Gruffydd was already moving eagerly toward the door. But Joanna was closer and, as Llewelyn strode into the hall, she reached him first, flung herself into his arms. Gruffydd stopped abruptly, watched as Llewelyn and Joanna embraced, watched as Joanna then took Llewelyn's arm, pulled him toward the cradle. As if he had no other children, Gruffydd thought bitterly. Joanna was claiming most of Llewelyn's attention, holding up their baby for his inspection, and Gruffydd's sisters, Marared and Gwladys and Gwenllian, were clamoring, too, for notice. It was some moments, therefore, before Llewelyn missed his son.

He found Gruffydd leaning against one of the wooden screens that blocked off the side aisle, moved toward the boy with a smile. "Have you no greeting for me, lad?"

"Indeed, Papa. Welcome home," Gruffydd said, quite coolly- But when he saw his father's smile fade, he was caught up in a welter of painful and confusing emotions, no longer sure why he'd wanted to punish Llewelyn, for having forgotten his birthday or for loving King John's daughter.

"Are you angry with me, Gruffydd?" Llewelyn studied his son/ and then grinned.

"I see. You think I did forget your birthday again. NO this time, lad. Come, see for yourself."

Men with torches stood outside in the bailey, and when Gruffyd265 ,vhat was evoking their admiring murmurs, his breath caught in his oat The stallion was young, a pure milky white, the luckiest of col- and bred for speed Gruffydd whirled to face his father, entreating, 5a'y he's mine, Papa'"

"You surely do not think he's for Elen, do you7 But he's newly bro, fl to the saddle, so take it slow " Llewelyn's cautionary words were , st Gruffydd was already reaching for the reins The stallion bucked halfheartedly under his weight, and Gruffydd guided him in a semicircle/ grinned back over his shoulder at Llewelyn "He's begging to run, Papa1"

"Do not give him his head till you reach the shore And remember I paid a fortune for him, so if you have to break a neck, better yours than his1" Llewelyn laughed, and the wind carried back to him the answenng echoes of his son's laughter Still laughing, Llewelyn reentered the hall, looked around for his wife "Where did Joanna go7"

"To put your little Elen to bed " Ednyved pulled a chair closer to the hearth, and Llewelyn sank down gratefully in it, pushed away the more importunate of his dogs He'd been gone for a fortnight, a guest of his cousin Madog ap Gruffydd, Prince of Upper Powys, and because Powys shared a border with Cheshire, Llewelyn was at once bombarded with questions about the two topics currently dominating English conversations the threat of a papal Interdict and William de Braose's fall from favor "I heard nothing new about John's quarrel with the Pope It does seem to be a standoff, the Pope's man wears the mitre of Canterbury, but dares not set foot in England " Llewelyn accepted a cup of mead, drank, and said, "But I did hear something interesting about de Braose His friends and family have prevailed upon John to grant him an audience, they are to meet at Hereford on the twenty-fifth of April Not that I think it'll do him much good There are few ruptures so bitter as a falling-out amongst thieves "

"What do you think be behind it, Llewelyn7 It cannot truly be the money, de Braose has owed that for years "

"This is just a guess, Rhys But I think de Braose pushed his luck nce too often The more John gave him, the more he wanted I heard "e d been pressuring John for an earldom, and I think John finally ran u' of patience Either that or de Braose went too far, moved from imP'led to explicit extortion, mayhap made an out-and-out threat about "tat he knew of Arthur's death "

"I've never been able to understand why they did not give Arthur Ven a sham trial," Adda confessed "Men might not have liked it much, "* John had the law on his side By resorting to a secret killing, he266 played right into Philip's hands. John's silence just gives credence to th more lurid rumors put about by the French: that Arthur was tortured blinded, even slain by John's own hand. It was a stupid way to rid him self of a rival, since none can be utterly sure the boy be dead, and I d not see John to be a stupid man."

"He may not be stupid, but he has no liking for the light, has a natural affinity for shadows and silence and deeds done in the dark " Ednyved said dryly.

