Come morning, the servant^ 3Ct f imPulse< one ^ clay shards upon the floor; they would mak^ WUld find the bro' ean up the wreckage with impassive faces And Tu"0 comment- would ^d- -miathey would not under- one ^0nedid-Moran had come the closest to co . A 'attempt at consolation, he'd counseled endur P e"dlng; in his .' Llewelyn, time to grieve. Try to remember ^ "Give yourself evenf T" Tan8wystl and hw you mourned uthat Pam doe pass.

entually heal... and so will this " *er" But th* hurt did ^ unf ?!!? Mrgan Culd understand that it was .U1 unfaithful wife; few others did. But he was w?SSlble to Srieve for 0 wrong to equate Tang-646 wystl's death with Joanna's betrayal. This was a different sort of loss, and in its own way, more painful, for he'd lost more than Joanna, he'd lost their life together, too. In destroying their future, Joanna had also poisoned their past.

Closing his eyes, Llewelyn lay back against the pillow. But no man could ever fully master memory. The tides ran higher at night, and he found himself engulfed without warning, carried back in time to an October afternoon, to the cloistered silence of the White Ladies Priory. Joanna was standing again before him, disheveled, breathless, a russet leaf clinging to her hair, turning up to him a face streaked with tears.

Llewelyn gave a sudden, bitter laugh, for what greater irony could there be than this, that the one person able to understand exactly how he now felt should be Joanna, Joanna who'd cried out in such despair, "If he'd died, I'd still have had memories. But now even my memories are false. They do not comfort, they only torment. . ."

"RICHARD!" Joanna's book thudded to the floor; in three strides she was across the room, in her brother's arms. "How glad I am to see you, how very glad!" He did not return her embrace, merely patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, but he'd always been sparing with physical demonstrations of affection, and she reached up, kissed him on the cheek before stepping back to smile at him.

"I'm not sure what I expected, Joanna. But not this," he said, glancing about the bedchamber. "One might think you were still Princess of Gwynedd."

Joanna's smile vanished; his voice was very cold. "Would you rather have found me in a dungeon at Cricieth, Richard?"

"Of course not," he said impatiently. "But I cannot help marveling at Llewelyn's leniency."

"You've seen him, talked to him? Tell me how he is, Richard. How does he?"

"How do you think he does? The man loved you, Joanna."

"I know," she whispered. "I know . . ."

"How could you do it? How could you shame yourself, shame your family like this? At first I thought it had to be some sort of macabre hoax! And if I could not believe it, I would not even attempt to imagine wha Llewelyn"

I've "Richard, enough! I do not need you to tell me of the pam caused those I love. I was there, I saw, and those are memories I''" to live with for the rest of my life. I do not deny that I have committe grievous sin, and I'll willingly answer for it to my husband, to my647 dren, to the King, and to God. But not to you, Richard. Least of all to you!"

"You do not think I've a right to be angry? Disappointed?"

"I do not think you've the right to pass judgment upon me. I think you forfeited that right when you refused to pass judgment upon John."

"What mean you by that, Joanna?"

"You knew, Richard. You knew about Arthur, about Maude de Braose and her son.

You saw the hangings. But you stood by John even then, even after watching those Welsh children die at Nottingham. So I do not think it is for you to judge me. Unless you can explain why adultery is a greater sin in your eyes than murder."

"I see it was a mistake for me to come."

"Mayhap it was," Joanna agreed, and he turned, walked out.

But no sooner had he gone than Joanna's anger was gone, too. She sat down upon the closest coffer, feeling weak, empty, and alone, utterly alone. Why had she sent Richard away? Who else did she have? Henry would be no less shocked than Richard, no less judgmental. An unfaithful wife was a creature utterly beyond her Aunt Ela's ken. She was not close to her other brothers. Two of her three sisters were strangers to her, and Nell was but fourteen.

Even her dead would not have understood. Catherine had been her dearest friend, but Catherine had been Llewelyn's friend, too. Her grandmother?

Eleanor would have been indifferent to the immorality of her adultery, but would never have forgiven the stupidity of it. Her mother would have been horrified, with the peculiar intolerance of the onetime sinner. Her father?

Hating Llewelyn as he did, how could he not have been delighted by her infidelity? But her mockery went awry, for she knew better. John would not have forsaken her. The man who had murdered Maude de Braose was the same man who had loved her enough to forgive her any sin.

She had sent Glynis to gather gorse and wood sorrel, and she was grateful now to hear footsteps in the antechamber, grateful for Glynis's Pportune return; hers were not thoughts she cared to dwell upon. She rse, moved toward the door. But it was not Glynis, it was Richard.

His smile was tentative, almost but not quite apologetic. "I would nt have gotten so angry if there were not some truth in what you said, "it I was halfway to the ferry ere I would admit it to myself."

