October 120& UOOl^ kJooN after Maude de Braose publicly accused John of murder, William de Braose and his sons made a desperate attempt to regain possession of the castles de Braose had surrendered to John. Failing in these assaults, they plundered and burned the market town of Leominster. John proclaimed de Braose a traitor to the crown, and on September 29 he freed de Braose's vassals from all allegiance to their fugitive lord.

Gwenwynwyn, Prince of Lower Powys, at once sought to take advantage of the resulting chaos by launching raids upon the de Braose lands and those of neighboring Norman lords. John responded with more force than the Welsh Prince could hope to equal. The two agreed to meet at Shrewsbury to discuss peace terms.

SHREWSBURY Castle had been held by the crown for more than two hundred years, and the great hall had been rebuilt in stone by John's father. John's son was thinking of that as they awaited the arrival of the Welsh Prince, wondering if his grandfather would have done what John meant to do. Probably so, Richard decided; his father's lessons in cynical statecraft had been learned under Henry's tutelage.

Now he glanced about the hall, at the other men: Ranulf de Blundeville, Earl of Chester; Thomas Erdington, Sheriff of Shropshire; Lord Robert Corbet and his son Thomas; Robert de Montalt. There was no one else in the hall; Chester had cleared it of retainers, servants, ana men-at-arms. Richard knew why, knew Chester was seeking to ma*6 Gwenwynwyn's capitulation as painless as possible.

No easy task, giye the surprise they were about to spring upon him. But he gave Ches credit for trying; tact was an attribute Richard appreciated.279 Richard had only recently joined the knights of Chester's houseId but the past weeks had caused him to revise his earlier unfavoruie opinion of the Earl He was not a particularly likable man, was of a erved and taciturn nature, but he was an astute judge of character, hrewd and surprisingly subtle, and he had soon won Pilchard's respect Richard knew this coming confrontation with Gwenwynwyn had to be wkward for Chester, the two men had once been allies But nothing showed in Chester's face or demeanor There was in his manner only the dispassionate resolve of a man set upon doing his duty, upon carrying out the King's command however little he might like it pochard wondered if the Corbets shared Chester's reluctance to do what John wanted done Theirs was an even more awkward position, for Gwenwynwyn had taken Robert Corbet's daughter to wife But they'd voiced no protests, raised no objections With the fate of William de Braose still uppermost in all their minds, few of John's barons were eager to incur his displeasure in this, the tenth year of his reign "Pilchard7" Thomas Corbet was looming over him Without waiting to be asked, he sprawled down beside Pilchard in the window seat Richard retreated as far as he was able, but not in time to avoid Thomas's elbow in his ribs He was not comfortable with such close physical proximity, even with those he liked, and he did not like Thomas Corbet For all his self-professed contempt for Llewelyn, Thomas was showing himself quite willing to trade upon Llewelyn's marital connection with the crown and his own tenuous connection with the Welsh Prince to establish an unwelcome familiarity with Llewelyn's brother-in-law, and his sensitivity was such that he was utterly oblivious to Richard's measured recoil "Have you had further word on de Braose's whereabouts7" Richard was tempted to deny Thomas the pleasure of being one of the first to know But all would know soon enough, and he said grudgingly, "De Braose and his family fled to Ireland on Thursday last, are seeking refuge with his son-m-law, the Lord of Meath "

"Indeed7 And will your lord father the King now " But Richard was spared further conversation by the arrival of Gwenwynwyn Richard had never met the Prince of Powys, but he was quite curious about '"is man who was Llewelyn's avowed and embittered rival, and he watched with considerable interest as Gwenwynwyn was escorted into e hall He was a good ten years older than Llewelyn, appeared to be in 15 middle to late forties, a short, dark-complexioned man, stocky and newy, he bore a surprising resemblance to the swarthy, thickset Earl of ster And like Chester, Gwenwynwyn had black eyes ablaze with er> intelligence, sharp with suspicion Chester was advancing to greet him Gwenwynwyn's eyes flicked280 past the Earl, encompassed the hall. "I was summoned to meet with King John,"

he said, in fluent Norman-French. "Why is he not here?"