"Do you want to know what I've always suspected?" Llewelyn set down his mead cup, pausing instinctively for dramatic interest. "That Arthur's murder was an act of impulse, was not premeditated. I think John confronted the boy, and they quarreled; we know they'd done so in the past, that confinement had not broken Arthur's spirit. It is my belief that Arthur said or did something which so enraged John that he gave the command without fully thinking it through."

Ednyved looked skeptical. "Why unpremeditated, Llewelyn?"

"Because if Arthur's murder had been planned out in advance, John would never have been within a hundred miles of Rouen that night, would have put as much distance between himself and the crime as possible" Llewelyn stopped abruptly, and an uncomfortable silence fell as Joanna came toward them. Not sure whether she'd overheard, Llewelyn rose, moved to meet her.

To his relief, she smiled. "Elen's begun teething, and I do not know how well she'll sleep, but she's abed now."

"That," he said, "sounds like a right appealing idea."

"What. . . sleep?" Joanna murmured, and laughed softly when he answered as she'd known he would.

"No . . . bed."

JOANNA stretched, gave a small sigh of utter contentment, and Llewelyn leaned over, kissed her softly on the mouth. "You're purring like a cat, you know that?"

"Little wonder. That was a very satisfactory homecoming, rny lord." She smiled at him. "I missed you so much. And I love you so much."

"I love you, too." He kissed her again, gently, tenderly. "But rny darling, I'd love you so much more if you were to fetch me some wine- Joanna gave a splutter of indignant laughter, hastily culling her meagre Welsh vocabulary for the proper putdown. "Digrin," s*1 chided, gratified to see Llewelyn's eyes open wide.

"Joanna . . . what did you want to call me?"267 "A sluggard " She saw him bite down on his lower hp, said uncer inly- "Why7 Dl%nn>lf 1S not 7"

"Diogyn means 'sluggard/ love " Llewelyn was openly laughing "Dignn dignn means 'unwithered'1"

n Joanna's first reaction was one of mild embarrassment and frustra She was coming to envision Welsh as a tide beyond her control it s always sweeping in, inundating her in alien sound, and just when he thought she was getting her head above water, it went roaring out earn, stranding her high and dry But after a moment or so, she began to see the humor in it, and joined ruefully in Llewelyn's laughter "Sometimes I despair of ever learning your language," she con fessed, and he slid his arm around her shoulders, drew her closer "You'd learn it faster, Joanna, if we were to speak Welsh, not French "

"But as tongue-tied as I am, we'd never be able to communicate at all then Except in bed1" She settled back m his arms, and then, before she could lose her nerve, she said, "You were talking about Arthur before, were you not7"

Llewelyn did not answer at once "How much did you under stand7"

"You were all talking so fast just Arthur's name and Papa s It was not hard to guess the rest Llewelyn do you think Arthur is dead7"

"Yes, love, I do," he said quietly, and after a moment, she sighed "So do I," she admitted "It's been nigh on five years Logically, he he must be dead But Llewelyn, could he not have sickened, died through mishap7 Papa might well have feared to make it known, after the way his enemies have lied about him in the past And if Arthur tried to escape "

She looked at Llewelyn in mute appeal, and he said, with all the conviction he could muster, "It may well be, Joanna " But the day would come, he knew, when she would not be so readily reassured, when her faith might not be strong enough to prevail over fact He smoothed her hair away from her face, said, "I'd rather not talk of John's nephew, breila But I never tire of talking of his daughter "

That coaxed a smile from Joanna "You did just earn yourself that nnk of wine," she said, and reached for her bedrobe The first time ewelyn had said he loved her, soon after Elen's birth, she'd been con- lr>ced that was the happiest, most fulfilling moment of her life But er, doubt had crept m Llewelyn had been known to handle the truth ( n less than scrupulous care, how could she be sure he was speaking g the heart, not merely saying what he knew she needed to hear7 lrig the wine cup back to the bed, she watched as he drank, and268 ff 269.

then, as he leaned over to put the cup on the floor, the words seemed to come of their own accord. "Llewelyn . . . why do you love me?"