"You came back, Richard. That is what matters," Joanna said, and tos time their embrace was mutual, comforting and conciliatory. Draw- 'ng him down beside her upon the settle, Joanna entwined her fingers in s- "I will answer your questions as best I can. But first you must tell e if you spoke to Davydd, if he gave you any message for me."

He shook his head. "He's not yet able to talk about you, Joanna.648 Mayhap in time ..." He tightened his grip upon her hand. "How much have you been told? You do know Will de Braose has been hanged?"

"Yes/' she said, startling him by her matter-of-fact tone. If Sne could sound so indifferent to Will's fate, then all his assumptions had to be in error.

"I can offer no excuses, no explanations for my conduct, Richard. But there is this you must know. My liaison with Will was a brief one and long over. But Will was not accustomed to a woman telling him no and meaning it, thought he would be welcome in my chambers. He was not." Richard was looking at her so strangely that she felt sudden dismay. "You do not believe me?"

"How could I have been so stupid? I actually believed you must have been beguiled by this man, had become so infatuated you'd lost all common sense.

Knowing you as I do, how could I have been so blind?" He rose to his feet, began to pace. "Why did I not see the truth ere this?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I think you know, Joanna. But if you'd have me elaborate upon the obvious, I am willing. Where shall we begin? With Llewelyn? You love your husband, you truly do. You have a marriage that was tested in fire and found true, a marriage that by rights ought to have foundered years ago, and yet it not only survived, it somehow flourished. You're no fool; you well knew the consequences of a wife's infidelity, knew you risked divorce and disgrace, mayhap even death. You knew, too, that adultery is a mortal sin. Yet despite all that, you still decided to take the risk, to take a lover. And of all the men in Christendom, whom did you happen to choose? Surprise of surprises, none other than Maude de Braose's grandson! Need I say more?"

Joanna's protest was immediateand indignant. "What are you saying, that John's sins led me to sin in atonement? That is ridiculous, Richard. I am not responsible for my father's cruelties!"

"I know," he said. "I've been seeking to convince you of that for nigh on twenty years."

Joanna opened her mouth to argue, to insist he was wrong. Instead she surprised herself by saying, "I do think it was important to Will that I was John's daughter. I think he found a perverse satisfaction in that. He learned to hate too young. But he had cause, Richard, more cause than you know ..."

She did not finish the sentence, said abruptly, "What of Henry? Does he know?"

Richard nodded. "He got word ere he sailed for St Male." He sat down beside her again. "I'll not lie to you, Joanna; it's better that you know. Sentiment is very much on Llewelyn's side, even in EnglandMen feel he was justified in acting as he did, that Will de Braose wel T.

649.

^served to die. More than eight hundred people g^ his execution, and not all of them Welsh. Will was to^ hered tO Wltness many bedchambers; even amongst his own family, U tim^r wlth to have been much mourned." does not seem to Joanna linked her fingers in her lap. She founcj now, not of the man who'd brought disaster upon uherself thinking' Of the man who'd been her lover, but of the youngs* m both' nOt even her aid with boyish, good-natured gallantry, who'd j^r who'd CO1; to Llewelyn at fourteen. "To die alone and unloved/.Ut her in m of "What a sad fate..." she said softly- Richard shrugged. "It is your fate that concerns ri) was none too sanguine ere today ... ere seeing this," i now' * a about the bedchamber. "But I am beginning to believe said' gestunn8 as I first thought." all is not as bleak Joanna bowed her head. "Llewelyn says ... he . him, Richard." V I am dead to "Yes, I know. But have you not noticed the sta*,, between what Llewelyn has said and what he has dox g disCrePancy to inflict further hurt, Joanna, but few men would t^? l do nOt mean wife as indulgently as he has so far treated you. I thi^at an unfaithful bodes well for the future. Whilst it is true that the his forbearance formally recognize adultery as grounds for divorce, Li "urcn oes no no trouble in-" Wlyn will have"Welsh law does provide for dissolving a marriag. husband's infidelity,"

Joanna interrupted, and de^ uPon a W e r a could not help remembering the night Llewelyn had flte herself' she night they'd first shared a bed as man and wife. ld her that' the "A husband's infidelity, too?" Richard echoed, s. most allowed himself to be sidetracked. But the oddjt.surPris legal system would have to wait. "Joanna, listen. I' les of the Welsh much thought. As I see it, Llewelyn has three choice^ e been glvlng U can continue to keep you here, at Llanfaes. He can corr, pen to nunnery. Or he can banish you from his domains. )^1 you to ^nter a select the second alternative. You're something of ai)exPected hlm to you know . . . both to the Welsh and to the English embarrassment, embarrassment would fade more quickly from men and a clolste^ed now that I've seen your confinement, I think we migh^ memories- But for the best, that he might agree to your return to Eng reasnab y pe "Mayhap he might. I do not know, Richard. Nor . Joanna confessed, and Richard smiled. l muc care'

"Not now, no. But even the most benign captivity .

tivity. You need only think of our cousin, Eleanor of hls sti11 that/ cap"

fittany, comfort-650 ably kept at Bristol and Corfe castles for nigh on thirty years. In time y0ll will care, Joanna, you'll care passionately."