"The King's Grace has instructed me to act on his behalf." Chester's voice was neutral, matter-of-fact. "He has been grievously affronted by your recent incursions into Norman lands in South Wales. No man, be he Welsh or Norman, may violate the King's Peace with impunity. The King has therefore directed me to take you into the custody of the crown, to detain you here in Shrewsbury Castle."

Richard saw the looks of incredulous outrage upon the faces of Gwenwynwyn's Welsh followers, saw hands drop to sword hilts Gwenwynwyn looked no less outraged, but he showed now that he resembled Chester in more than coloring, showed himself to be the same sort of hardheaded realist. Having walked trustingly into John's trap, he could accept defeat with as much dignity as he could muster, or he could cast his life away in a gesture of grand defiance.

He chose the former, snapped a command to his men, and then turned back to face Chester.

"I came here in good faith," he said, with such scalding contempt that suddenly none of the Normans could meet his eyes; even Thomas Corbet looked somewhat discomfited.

"You came here to answer charges brought against you by Marcher lords like Peter Fitz Herbert, that you've been raiding Norman manors, running off livestock, and burning crops," Chester said, quite flatly, and Gwenwynwyn's lip curled.

"Yi ci a fyner ei grogi dywedir ei fod yn lladd defaid," he said scornfully.

Even Marcher border lords like the Corbets had never bothered to learn Welsh; Chester alone spoke the language. It was he who translated for the benefit of his companions. " 'The dog we would hang is said to devour sheep.' If, by that, you mean the King has contrived an excuse to seize your lands ..."

"What else would I think? I would like to know, though, where this pretty plot was first hatched . . . Westminster? Or Aber?"

"Aber? You think the King is obliging Llewelyn ab lorwerth in this?" Chester shook his head, even smiled faintly, as though at Gwenwynwyn's naive misreading of English aims. "Your suspicions are understandable, but unwarranted. I assure you the King has no desire to see Powys fall under Llewelyn's control. Royal couriers are even now on their way to Gwynedd and to the courts of Prince Maelgwn and Prince Rhys Gryg in South Wales, forbidding them to take advantage of yur troubles with the King, telling them to keep out of Powys."

"And you truly think Llewelyn will heed such a command?" Gwenwynwyn was staring at them in bitter disbelief. "You fools. You p281 bloody fools It would be laughable, in truthif I were not to be the one to pay the pnce for your stupidity'"

jsjo one answered him Chester gestured abruptly and men-at-arms merged from behind the screen, moved to escort the captive Welsh Prince to his confinement In the silence that followed, Thomas Corbet steppe^ toward Chester, began to assure the Earl that he knew LleweIvn well, that he would not dare to defy the King's command No one asked Richard for his opinion, and he did not volunteer it He admittedly did not know Llewelyn as Thomas Corbet did, had only met him twice But he suspected that Gwenwynwyn knew Llewelyn better than any of them, and if Gwenwynwyn was right, he thought uneasily, there would be Hell to pay For his sister's sake, he could only hope that Thomas was right and the Welshman wrong GREYING dawn light was illuminating the snow-drifted peaks of Eryn, turning the crystalline lakes of the high mountain reaches to glistening blue ice, bringing day to the River Lledr valley and the castle standing stark sentinel in the shadow of Moel Siabod Joanna stood by the hearth in their bedchamber, watching her husband dress As always when he was in a rush, Llewelyn lacked patience, preferring not to summon his squires to do what he could more quickly do himself It was cold and Joanna pulled her bedrobe close, sought with chilled fingers to fasten the belt over her swollen abdomen "I still cannot believe it," she said when she could keep silent no longer "I cannot believe you'd do this, leave me when my time is nigh The babe is due in six weeks, Llewelyn You would truly leave me when I do need you the most and for what7 A bloody border raid'"

"Joanna, you are not hearing me, not listening to what I say I know you are distraught, and I am sorry for that, love But a chance like this will not come again With Gwenwynwyn caged in Shrewsbury, all of Powys hes open for the taking You think Maelgwn and Rhys Gryg are not planning to carve it up between them even as we talk7 You know what I want for Wales, know what it would mean to hold both Gwynedd and Powys Can you truly expect me to forfeit such an opportunity7 I cannot do that, Joanna, not even for you "

"My father will not forgive you," she said, saw him shrug "I expect I can live with that," he said, and his indifference only served to fan Joanna's fury all the higher In the night she'd clung to lm/ put aside her pride and confessed her fear, her need to have him , n ner when the babe was born And he'd been very tender, very Vlng But he'd not weakened in his resolve to depart on the morrow,282 to lead an army into Powys, and when she said her father would riot forgive him, she was in fact warning that she might not be able to f0r. give him either.