"Why? Because, in appearance and demeanor, you seem the per. feet Norman ladymodest, reticent, aloof even. And then I get you [^ my bed, and you all but scorch the sheets!" He laughed, ran his hand caressingly along her back, down her thigh. "Not to mention your admirable good taste in loving me beyond all reason!"

Joanna could not help herself, felt a throb of disappointment. But she should have known better, in truth, should have known he'd not take such a question seriously.

Llewelyn reached up, drew her down beside him again. "No, you are not at all as you seem to be, breila. You are a constant surprise to me, and not just in bed. When I was a lad, my mother would oft tell me the legend of the bird with the resplendent plumage; shall I tell it to you now? When it nests in the grass, it is not easily seen, for it takes on the drab protective coloring of the earth that gives it refuge. But when it takes flight, soars up into the sky, its wings burst into flame, reflect all the glories of Heaven itself. As a boy, I spent hours searching for that bird ... in vain, of course. Passing strange, that I should find it after all these years . . . and in my own bed."

Joanna had listened, mesmerized. "Me?"

"You're like that mythical bird, love. You cloak yourself in the muted colors of a wellborn Norman lady, seem soft-spoken, shy, and obedient. But that is not you, Joanna, not truly, and when I least expect it, your spirit takes flight like the bird with the sun-bright plumage, as when you did defy Maude de Braose on our wedding day ... or when you burned my bed."

"You'll never let me forget that, will you?" Joanna laughed. "But I need never explain why I do love you. How could I not, after hearing you say that? You are a man of many parts, in truth, Llewelyn, my lovePrince, warlord . . . and poet."

"That is merely to be Welsh, breila." But she was not deceived by the playfulness of his reply, knew how deeply she'd pleased him, for she'd learned by now how highly eloquence was valued in his world. He'd begun to caress her again, and she wrapped her arms around him, soon forgot all else but the here and now, the feel of his hands upon her body and his mouth upon hers.

The sensual spell was a powerful one; only belatedly did they become aware of the noise in the antechamber, of the pounding on the door. Llewelyn jerked upright, swore. But then he pulled the sheet up over Joanna, said curtly, "Enter."

Joanna's reflexes were slower; she reoriented herself with greater -ffficulty, lay back against the pillow as Ednyved, Morgan, and Gwyn b Ednywain hastened into the chamber.

They wasted no time with apologies for the intrusion, knowing one were needed.

"Llewelyn, a messenger has just ridden in from the Bishop of St Asaph. The Bishop would have you know that on Passion Sunday a proclamation is to be read in churches throughout England and Wales, laying both realms under Interdict until John agrees to yield to the Pope."

The news was not unexpected. Llewelyn felt no surprise, only rage. He cared little whether John or the Pope prevailed in their war of wills; their quarrel was nothing to him. But the pain of his people was, and he was deeply resentful that the Welsh must suffer with the English, that the papal punishment should fall equally upon both lands.

"Damn them both to Hell," he said, with bitter blasphemy. "Why should the Welsh have to suffer because a Norman King and a Roman Pope disagree over an English diocese?"

Morgan felt compelled at that to say, "His Holiness had no choice but to do what he did." But his heart was not in his defense, not when he thought of how long the churches might stand silent and dark, or of how long the devout mightbe denied the Sacraments.

"Philip held out for seven months. But John . . . John could hold out for years," Ednyved said grimly. "It's nothing to him whether he can attend Mass or not. He's not like to care even if the bodies of the dead are stacked up like kindling in the churchyards. Not when he's found a way to turn the Interdict to his profit. Bishop Reiner says he has ordered the confiscation of all church property in retaliation, is using the Interdict as a license to loot!"

"Llewelyn ..." The sound of his wife's voice startled Llewelyn; he had, for the moment, forgotten she was there. Turning toward her, he saw that she'd paled noticeably, and the hand she put upon his arm was cold as ice.

