"Llewelyn ..." Joanna sobbed again, collapsed upon the bed. He gone and he would not be back. She'd lost him, lost all, all ... She , noj think it was possible to feel pain greater than this. But then she ar(] her son's voice, heard Davydd say, "Why, Mama, why?"

"Davydd?" Her voice broke. "Davydd . . . you saw? My God, oh, myGod, no..."

He moved from the shadows of the antechamber, stood there starjne at her as if he no longer recognized her. "Glynis sent word that you'd been taken ill, that the doctors feared a rupture . . ."He sounded dazed, his words labored, coming as uncertainly as if he were speaking a language not his own. "She said . . .

said you might be dying. Papa, he ..." He shook his head, as if to clear it.

"We half killed our horses, and when we rode into the bailey, no one knew, no one . . ." The words trailed off raggedly, his mouth contorting.

"What have you done, Mama? Jesus God, what have you done?"

DAVYDD had gone. Joanna was alone. She would never know how long she lay there in the darkness. Upon the table a solitary candle still sputtered, burning down toward the wick. When at last it flickered out, Joanna rose from the bed, groped her way across the chamber. She did not bother with stockings or chemise; finding a gown in one of her coffers, she pulled it over her head, began to search for her shoes. She did not braid her hair, merely brushed it back over her shoulders. She had to see Llewelyn. She had to tell him that she'd not lain with Will in his bed. Nothing else mattered. He could never forgive her, she knew that. But le' his grieving be for those October afternoons in the hafod. Not for this, "t for a betrayal in his own bedchamber. She could at least do that for "n. She could give him the truth about tonight and hope it might in "me help to heal some of his pain.

Once she was dressed, though, she found herself standing motionby the door.

How could she find Llewelyn? The thought of entering ^ 8feat hall in search of him was terrifying. She wanted only to stay m the dark, never to have to face others again. But she must somebra *^e Coura8e to do this, for Llewelyn's sake if not her own. She arm nerself and then opened the door, only to find her way barred by ^ed guards.12 ABER, NORTH WALES.

April 1230 T.

J. HE men came for Joanna the following morning. She had no warning; they entered without knocking, announced brusquely that she was to accompany them.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, the composure of her question utterly belied by the tremor in her voice, and one of the men laughed.

"Did you not hear the hammering? Carpenters have been laboring since dawn to erect a gallows ... for two."

Even before she saw the startled looks on the other faces, Joanna was sure the man lied. If Llewelyn meant for her to die, she'd have died last night in her own bed. He would never hang her; she knew that with such certainty that she found the assurance now to challenge their authority. "I want to know where I am to be taken."

"Do you indeed? Well, I'd not give a fig for what you want," he jeered, and Joanna stiffened, for that expression had long since taken on obscene connotations. "You've no right to ask questions. You forfeited all rights the day you chose to play the whore for a Norman lord.

No one had ever dared speak to her with such contempt, and Joanna felt as if she'd been torn, naked and defenseless, from a cocoon of privilege and power, with no skills for survival in this harsh new world. But indignation was an indulgence no longer available to her. she could do was to salvage what dignity she could. "Very well, come with you as soon as I braid my hair." , Her tormentor stepped toward her, took the brush out of her a "No, you will come now," he said, and she had no choice but to ^ When Topaz sought to follow, he thrust the dog aside impatiently- a *' * i e deserves?" v>u Appalled, his more sober comrades m ^deserves?" sought to turn aside Llewelyn's anger with a lT HaSte to ir>terve?n* cuse. Llewelyn looked at the boy, younger eve * f aPology and e^ '*,.

- ^>(- m^i^ ,-ust;. Ljcwciyii iuuK.eu at me ooy, younger eve>~ "h-^gv ana e^ '

his muddled way to empathize with his lord's Davydd, trying i^~ be to make a scapegoat of this imprudent yout^3"1' HW easy ft wo-uK." able and unjust. "I do not suffer fools gladly " U EaSy ^ Understa3i^f ily for you, lad, I have more patience with d'ru S3id CUrtIy' "but ll*cl%" The soldiers did not press their luck; they scatt *lkards' Go sleeP it o^f.V"

But the boy's question stayed with Hewel?^'

Why had he not punished Joanna as she deserv^" m the days to corbie toLlanfaes? Why had he made hers such a ca ? Why had he sent ^eV He'd done it for Davydd's sake. That was the onfortable confinememt^ answer. But was it the only answer? "vious answer, the e*syx His last memory of Joanna had yet to fade- u eyes to bring it into sudden, sharp focus, to se had nly to dose 1~lis the rumpled sheets, even the sweat trickling dcT ^ tan&Ied dar^ hair, hollow between her breasts. That woman he cc^" ^ thrat/ into tple woman who'd taken a Norman lover, made hi Uld hate/ and did' fi^e frayed his trust, jeopardized Davydd's successi * Iau8hin8stock, bsoldiers had jeered; who should be surprised^"' B1d W'U teU' thte showed herself to be a shameless wanton?

Harlo that Jhn'S daughter names. The woman who'd taken Will into his bej'

Whore' Hars*, ugly But what of the seventeen-year-old girl wn deserved them all. birth to Davydd? Or the woman who'd stood in ^ almSt d'ed 8ivin^ with him to let her intercede with John? What chamber> pleading wrtsied to him that day at Aberconwy, salvaging f ** Wman who'cd kther for his sake? Did she, too, deserve to be call P"de' defyinS he:r Llewelyn drained the last of the wine thre Sl"t? room, watched it shatter against the wall It'was W the CUP acrss the ne at once regretted.