Llewelyn buckled his scabbard, felt the familiar weight of a sword at his left hip, sheathed a razor-edged dagger, and then crossed the chamber, put his hands on Joanna's shoulders.

"You say the babe is not due for six weeks, breila. That means there still will be time enough. Once I'm entrenched in Powys, neither Maelgwn nor Rhys Gryg is likely to mount any sort of challenge to my suzerainty. If all goes as I expect, I'll leave Ednyved in temporary cornmand and come back for the birth." He smiled at her, a smile to break her heart, said, "I promise, love, promise to be back in time," and she wrenched free.

"Think you that I'm a child to be mollified with sugared words, placated with promises? You're not God, cannot give me an assurance like that. How can you be sure the babe will not come early, before its time? That you'd not be delayed by foul weather, reversals of the campaign? Or that you'd not get so caught up in that campaign, in the killing and the conquest and whatever it is that makes men lust so after war that you'll forget all else? Who is going to remind you that you've a wife in need of you, a wife about to bear your child?"

"Joanna, I have to do this."

"Was that what you told Tangwystl, too?"

Joanna at once regretted it; there were taunts that not even the most justifiable anger could excuse. She knew Llewelyn's grieving had been all the greater for not having been with Tangwystl when she died, and she said hastily, "I am sorry."

"You damned well should be!" He turned away from her, strode toward the door, only to stop with his hand on the latch. Wheeling about, he came back, reached out, and jerked her toward him. He was not gentle, pulled her into an angry, ungainly embrace, made awkward by the unwieldy burden of her pregnancy. "I will be back, Joanna."

She wanted to fling his grudging promise in his face, to say she'd see him damned and in Hell ere she'd beg him again to stay. Instead she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, for a moment buried her face in his shoulder.

But there was no healing in their embrace. Llewelyn stepped back, again turned toward the door.

"Llewelyn."

He paused, but she saw he was impatient to be gone, his mind already upon Powys and plans of conquest. "Take care of yourself," she said, and even to her own ears, her voice sounded strange, made tte and toneless by her fear.

"Take care," she repeated bleakly. "I woul look dreadful in black."253 ON arnvmg at Aber, Richard was disheartened to be told that his sis- was awaiting her confinement at Dolwyddelan Castle, more than a , y'g journey to the south But the winter was so far proving to be a i)d one, and the passes were still clear of snow With Welsh guides ho knew every rock and crevice of the Eryn heights, they encountered o difficulties, rode into the bailey of Dolwyddelan soon after dark on November

18.

This was his first visit to Dolwyddelan, and Richard was looking about with interest as he followed Dylan, Joanna's seneschal, up the stone outer stairs into the keep But as soon as he stepped across the threshold, he sensed that something was very wrong Morgan ap Bleddyn, Branwen, and Alison were clustered awkwardly to one side, and barely glanced his way In the center of the chamber Joanna and Gruffydd were standing At sight of his sister, Richard felt a throb of alarm, she looked ill, eyes hollowed and swollen, skin showing a greyish pallor even in the warming, reddish glow of hearth fire She had yet to notice him, had all her attention focused upon her stepson Richard spoke no Welsh, but it was obvious that the conversation was a strained, labored one Joanna paused frequently, fumbled for words, and at last switched into French, saying in a very low voice, "What more can I say than that I am sorry7"