"Llewelyn, you keep saying gwaharriad. That means 'Interdict,' does it not?"

And when he nodded, she drew a sudden sharp breath. "Oh, no!"

"Joanna? Surely you knew it was likely to come to this ..." But she was not listening. "Morgan, Morgan, I know an Interdict "leans there can be no Masses said, no burials in consecrated ground, n confessions. But what of christenings, Morgan? May a newborn child still be christened?"

"Yes, my lady, you may rest easy on that. Holy Church would not dam: an an innocent soul if it could be saved.' "Thank God!"270 "Joanna . . ." Llewelyn was staring at her. He started to speak, stopped, and glanced back toward the men. "We'll discuss this on the morrow," he said, but they were already retreating.

As the door closed, Llewelyn tilted Joanna's chin up, looked intently into her face. "Joanna, are you with child?"

"I think so," she whispered. "My flux did not come this month. But it is too early to know for certes, and I did not want to tell you till I could be sure ..." She averted her eyes at that, lest he guess the truth, that she'd been hoping she was wrong, that she was not pregnant. She wanted his children, wanted to give him a son. But not so soon. Elen was not yet five months old, and her memories had not had time to fade. Whenever she found herself remembering the pain-filled day of Elen's birth, she remembered, too, her fear. But she was ashamed that she could take so little pleasure in this pregnancy, and she forced a smile. "If I am right, I may well give you a son ere the year be out. Would that not please you, Llewelyn?"

"Yes, of course." He took her in his arms, rested his hand against her belly, so deceptively taut and flat, caressed the slender body that seemed such a fragile receptacle for a new life, repeated, "Indeed, Joanna, I am well pleased." But as she raised her eyes to his, she saw in them no pleasure, saw only the reflection of her own anxiety.

V.

HEREFORD, ENGLAND.

April 120S V VILLIAM de Braose was surprised and disconcerted to find himself hesitating before John's solar door. He'd spent a lifetime facing down lesser men, men who lacked his cold-blooded cou age, his utter indifference to the rules of fair play, his intoxication wi high-stakes gambles. Never before had he shrunk from confrontatio But never before had he so much to lose.

A moment passed, and then another. De Braose stared at the oa271 , or And then he reached for the latch, shoved inward, and strode into the chamber, his the assured, loose-limbered gait of a man equally at home m the saddle or on shipboard, a man with nothing to fear But he broke stride abruptly at sight of the others the Earls of Salisbury and Pembroke, the Bishop of Winchester, a shadowy fourth figure beyond the range of hearthfire De Braose was genuinely shocked, too shocked to hide his dismay He knew John as few men did, had never made the mistake of underestimating him But even he had never imagined John would take such a chance, that he would nsk witnesses to their war of wills He had no conscious awareness of coming forward, kneeling before John, the action was automatic "Your Grace, I think it best that we speak alone," he said warmngly, never taking his eyes from the man who was his sovereign, onetime carousing companion, friend, and benefactor "What I have to say be for your ears alone "

"Indeed7 I can think of nothing you could say that would warrant a private audience Be thankful, rather, that I was willing to grant you any audience at all " John's voice was cool, impersonal, utterly at variance with what de Braose read in his eyes "What would you say to me7"

And in that moment de Braose understood He had underestimated John after all They might indeed share a bloody secret, but they were notand this was his fatal mistakepartners in crime He'd not thought John had the courage to call his bluff, and in this he had been wrong, too The twisted, dark road they'd traveled together since that Eastertide at Rouen had come to an abrupt end here in the shadow-filled solar of Hereford Castle John had thrown down the gauntlet in irrevocable and unmistakable fashion, before a roomful of witnesses Now the choice was his He could subject himself to his King, make a total and humiliating and costly surrender to a man not noted for generosity toward fallen enemies Or he could make use of what he knew, could damn John and doom himself John showed no emotion, but his son Richard drew a sharp, audible breath, stepped from the shadows as if to forestall de Braose For Rich- j>rd- too, understood what was occurring When he'd first realized what 15 father was doing, daring de Braose to speak of Arthur, to make a Public accusation, Richard was appalled, until that moment, he'd not Cognized how much he preferred not to know Arthur's fate Now he a.fed not at de Braose, but at his father, awed by the risk John was Wlllln8 to take ut RUt but was the nsk/ m truth' a11 that 8reat? As the Sllence spun uncle wrd'S 6yeS fllcked raPldlY to the faces of the other men, to his of ,he '"' to the aging Pembroke, to the elegant Peter des Roches, one e nly two Bishops not to follow their brethren into French exile in272 the wake of the Pope's Interdict, and some of his anxiety began to eas No, not so great a risk after all. His uncle would be loyal to the grave ami beyond.