Joanna said nothing, and he reached out, patted her hand "y0u must be patient, though. It would be disastrous to pressure Llewelyn now. We can only wait, first for the divorce and then for his decision But Henry will not forsake you. You're family, and that matters more to Henry than scandal. I do believe that eventually you will be set at liberty, and once that happens, you'll have a home with my wife and me, a home at Chilham Castle."

"Thank you, Richard," Joanna said, because it was expected of her. But his offer seemed no more real than did the future he envisioned for her. Rising, she moved to the table, opened a small casket.

"I've written letters to Elen and Davydd, to Henry and Nell. Will you take them, Richard? Will you engage couriers for me?"

"Of course. And I shall write to Llewelyn on your behalf, ask him if you cannot be allowed to leave these rooms occasionally. I think he might agree, if only for Davydd's sake."

"I would like that," Joanna admitted, "to be able to walk on the beach." She hesitated, reluctant to make a request that might be misconstrued. "There is one thing more you can do for me, Richard. I would like to have Masses said for Will, for the repose of his soul." And when he made no comment, but merely nodded, she sighed, said quietly, "I cannot mourn him. I'm not even sure I can forgive him. But at least I can pray for him."

14.

LLANFAES, NORTH WALES.

June 1250 IAJCHARD read Llewelyn correctly, and an order did arrive in due course, allowing Joanna the freedom of the manor compound and the nearby beach. Her guards objected to this new duty in vain, protesting that they felt foolish trailing after a lone woman and652 an agin spaniel. Lady Joanna could not swim; did Bran fear she could ,valk on water? But Bran remained adamant. Would any of them want to face their lord if she disappeared? Or if harm befell her? For so baffled yyere they about what their duties actually were, uncertain whether they were gaolers or bodyguards.

It was a warm Sunday in late June, too warm for walking, and when Joanna came upon the debris of an ancient wreck, she sat down upon a salt-encrusted spar.

The guard following at a discreet distance stretched out on the sand, began to doze. So, too, did Joanna's spaniel.

Joanna spent many hours like this, gazing across the strait toward Aber. She knew Llewelyn was no longer there, so even this last tenuous link had been sundered, but she found herself drawn to the beach nonetheless. It was an uncommonly clear day; the wind was still and the Eryri Mountains had shed their cloud haloes. She was able to recognize individual peaks, Llewelyn's lessons in geography having at last taken effect, and she realized suddenly how much she would miss these familiar soaring silhouettes, miss the stark splendors of her husband's realm. "You were right, love," she whispered. "You always said I'd come in time to see the grandeur of your homeland . . ."

Topaz had begun to bark. From the corner of her eye, Joanna glimpsed a woman crossing the sand. "Hush, girl," she soothed. "'Tis only Glynis." But the dog knew better, was already capering about in eager welcome. Joanna turned and her heart skipped a beat, then began to race. Flustered and not a little fearful, she stood very still, watching as her daughter walked toward her.

This was the confrontation she'd most dreaded. Davydd might in time forgive her, but Elen? They'd been too often at odds, never quite connecting, theirs an erratic sort of intimacy, one with boundaries, self-imposed constraints, vast areas left uncharted, unexplored by mutual consent. What could she say to Elen now? How could she expect Elen to understand?

"Well, I will say this for you, Mama. No half measures; when you decide to come down off your pedestal, you do so with a vengeance."

The words were tart, but surprisingly the tone was not; it was more rueful than reproachful, almost whimsical. Joanna stared at her unpredictable daughter, saying at last, "I am glad you've come, Elen."

"I would have come sooner, but John and I had gone north from Edinburgh, were doubtlessly the last to know." Elen glanced over at the sleeping soldier before sitting down upon the sea-warped driftwood. 'Your guard is out of hearing range. Sit with me, Mama, so we can talk."

"Did you get my letter?" Joanna asked, sighing with relief when Elen nodded.

"Yes, it finally caught up with me, and just in time. Papa's letter had652 T.

653.

been sparing of details, and I was well nigh going mad, trying to env' sion circumstances under which you'd have taken a lover into Papa' bedchamber. I could only conclude you were sore crazed with love, ann yet you'd showed no symptoms of it at Shrewsbury. When your letter came, I could only wonder why I'd not guessed the truth. That was so very like Will, after all."