Gruffydd had been staring past her into the hearth At that, he raised his head, and Richard took an instinctive step forward He did not dismiss the passions of the very young with indulgent amusement At nineteen, he was still young enough himself to remember, he knew that a child's hatred might be even more intense than that of a man grown, for the man's emotions were likely to be tempered with painful adult experiences in the arts of compromise and conciliation The child's passions were purer and more primitive, and the hatred of a child could easily get away from him, take on dimensions and depths he could not hope to control Such a hatred was now naked upon Gruffydd's face, a helpless, soul-scarring hatred for his father's wife Gruffydd somehow fought back the words rising up to choke him, whirled and bolted for the door Joanna signaled to Morgan, and the Pnest swiftly followed the boy from the chamber It was only then that *e saw Richard "Oh, Richard, thank God1" she cried, with such an ensity f emotion that what was meant as a welcome became an in- untary confession of despair Richard was not normally demonstrative, but he came forward th 8ave her a prolonged hug Waiting until they were together in r j^ wmdow seat nearest the bed, he watched her fidget with the lap e oranwen had tucked around her, and finally said quietly, "Are you ot going to tell me what that was about7"284 She did not want to tell him; that was evident. She fidgeted a while longer, lavishing undue attention upon the small dog curled up beside them. "Poor Sugar, she cannot comprehend why I no longer have a lap for her to sit in."

She sighed, then said with obvious reluctance, "I'll teu you. But you must understand how it has been. My nerves are so on the raw these days that I find myself always on the edge of anger, much too quick to flare up, to take offense. But I cannot seem to help it. In truth, I have been feeling wretched for months with this babe, even before Llewelyn left me, and these five weeks that he's been gone . . . well, I'd not ever want to relive them, Richard, not even for the surety of my soul!"

He waited without prompting, for he was that rarity, a Plantagertet with patience to spare, and Joanna sighed again. "This morn Sugar ran off, disappeared without a trace. I was so fearful for her, sent servants out to search, to no avail. Then . . . then the child of one of the grooms told me that he'd seen Sugar down by the riverbank, ere he knew she was missing. And he said she was with Gruffydd."

"Ah, Joanna, surely you did not?"

Joanna flushed. "Yes, I did," she admitted, with a trace of defiance. "I accused Gruffydd of chasing Sugar away." From the way she averted her eyes, Richard suspected she'd accused Gruffydd of even worse. He said nothing, and she stroked the dog until the heat had faded from her face. "I was in the wrong, I know that. I had no proof, should not have . . . but I did, and within the hour, Sugar came back of her own accord, muddy and matted and unhurt. I apologized to Gruffydd, but as you saw, he will not forgive me. I knew he would not, not the way he cherishes a grudge!"

"Joanna, you can hardly blame him for being hurt and resentful. How old is he now, not thirteen till the spring, no? Well, you have to"

"Richard, you do not understand. I should not have said what I did, would to God I had not. But you do not know what a wretched, hateful boy he is. Believe me, he's quite capable of harming a dog out of spite!"

"Have you ever talked to Llewelyn about him?"

"No. At first I thought I should be capable of handling him myself. As Llewelyn's wife, I owed it to him to make peace with his children; a man should not be burdened with problems of the hearth. And . . an(* it would serve for naught, would only cause Llewelyn hurt. With the girls, I think I've finally managed to gain their trust. Even GwladysI asked her to stand as Elen's godmother, and since then she's been slowlyever so slowlywarming toward me. But Gruffydd has give me naught but grief from the moment of my arrival at Aber. I de*es him, Richard, I truly do. He's wild and perverse and dangerously u predictable, has none of Llewelyn's strengths and every damned one his failings!"285 Richard glanced up sharply. "Do you want to talk about that about Llewelyn's failings?"

Joanna hesitated, and then confessed, "Yes, I think I do. We had a truly dreadful quarrel when he left, by far the worst of our marriage. I was so angry with him, Richard; I still am. He knows how fearful I've been about this baby, he knows, but it was not enough to keep him with me That's hard for me to understand, harder still to forgive."

"We heard he was encountering little resistance, found Powys was his for the taking. Is that true?"

Joanna nodded. "Llewelyn has few peers on the battlefield," she said, with perverse pride in that which gave her so much anxiety. "Men say he is a brilliant commander."

That, Richard thought grimly, was precisely the trouble. "Think you that he'll stop at the borders of Powys?"

"You have not heard, then? He has crossed into Ceredigion, into the lands of Maelgwn ap Rhys, has pushed as far south as the River Ystwyth."