Like Will, Pembroke was a man of rock-ribbed integrity, ijui imagination, and moderate ambitions, a man who had devoted th whole of his life to the fortunes of the House of Plantagenet. Whateve personal repugnance he might feel at hearing a confession of royal rnu der, it would not shake his loyalty, for his loyalty was to the crown to the man anointed by God to reign . . . even if that man be revealed as Cain. And Peter des Roches was no rebel priest, was a worldly, accommodating, and ambitious Prince of the Church, not one to be shocked by the dark underside of men's souls. Even if the worst came to pass, and de Braose blurted out an admission of conspiracy and murder, none of the men in this room would ever act upon it; instead, they'd do their best to bury their unwelcome knowledge beyond recall.

But even as Richard realized that his father had shrewdly acted to minimize his political risks, he realized, too, that the personal risk John was willing to take was considerable. He could be sure that his brother and son would never betray him, no matter what they heard in this solar at Hereford Castle.

But how could he be sure that they would forgive him?

"Well?" John demanded. "Have you nothing to say to me?" There was defiance in the query, but there was triumph, too, for he'd correctly interpreted de Braose's continuing silence as surrender.

De Braose did not answer. Once the initial shock had ebbed, he'd seen what Richard had, that John had picked his audience with a sure hand, an artful understanding of the men he'd chosen as witnesses. But if John was bluffing, so was he. He would never have made a public accusation of any kind. The day that he accused a reigning King of murder was the day he signed his own death warrant, and he knew it. But knowing what he had to do did not make it any easier.

"I do owe Your Grace five thousand marks. I am here to promise payment."

"Promises are cheap. You've made them before. And there are other considerations now. In the past year you've given me reasons enough to doubt your loyalty. As you know, a fortnight ago I dispatched the sheriffs of Gloucestershire and Shropshire and five hundred men-at-arms into the West Country. I thought their presence there might serve to prod your memory, to remind you where your interes lie. It would seem they did. But men-at-arms need to eat, expect the two pence a day. So, in addition to the five thousand marks you do o me for the honour of Limerick, you now owe me another thousa marks for the cost of that campaign." ^ De Braose was truly taken aback by the utterly outrageous ga273 demand, that he should be assessed for the expenses of an army to ravage his own lands "I serve the King's pleasure," he said at 56 with such bitter irony that John smiled "fust so," he said softly It was a warning as oblique as it was ecomical, but there was no need to say more De Braose understood all his grandfather's castles, Will de Braose liked Abergavenny the t He'd been born there, and had recently celebrated his twelfth birthday within Abergavenny's massive stone walls On this Tuesday in late Apnl, he was alone in the uppermost chamber of the polygonal tower The chamber housed the de Braose family chapel, but Will was not there to pray, he was leaning recklessly out of the unshuttered window, watching the road that wound off toward the north, toward Hereford, where his grandfather was meeting with the King He'd sent word that he would be returning this Tuesday noon, and Will had been keepmg an impatient vigil as the day dragged on Down m the bailey he saw his father, Reginald de Braose, conferring with his uncle, William de Braose the younger His young cousins were playing a rough-and-tumble game of ball with an inflated pig's bladder, under the watchful eye of their mother, Matilda There'd been a full gathering of the de Braose clan at Abergavenny, only Will's Aunt Margaret and his Uncle Giles, Bishop of Hereford, were absent, Margaret having sailed for Ireland to rejoin her husband Walter, Lord of Meath, and Giles having gone into foreign exile in obedience to the Pope's Interdict All were waiting anxiously for word from Hereford Will did not share their concern, he could not imagine any man getting the better of his grandfather Moreover, he knew that his grandmother fully expected the King to restore her husband to favor, and Will needed no greater guarantee than that As far back as he could remember, his grandmother had been the family linchpin Imperious and earthy and blazmgly outspoken, she'd always utterly eclipsed the Lady "facia, Will's mother, a timid, passive personality who was reduced 0 wraithhke incompetence in the presence of her formidable motherin law Now Will decided to seek her out, to renew his faith in Maude's reassunng certainty that the bad times were over The disgrace that had suddenly come upon their family had been hard on Will Since the 5 ot seven, he'd been serving as a page m the household of Lord Fitz ' ar>d when he was taunted by the other pages about his grand'ather's f,n r__ , , , . ., , , ,, ,.