Elen finally paused for breath. "All this did clear up one mystery f0r me, though. Will was notorious for his roving eye, and yet with me he was always quite circumspect, could not have been more respectful had I been a nun. At least now I know why!"

"Elen ... I will never understand you. How can you jest?"

"I guess . . . guess because I'm nervous. I just did not know what to say to you." Elen mustered a wan smile. "You will admit, Mama, that my lessons in the social graces never covered a situation quite like ours."

She did not wait for Joanna's response, leaned forward and touched her mother's hand. "I do have some good news for you. I asked Papa if the priest from St Catherine's could say weekly Mass at the manor, and he agreed. Mama .

. . does that not please you? Why do you look at me so strangely?"

"I... I never expected sympathy, Elen."

Elen withdrew her hand. "Why not? Why should you think I'd be less understanding than Davydd?"

"Davydd does not understand, darling. I can only hope that he will in time, as I'd hoped you might. But I would not have blamed you for being bitter. We've so often been at cross purposes, and I know ... I know how much you love your father."

"Yes, I do. I love Papa dearly. But what would you have me do, Mama? Disavow you because you made a mistake? Would that change anything? Would it make Papa's hurt any the less?"

"A mistake," Joanna echoed, dismayed. Had Elen so misconstrued her letter?

"Elen, I thought you understood. I was unfaithful to your father."

"Yes, Mama, I know. You broke your marriage vows. But a few afternoons in an abandoned hafod do not make you the whore of Babylon. You sinned and then were sorry. I daresay the same can be said of Papa. Papa is a remarkable man, in truth, but he wears a crown, not a halo. Surely you know he has been unfaithful to you?"

Joanna was both disconcerted and defensive. "Yes ... I know. But when I compared my lot with that of most wives, I had no cause for complaint.

Llewelyn never kept a mistress at court; he even put aside Cristyn for me.

Whilst we never discussed it, I knew he did bed with -jjier women, but only when I was not available, only when we'd been long apart."

"As when he was waging war in Ceri?"

"Elen, I do not see the point of this. What would you have me say? Qf course I would rather Llewelyn shared no bed but mine. But I could n0t realistically expect him to abstain for weeks at a time."

"You did."

"Why are you being so perverse? You cannot equate Llewelyn's occasional lapses with my adultery. Infidelity is a greater sin for a woman; so it has always been."

"Yes, so men keep telling us," Elen said dryly, and Joanna found herself staring at her daughter as if at a stranger.

"I once told my father that blood breeds true," she said slowly. "I spoke greater truth than I knew, for none could ever doubt you are Eleanor of Aquitaine's great-granddaughter. It frightens me to hear you talk like this, for I do not think you realize the danger in it. Elen . . . Elen, you've never . . . ?" She let the sentence trail off, and Elen gave her a smile of gentle mockery.

"You ought not to ask a question, Mama, unless you are sure you truly want toknow the answer."

"Oh, Elen, no . . ." Joanna whispered, sounding so horrified that Elen flushed, sprang to her feet.

"What are you going to do, Mama? Lecture me on morality? I should think that would be rather droll, coming from you!"

Joanna, too, was on her feet now. "Elen, you must listen to me. I am not passing judgment upon you, ask only that you hear me out. Walk toward the water with me, so we may be sure we cannot be overheard. Please, darling, you do not know what you risk!"

Elen hesitated. "Very well, Mama. But I'll hear no sermons from you!"

"I said I was not judging you. I want only to ask you a question. Mine could have been a far different fate. But your father has shown me remarkable leniency. Why do you think that is, Elen?"

This was not the question Elen was expecting. "I ... I suppose he did it for us, for Davydd and me. And then, he did love you. Mayhap he finds it hard to hurt you, even now . . ."

Joanna flinched, but then she nodded. "You are right. But I think there is yet another reason for his restraint. I think his response might have been different had he not been Welsh."

Elen came to an abrupt halt. "I do not understand. Welsh law holds adultery to be a grave sin indeed. So why . . ."

"Because the Welsh look upon women in a different light. A Welsh-654 man does not think of his wife as his property; she has rights of he own. But a Norman wife does not, and that makes her betrayal all the more unforgivable in her husband's eyes. Elen, I know of what I speak for I am Norman-French born and bred; their ways are mine. I know no Norman lord capable of treating an unfaithful wife as Llewelyn has so far treated me, not even the men of my own family. My darling, your husband is a good man, but he does not share your heritage, and you must ever bear that in mind. Promise me that, Elen, promise me you'll not forget."

Elen's resentment had ebbed away as Joanna spoke. "You've no cause for fear, Mama. That question you almost asked? The answer is no, I have not."