"Jesii! But how can he hope to hold it? Maelgwn is no man to yield up what is his. I know the man, Joanna, met him often when I served in South Wales with William de Braose's son. His past is a bloody one, includes the murder of a brother and the imprisonment of his own father. He makes a bad enemy."

"I know. Ednyved's wife Gwenllian is sister to Maelgwn and Rhys Gryg; they paid a visit to our court last year. After meeting them, I found it easier to understand why Gwenllian is such a bitch! But to answer your question, Llewelyn does not mean to hold Ceredigion for himself. He means to turn most of it over to Maelgwn's nephews. They've been feuding with their uncles for years, are more than willing to acknowledge Llewelyn as their overlord in return for his backing against Maelgwn."

"Yes," Richard said slowly, "I expect they would be." Joanna could not have given him a more disquieting answer. Had Llewelyn merely acted to seize what lands he could for himself, it would be much easier to dismiss him as just another of the power-hungry princes and lords of the Welsh Marches, a region that seemed to spawn more than its share f renegades, outlaws, and rebel barons. They could be troublesome, e de Braoses and Maelgwns and Fulk Fitz Warins, but their aims were understandable, their vision was limited, and sooner or later they over- eached themselves, were undone by their own greed. But a man who u'd voluntarily yield to others land he had himself won at sword- " mt, such a man had ambitions above and beyond filling his coffers, r ndering his weaker neighbors. Such a man posed a genuine danger n8'and's interests, would have to be dealt with.286 r 287.

"Joanna . . . what does Llewelyn want for himself, for Wales?"

She surprised him then, said, "Are you asking for yourself, RJCI ard? Or for Papa?"

"For myself," he said, and she smiled, reached out to brush the haj back from his temples. But she did not answer his question.

Branwen approached with mulled wine, retreated discreetly out Of hearing range. Richard drank, studying his sister. Despite the fact that John's mother'd had one of the best political brains in Christendom, or perhaps because of it, he had never encouraged Joanna to take an interest in statecraft. He'd pampered her and protected her, indulged her and lavished love upon her, but he'd never asked her what she thought, never shown any curiosity in the workings of her brain. Her political education had come from her grandmother, during those months she'd spent with Eleanor in Poitiers.

And, it was becoming disturbingly apparent to Richard, from Llewelyn ab lorwerth.

Richard drank again, spat out sediment that had not settled to the bottom of the cup. He found himself wishing that Joanna were not becoming so quick to comprehend the subtleties and consequences of power, to grasp that which women need not know. Far better for her if she were like Isabelle, if she cared only for womanly whims and the joys of the moment, if she were not aware of the gathering clouds.

Suddenly he felt very dispirited, felt caught up in currents beyond his control. He knew his father had no liking at all for Joanna's husband, that he distrusted the Prince and disliked the man. But Richard did like Llewelyn, for he could not help but see the changes marriage had wrought in Joanna. Neither he nor his father had been able to give Joanna what she most needed, a sense of belonging. Llewelyn had somehow succeeded where they had not, and Richard was grateful to him for it. He knew Joanna had found more than contentment in her marriage, that she'd found a rare and real passion. He knew how deeply she loved Llewelyn, and he wished that she'd never laid eyes upon the Welsh Prince, wished that he had the power to blot the past thirty-one months from her mind and memory, for he did not think her present happiness was worth the suffering that was sure to come.

She had refused to answer his question, but he knew what her answer would have been, knew all too well what Llewelyn ab lorvvertn wanted. He wanted a Wales free of all English influence, wanted a united country under his own rule, a sovereign, independent kingdom like Scotland. And Richard knew his father would never allow it to be No English King could.

"Richard . . . was Papa very wroth with Llewelyn for laying claim Powys?"

"Yes, I fear so," he said reluctantly, hoping she would not intetf ate him further, not wanting her to know the true extent of John's rage [then he was told that Llewelyn's red-and-gold lions were flying over much of mid-Wales.

"I knew he"Joanna gave an audible gasp; her wine cup splashed fs contents onto the window-seat cushions.

"My God, Joanna, is it the babe? Do not move, I'll fetch your women ..."