8otten r s fall from favor, Will had responded with hot, heedless rage, had to a mt so many bloody brawls that his training at Clun Castle came n abrupt end His father had been predictably furious, Will could not274 recall a time when he and his father had not been at odds. But his gran, mother once again came through when it counted, saying cutting] "Christ Jesus, Reg, let the boy be. Just be thankful he has the pluck t stand up for himself, that he has the backbone you too often lack!" ^C acerbic intervention had spared Will a beating, but added yet one mo ' drop of poison to a relationship already soured beyond salvaging.

Will was remembering that as he entered the great hall, saw Maud sitting upon the dais, attended by the submissive daughters-in-law vvh never dared stray out of beckoning range. She frowned at sight of him gestured for him to approach.

"I saw your cousin Jack's eye; your handiwork?"

Will was not fazed by the scowl. "He ran into my fist," he said, saw her mouth twitch.

"Do not make a habit of it," she said, but when Will grinned, she grinned back.

Settling down on the steps of the dais, Will began to occupy himself in carving a whistle. Within moments he'd attracted an admiring audience, his little cousin Philip. Will was quite contemptuous of his cousin Jack, whom he considered a weakling and a tattletale, but he liked Philip, who was only seven. Now he made room on the steps for the youngster, and turned obligingly so Philip could watch him whittle.

"Will . . . was it truly in this very hall that Grandpapa killed that Welsh lord and his men?"

Will nodded, cast Philip a sideways, searching look. Philip's eyes were wide; he was looking about him as if still expecting to see the floor rushes soaked in blood, the walls splattered with gore. Will understood, for he remembered his own confusion when he'd first been told of the Abergavenny massacre. Will had given to his grandfather all the love and respect he did not give to his father, and he'd been shocked to discover that his grandfather had so violated every tenet of the chivalric code. There was no way he could reconcile what his grandfather had done on that December day in 1175 with the accepted standards oi knightly conduct, with the tales told by minstrels and bards of Roland and Arthur and the Knights of the Table Round, for his grandfather had lured his enemies to Abergavenny under the guise of friendship, murdered them while they ate and drank at his table, then abducted SeisyU s wife and put her young son to death before her eyes.

Will had been troubled enough to go to his father with his qualm' but his father had laughed at him. Apparently the Welsh were not cff> ered by the chivalric code. That was not good enough for Will. H often heard his family jeer at the strange ways of the Welsh, heard called "reckless" and "untamed"

and "half mad." By Norman s dards he supposed they were, but those were the very qualities275 t appea^ec^to ^*m' Wales was to Will a wild, mystical land of legend ^ A blood feuds and stark grandeur, and he loved it as if it were his 3 Most of his twelve years had been spent within its borders; he ke fluent Welsh, had friends named Rhys and Ifor and Garwyn. He jed a better explanation for the killings at Abergavenny than merely that the victims were Welsh.

