. With a bitter sense of betrayal, he saw now that none of them was going to come to his aid, that they’d not go against Llewelyn. He knew Senena was right, but he knew, too, that he could not yield. “Senena, I cannot…” he said huskily, and then, “Christ, no! Owain, get back!”
His son had entered the hall unnoticed, had stood transfixed until the scene erupted in violence. The boy did not understand what was happening, saw only that his father was in danger, and he sprinted forward, crying, “Papa!” Sobbing, he began to flail out at the men encircling Gruffydd, until Llewelyn grasped him by the arms, pulled him away. Even then, he continued to struggle. There was no sound in the hall but that of his sobs. No one moved. And then Gruffydd’s shoulders slumped; he dropped the knife into the rushes.
“You win, Papa. What now? Are you going to do Davydd’s killing for him?” That was sheer bravado, though, for Gruffydd felt certain Llewelyn would never put him to death. “I can only tell you what I told John, that I’ll not beg.”
Llewelyn released his grandson, watched as Owain ran to his father. “Alun,” he said, still sounding like a stranger to Gruffydd, one remote and unrelenting and beyond reach, “you are to escort my son to Deganwy Castle. He is to be confined there until I personally give you orders to the contrary. He is to be well treated at all times, and his wife and children may join him there. But he cannot be trusted, and is to be closely watched. If you fail me, you’ll long regret it. You understand?”
“Indeed, my lord.” Alun gestured, and Gruffydd found his arms being forced behind his back. He no longer resisted, for he had too much pride to let himself be dragged, bound and helpless, from the hall. But at the door he halted, his voice rising in a defiant shout. “You’ve just bought Davydd some time, no more than that! You’ll have to kill me, old man, and I doubt that you can do it, that you—” His guards shoved him forward; the rest of his words were cut off by the closing door.
Senena had stood very still. Now she turned, crossed to Llewelyn, and dropped to her knees before him, a supplicant’s posture belied by the blazing grey eyes. “Gruffydd will not beg, my lord, but I will. You must not do this. Confinement will kill Gruffydd, you know it will. He’s your son, your firstborn son. Let him go. We’ll leave Wales, I swear it, will never return. Just let him go.”
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“I cannot do that. He would never accept exile, and you know it, Senena.”
Senena rose to her feet. “It would have been a greater mercy if you’d killed him, then.” Reaching for her son, she said, “Dry your tears, Owain. We go to Deganwy Castle to be with your lord father.”
A path cleared at once; no one seemed to want to touch her, even to meet her eyes. Head high, she started toward the door, leading her son by the hand. But she stopped as she reached Joanna, and then whirled, spun around to face Llewelyn.
“Do you want to know whose fine hand brought about my husband’s downfall? She did it, your so innocent and right loving wife! She sought Gruffydd out in the window seat, deliberately goaded him to violence, to his ruin. None of this need have happened if not for her!”
After seeking Llewelyn in their private chamber and the chapel, Joanna was at a loss as to where to look next. But as she approached the stables, a young groom came hurrying out at sight of her.
“Madame, how thankful I am to see you! My lord Prince first told me to saddle his chestnut palfrey, then ordered me to go, saying he’d do it himself. And when I tried to tell him that I was right glad to serve him, he lashed out in a fury, told me to get out, to…” The groom trailed off in despair. “My lady, I did not mean to displease him, do not even know what I did. And now he’s so wroth with me…”
“No, he is not. You need not fret; you’ve done nothing wrong. Just go about your other duties. All will be well, I promise you.”
As she entered the stable, Joanna could feel inquisitive equine eyes upon her. Horses were poking their heads over their stall doors, and her favorite roan mare gave a welcoming nicker. But Llewelyn was nowhere to be seen. She paused uncertainly before the stall of his chestnut palfrey, and then moved toward the far door, out into the stable yard. He was not there, either, and she crossed to the shed where the stable gear was kept.
“Llewelyn?” The shed was dark; coming from sunlight, she could see no more than a man’s silhouette. “Llewelyn, I’ve been looking all over for you. You left the hall so suddenly…” She came closer, said hesitantly, “Beloved, I was worried about you…”
“Did Senena speak the truth? Did you deliberately goad Gruffydd into that rage?”
When Senena had accused her in the great hall, she’d responded with an instinctive, heated denial, indignant enough to carry conviction. But alone now with Llewelyn in the darkened shed, Joanna found she could not lie to him.
“Yes…I did. I wanted him to show you his true nature, to show you how dangerous he is. I thought you might banish him from your court, into exile. But I never meant for this to happen, Llewelyn. I never thought you’d be forced to imprison him, I swear it.”
She waited, at last entreated, “Are you not going to say anything? It is bad enough that I cannot see your face, but your silence is worse. I did it for Davydd, Llewelyn, for our son. Surely you can understand?”
He brushed past her, moved out into the yard. As he stepped into the sunlight, Joanna was shocked at the sight of him. His face looked ravaged, as if he were bleeding from an internal wound, one that could drain away a man’s lifeblood before his physicians even diagnosed the danger. She ran to catch up with him, followed him back into the stable.
“Llewelyn, you must listen to me. I know your pain, know—”
“Do you?” But he turned away before she could answer, entered the chestnut’s stall, where he took undue care in bridling the horse. Joanna watched helplessly as he laid a sweat pad across the animal’s back, passed the crupper under its tail.
“Will you not talk to me? Llewelyn, this serves for naught!”