Joanna's breath was coming back. "You need not panic," she said, sounding faintly amused. "It was just a stray pain. They come and go in the last days, mean only that my time is growing nigh."

Richard's relief was considerable. Like most men, he knew next to nothing about the birthing process, was quite content to keep it that way. "You']]

have a midwife, of course, and women to help, to do whatever . . . whatever must be done?" he asked awkwardly.

"Two midwives, Dame Rhagnell and Dame Meryl. And Branwen and Alison, of course. I should have liked Catherine to be with me, but her youngest has been ailing." Joanna frowned; having Catherine with her would have gone far to allay some of her anxieties. "I wish I were not so fearful, Richard, wish Idid not dread it so, for when a woman is tense and fearful, the pain is worse.

If I did not remember Elen's birth so vividly . . . But I will not be so afraid if I know Llewelyn is here. As long as he is close at hand . . ."

Joanna's voice trailed off; after a moment, she looked up, gave Richard a shy smile. "I never knew it was possible to be so angry with a man and yet want him so much, too. But right now I think I'd gladly forgive him any sin on God's earth if only he'd walk through that door, if only he comes back for the baby's birth ..."

RICHARD would never have admitted his doubts to Joanna, but he thought it very unlikely that Llewelyn would return in time. Richard had known few husbands all that eager to endure long hours of waiting outside the birthing chamber, and he found it hard to believe a man would interrupt a military campaign because of a young wife's fears. Mayhap for a first child, but Llewelyn already had seven children, already had a son. He said nothing, however, did what he could to raise 15 sister's flagging spirits, and was never so pleased to be proven Wrong as when Llewelyn rode into the castle bailey just before Vespers On November 20.

mCHARD awoke with a start, a sleepy sense of disorientation. After a Went or so, he remembered where he was, in the great hall at Dol - elan, and glanced over at the pallet where his brother-in-law had288 289.

been sleeping. But Llewelyn's pallet was empty. Despite the hour, R^ ard felt no surprise; several times in the night he had heard Llewelyn rise, go out into the rain, and each time he returned, wet and shivering he had answered Richard's low-voiced queries with a shrug, a shake of his head.

Pulling on his boots, Richard moved to the heavy oaken door opened it a crack.

It was just before dawn, a blustery, cold Monday; the wind was still gusting, and after a night of unrelenting rain, the bailey was ankle-deep in mud.

Llewelyn was mounting the stairs up into the keep. He'd not be given entry, Richard knew; men were strictly barred from the birthing chamber. But Branwen or Alison would join him on the drawbridge in the forebuilding, would give him word on Joanna's progress.

Richard retreated back into the hall, sent his squire for a chamber pot and then a cupful of ale. It was a quarter hour before Llewelyn returned. Moving at once to the center open hearth, he stood as near the flames as he could, blew on his hands to combat the crippling cold, and rejected an offer of bread and cheese to break his fast. In the harsh morning light, he looked to be a different man from the one who'd come back in such triumph just three days ago, jubilant after six weeks of successive victories. He suddenly seemed a stranger to laughter; lack of sleep and a failure to shave gave him a haggard, unkempt look. And remembering how he'd doubted that Llewelyn would return for Joanna's travail, Richard wondered how he could ever have been so stupid.

"How does she?" he asked, again got a weary shake of the head in reply.

"No change, or so they claim." Llewelyn accepted a cupful of ale, swallowed without tasting. "Eighteen hours it's been," he said, and Richard realized he did not even know if that was an excessive length of time.

"Is that overly long?"

"Not if the pains are light, feeble. But Branwen says Joanna's pains are right sharp, and coming close together. She got no rest at all last night. If the birth drags on ... So much can go wrong, Richard, so much. If the babe is lying in the wrong position, the midwife has to reach up into the womb and try to correct it. If she cannot, both mother and child are like to die. Or the babe can be too big. Or the pains can go on so long that the woman's strength gives out. There's always the danger that she'll lose heart, the danger of sudden bleeding. And afterward, the danger that she'll not expel the afterbirth."