He'd gotten that explanation from his grandmother. "Those men ,ere your grandfather's enemies, Will. The enemies of our House. We do not forgive a wrong done us, not ever. You are old enough to underhand that, lad, to learn that in this world we have to look after our own, to do whatever be necessary to safeguard what is ours. Learn that if you learn nothing else, and never forget it."

Now Will gave his young cousin the same bleak, uncompromising answer his grandmother had once given him, saying tersely, "They were the enemies of our House, Philip." An answer that said all that needed to be said, that he had long since taken to heart.

He handed the completed whistle to the boy. "You can have this if you like."

And then, because Philip was so young, because there was time yet before he had to learn the lessons of being a de Braose, Will drew Philip's thoughts away from that long-ago and bloody December day. "Life must have been right lively back then, Philip. Seisyll's surviving sons besieged Abergavenny seven years later and burned all but the keep; luckily for Grandpapa, he was elsewhere at the time of the attack! And then, some years after, Gwenwynwyn attacked our castle in the Machawy River valley, the one the Welsh call Castell Paen. Our grandmother put up so successful a defense that people started calling it Castle Maude!"

Philip laughed. "Which Welsh Prince is Gwenwynwyn, Will? I can never keep them straight."

"You'll have to learn; you're old enough now. Gwenwynwyn is nince of Lower Powys; he's the whoreson who's been making raids upon our manors. South Wales is divided now between the sons of the ord RhysMaelgwn and Rhys Gryg. And the North is ruled by the an Grandpapa says is the most dangerous one of the lot, Llewelyn ab "verth, who is married to a bastard daughter of King John."

As soon as John's name had crossed Will's lips, he swallowed, gri- n ed as if he'd tasted something sour. In the past year he'd come to "Ure a deep and abiding hatred for the English King who was giving c * amily such grief. He started to speak, and then stopped, head nddecl expectantly to the side. "Philip, you hear? Grandpapa has just276 WILL'S excitement congealed at first sight of the men accompanying ^ grandfather: Thomas Erdington, Sheriff of Shropshire, Gerard d'Athie Sheriff of Gloucestershire, and Falkes de Breaute, to whom William d Braose had been forced by John to yield up Glamorgan and GwyllWg The first two had, in the past fortnight, led an army onto de Braose lands; the third was a bitter and open enemy of their House. Will knew his grandfather would never have chosen their company of his own accord. He ran for the nearest window, looked out to find the bailey filie(j with men-at-arms, men who wore the red and white colors of the King Maude had risen, was staring at her husband in dismay. "Will? Will, why are they here?"

Will knew his grandfather was no longer young, was in his sixties but he was so energetic, so fit that Will never gave his age any thought He was shocked now to see how haggard his grandfather suddenly looked, exhaustion etched into the smudged hollows under his eyes, impotent and embittered fury in the rigid set of his mouth.

"Not now," he snapped, giving his wife a look that would have daunted all but the most intrepid or reckless, a look that made no impression whatsoever upon Maude.

"Name of God, Will, what has happened? Did you not see the King?"

"I said not now!"

But his unlikely escorts were not so reticent. It was Falkes de Breaute who told Maude what her husband would not, saying with conspicuous relish, "Ah, indeed he saw the King, Madame, and made many and varied promises to the King's Grace, amongst them to make payment of six thousand marks."

"Six thousand!" Maude's eyes narrowed, cut sharply toward her husband. "We do not have it," she said flatly, defiantly, and de Breaute grinned.

"You'll be relieved, then, Madame, to know you need not pay it all at once. A thousand marks are due today, but the balance may be paid in installments. Of course, you will have to surrender to the Kings Grace your castles at Hay, Brecknock, and Radnor as a pledge for payment"

''Jesus God!" Maude whirled around to confront her husband. "What have you done, Will?"

"What I had to do!" he snarled. "But we're damned well not going to talk about it here ... or now!"

"Hay Castle is mine, to me! I'll not give it up!"

"Your husband has already done that, Madame." Gerard d'A"1 spoke up for the first time. Sounding as if he was enjoying himself ^ less than de Breaute, he said cheerfully, "He gave the order two