He positioned the saddle, began to adjust the girth buckles. “Senena was right. Killing Gruffydd would be kinder than caging him.”
“Ah, Llewelyn…what else could you do? He forced you to it, gave you no choice.”
He swung around to face her, and she shrank back. Never had he looked at her like this, a look that went beyond anger, that came perilously close to denying a lifetime of love. “You blame me for what happened? Llewelyn, that’s not fair! I know how this hurt you. But I had no choice, either. I had to put Davydd’s life above all else. I had to do whatever I could to protect him. How could you expect me to do less?”
“I would have expected you to come to me! Davydd is my son, too. Do you think I’d not have done what I could to safeguard his life, his inheritance?”
“But I knew you would not have banished Gruffydd! You yourself admitted you’ve always indulged him, forgiven him. I was sure talking would do no good, that you had to see for yourself just how untrustworthy he truly is. Be honest, Llewelyn. What would you have done had I come to you with my fears, my suspicions?”
“We’ll never know, for you never gave us the chance. Had you trusted me enough to confide in me, mayhap I could have found another way. At the least, I’d not have had Gruffydd taken by force at high noon in the great hall, whilst his nine-year-old son looked on!”
“I am sorry about that, truly I am…” Joanna said haltingly. “But I thought I was acting for the best.”
“By going behind my back? By lying and conniving? You said I had no choice. You’re right, for you saw to that!”
“Why will you not try to understand? Jesus wept, I did it for Davydd!”
He shoved the stall door back, led the stallion out into the row. “I do understand, more than you think. This is not the first time, after all, that you’ve lied to me. When you sent John that secret warning, you justified that just as easily, swore you’d done it for me. And now Davydd. Who are you to make my decisions for me, to decide what I ought to do?”
He was leading the stallion toward the door. Joanna hastened to keep pace, grabbed his arm. “I did not believe you’d banish Gruffydd unless forced to it. I still believe that! How can I not, when you’ve forgiven him time and time again?”
He pulled free, swung up into the saddle. “To give credit where due, your scheme worked admirably. You duped me into doing exactly what you wanted, like a master puppeteer. My congratulations, Madame. I daresay John would be very proud of you!”
Joanna flinched as if from a physical blow. “Damn you!” she cried. “Damn you, damn you!”
Llewelyn spurred his stallion forward. Joanna did not try to stop him. Standing in the stable doorway, she watched as he cantered across the bailey.
9
Tregarnedd, North Wales
October 1228
Joanna waited for Catherine’s servant to move out of earshot before continuing. “Davydd returned the next day from Bangor, and when he learned what had happened, he was furious. He accused me of having no faith in him, insisted he needed no help in thwarting Gruffydd’s ambitions, and how could I argue?” She smiled, but without humor. “At Davydd’s age, a mother’s fear is taken as a mortal insult.”
“And what of Llewelyn? You could not reconcile?”
“No. I’ve never seen him so angry. But by then I was no less angry myself. In the days that followed, we avoided one another whenever possible, no longer spoke unless absolutely necessary. It was dreadful, Catherine. And then on the fourth day came word that Henry and Hubert de Burgh had invaded Ceri.” Again that bleak, mirthless smile. “For once, Gruffydd was actually in the right; he’d predicted as much. I was still angry, still hurt. But I did not want Llewelyn to ride to war with harsh words or unhealed wounds between us. I swallowed my pride, sought to make peace…to no avail. Llewelyn rebuffed me so sharply that he kindled our quarrel all over again.”
Joanna sighed, picked listlessly at the food set before her. “And now it has been three weeks since he and Davydd rode south. They are waging war in Ceri, fighting Henry and de Burgh, but I know no more than that. Not a single message has Llewelyn sent me, nary a word.”
Putting the bread down, Joanna gave Catherine a speculative look. “You’ve heard me out in virtual silence. Surely you understand why I acted as I did? We’re talking about nothing less than Davydd’s ve
ry life!”
“I am myself a mother. Of course I understand. But I can understand Llewelyn’s anger, too. If only you had come to him first…”
Resentment flickered, failed to catch. Was Catherine’s caution truly so surprising? Joanna doubted that in all of her married life she’d ever acted independently of Rhys. Moreover, she looked ghastly, looked frail and thin and colorless, had aged shockingly in these months of widowhood. “I did not mean to burden you with my troubles, Catherine. We’ll talk of them no more,” Joanna promised, and kept to that resolve for the remainder of her stay.
When Joanna returned to Aber at dusk the following day, she was tired and dispirited. With each visit to Catherine, she could see the distance between them widening, could see in Catherine only a gentle ghost of the lively, loving woman she’d once been. But she did not know how to arrest the drift; her every lifeline seemed to fall short of Catherine’s indifferent fingers.
Her mood did not improve on finding her bedchamber in disarray. Not only had Madlen taken advantage of her absence to sleep in Joanna’s feather bed, she’d neglected to make it up afterward. Moreover, several of Joanna’s more expensive gowns were spread helter-skelter about the chamber, and Joanna doubted Madlen’s glib explanation that she’d been sorting them out; trying them on was more likely. Joanna was annoyed, but Glynis was outraged and began to berate the younger girl for such unseemly behavior.
Madlen was quite unperturbed by Glynis’s ire. Nor was she apprehensive of losing her place in Joanna’s household; she was comfortably confident that Joanna would overlook all but the most egregious of impudences, for she was a cousin once removed of Ednyved. But Madlen still had no liking for reprimands, and she sought to avoid one now with a tried-and-true tactic, diversion.