Richard looked utterly blank, and Llewelyn said impatiently, "That is the skin that held the babe when it was in the womb. If it does not me out of its own accord, and the midwives cannot pull it out, the woman will sicken and die. And even if she gives birth safely and then expels the afterbirth, there is still the risk of milk fever. They say as many women die from that as from the birthing itself."

Richard had already been told more than he'd ever wanted to know about childbirth. "How in God's name do you know so much about it? The midwives I've met have been as closemouthed as clams."

"I asked Catrin to tell me." Llewelyn was staring into the fire, caught up in memories of a woman with hair the color of the flames, in memories of a summer seven years past. After a long silence, he said, "I wanted to know why Tangwystl died."

FOR Llewelyn, those hours just before a battle always passed with excruciating slowness. But nothing in his past had prepared him for the way time fragmented and froze as he waited for Joanna to give birth to their child. When it had become clear that Joanna's delivery would be neither quick nor easy, he'd sent for Catherine, hoping that her presence might give Joanna comfort. But although she was only twelve miles away at Trefriw, she had yet to arrive, and he did not know whether to attribute the delay to the rain-swamped roads or to the continued illness of her child. Each time he made that grim trek across the bailey, sought scraps of information from an increasingly evasive Branwen, he was aware of a new and frightening feeling, a sense of utter impotence.The rain fell intermittently all morning. Just before noon, the cloud cover began to break over the mountains; patches of sky became visible. Llewelyn at last humored his ten-year-old daughter, agreed to Gwladys's pleas that he allow the cooks to prepare a meal for him. He was making desultory conversation with Adda and Richard, relating how Maelgwn razed three of his own castles in Ceredigion rather than have them fall into hostile hands, when Branwen appeared without warning in the doorway of the hall.

Her hair was falling about her face in wind-whipped disarray, her gown mud-stained to the knees, and when Llewelyn reached her, he saw that her eyes were filling with tears.

"The baby will not come," she whispered. "We do not know what glse to do, my lord. We've massaged her belly and anointed her private parts with hot thyme oil, laid agrimony root across her womb, given her ark of cassia fistula in wine, even given her pepper to make her sneeze. Jhe pains are coming very quick now, very sharp, but the babe is no nearer to delivery than it was three hours ago. My lord . . . she cannot290 go on like this much longer. Her strength is all but gone and she has begun to bleed."

To Llewelyn, that was a death knell. It showed on his face, and she said quickly, "No, my lord, bleeding need not be fatal, God's truth! She's lost mayhap a cupful, no more. But she's losing, too, her will t0 endure, losing all hope. And once she begins to believe she and the babe will die ..."

She was weeping openly by now. "My lord, Dame Rhagnell did send me to tell you that we do need a vial of holy water. Will your chaplain"

"Holy water? No! No, I forbid it!"

"But my lord, you do not understand! It is for the babe. By pouring holy water onto a baptismal sponge, we can insert it up into Lady Joanna's womb, baptise the babe whilst it still lives!"

"Are you mad? You've just admitted that Joanna now despairs of delivering this child. You tell her you want to baptise the child whilst in her womb and you'll be passing a death sentence upon her!"

"I know," she said, and sobbed. "But if we do not, if the babe dies unbaptised, its soul will be lost to God! What choice have we, my lord, what choice?"

"Llewelyn, she is right." Morgan, Richard, and Adda had come up behind them.

"She is right, lad," the priest repeated softly. "If a child is not baptised, it is forever denied Paradise, may never look upon the face of God. Your child, Llewelyn. Can you risk that?"

When Llewelyn did not answer, Morgan reached out, put his rosary into the younger man's hand. Llewelyn's fingers closed tightly around it; he could feel the beads digging into his palm. He brought them up, touched them to his lips, and then handed them back to the priest. "If I must choose between Joanna and the child," he said huskily, "I choose Joanna."

ALISON opened the door just wide enough to allow her to slip through to join Llewelyn out on the drawbridge. When he grabbed the latch, pushed past her into the bedchamber, she cried out in shock, "My lord, no!" but made no move to stop him. Nor did Branwen, a mute, miserable ghost trailing him across the bailey and up the stairs. Both midwives, however, reacted with outrage.

"My lord, you cannot enter the birthing chamber! You must go from here at once!"