Chapter Twelve
Llywelyn
“Holy Mother of God!” The sight of Marged, spinning down the Cadair River behind Humphrey de Bohun nearly had me diving in after her. Thankfully, she’d let go of the horse’s reins and allowed the water to take her, rather than struggling against it along with her horse. Instead, one of my men dove into the river after the horse, but Marged was already too far away to reach.
“After them!” Goronwy pointed at men who hadn’t yet crossed.
But he needn’t have said anything, as half a dozen men-at-arms, including Hywel, already raced away. By the time I’d turned Glewdra in the swift current, Goronwy had spurred his horse into the water. Anna held on to the horse’s mane, her eyes wide, but not crying.
“They’ll find her,” Goronwy said, tipping his chin towards the way the men had gone.
I grunted noncommittal agreement. I could depend on them to find her if she were possible to find. As boys, we’d spent many hours in this river and we both knew the dangers, both from the more northern Cadair, and the Dysynni, which flowed from the south and merged with it a dozen yards downstream.
We skirted the trees that grew close together on the bank and pushed our horses down a track that ran along the fields that lay on our side of the river. We rode as hard as we could, but the trail was a rough one and I didn’t want to lose Glewdra to a gopher hole. That would slow us down more than caution now. Then a shout came from up ahead.
“Quickly!” Goronwy and I crashed through the bushes to our left and trotted into a small clearing near the river. Humphrey stood in the middle of it, white-faced and sopping wet but otherwise unharmed. He held a spear-length stick in his right hand and leaned on it like a crutch. His shoulders sagged when he saw me. I reined in sharply.
“Where’s Marged?”
“The whoresons took her, my lord! I tried to stop them, but without my sword, I was no match for them.”
“Who took her?” Goronwy said.
“Owain, my lord, with ten of his men,” Humphrey said. “And your brother, Dafydd.”
“What?” I’d been about to charge out of the clearing, but checked Glewdra at his last words. “Did you say that Dafydd was among them?”
“Yes, my lord,” Humphrey said. “Lady Marged and I managed to reach the bank just over there. He was waiting to help us out of the water. I accepted his help, assuming he meant well.”
“He took Marged?” That he had was obvious, since she wasn’t here, but my mind was struggling to keep up with the magnitude of what he was saying.
“I thought he meant to help us, but as soon as Marged came out of the river, he dragged her away from me, mounted them both on his horse, and raced away. I tried to stop them, but without a horse of my own . . . it . . . I couldn’t . . .” Humphrey looked down at his toes. I caught the word hopeless.
It wasn’t his fault but my anger was making it difficult for me to see reason. I couldn’t stand to look at him. Even so, he appeared to be telling the truth. “Where will they go?” I said to Goronwy.
“They can’t cross the Dysynni River today. Lady Marged is wet through; she’ll need warm clothes soon if they expect her to live.”
“Perhaps they’ll head north, then, back to the manor?” Hywel said.
“Neither of them know this country well,” Goronwy said. “I wonder if they might, perhaps, head to the sea?”
Jesus wept.
“Before you reached us, I sent men in pairs in every direction,” Hywel said. “They’ll find her.”
By now all of my men had arrived at the clearing, including the man leading Humphrey’s horse. He recognized it and without a by-your-leave, ran to it, stripping off his shirt as he did so.
“This is my fault, my lord,” he said, his teeth chattering as he opened his saddlebags. The leather had protected his belongings for the most part so he could pull off the rest of his clothes and redress in ones that were merely damp instead of soaking. “I must come with you.”
“Keep up, then,” I said. I turned to my men. “Owain of Powys and my brother, Dafydd, have taken Marged. We don’t know in what direction, but they travel with twelve horses, one of which is carrying two. Goronwy suggests they are riding to the sea, but we can’t assume that.”
“Dane returns, my lord!” Hywel pointed west.
“My lord!” Dane said, pulling up in front of me. “Bevyn continues along the trail, but I’ve returned to lead you. The riders head southwest, following the river. They could be aiming for where the Dysynni empties into the sea at Tywyn.”
“We go,” I said. “We can’t allow them to put to sea, if that’s their intent.”
As the crow flies, it was fewer than ten miles to the sea, but we had many more than that to travel as the river twisted and turned and the trail that ran beside it twisted with it. This region of Wales was cut through with dozens of streams, flowing out of a series of hills that ended abruptly at the sandy spit that met the sea at the mouth of the Dysinni. I hoped that we would gain ground, since we didn’t have to follow the river as precisely as Dafydd and Owain. We all knew where it emptied, and didn’t need to ride around every twist and turn as they might to make sure we were traveling in the correct direction.
In all the years of discord with Dafydd, through all the accusations that he’d directed at me over the years—my unfairness, my arrogance, my usurpation of his birthright—he’d never acknowledged that his familiarity with all-things Welsh was limited. Although it wasn’t his fault, being a small child when our father was imprisoned in the Tower of London, he’d grown up in England. He spoke French more easily than Welsh, and his playmates, rather than staunch advocates of a free Wales like Goronwy and Tudur, had been English—even Edward himself, King Henry’s son.
Growing up, Dafydd and Edward had egged each other on as to which of them could behave more recklessly. Their bravado had been celebrated and encouraged by my mother, and King Henry. Edward, however, under the tutelage of the finest scholars and warriors in England, had tempered that recklessness into an adult boldness that was both intelligent and forceful. A careful planner, he saw openings where others balked. Dafydd, on the other hand, had only become foolhardy, using his uncommon good looks to slip through holes that didn’t exist, never disciplining himself to any one endeavor or any one allegiance—other than to himself.
It was Goronwy who articulated my thoughts. “What is your brother thinking, Llywelyn? This is reckless in the extreme. He can’t hope to get away with it.”
“He doesn’t think, Goronwy,” I said. “Or only about himself, his desires, and his concerns.”
“Yes, but . . .” Goronwy couldn’t find the words to properly express his outrage.
“Who knows? He could view this as simply a lark; the same lark that convinced Humphrey to venture into Wales with Owain of Powys.”
“He might also think we distrust our young Humphrey more than we do,” Goronwy said, “and him us. Perhaps he thinks Humphrey will protect him, or that we will disbelieve him no matter what Humphrey tells us. As Dafydd has no honor himself, he may not recognize it in those who do.”
Less than an hour later, we crested a rise overlooking Tywyn, half a mile away. Four boats hovered near the beach, two in the water, oarmen already pulling away from the shore, and two others still on the sand. The long and lean boats had been built to ride onto beaches with almost no keel, and yet carry men, horses and cargo.
The few men remaining on the beach spun around to look at us—and at Bevyn, who had outpaced us and was coming on fast.
“Go! Go! Go!”
A small figure that might have been Marged stood up in one of the boats that was already in the water. And then I was sure it was she because the man beside grabbed her arm and tugged her back down. I didn’t need to see that smirk on Dafydd’s face to know it was there. If I never saw it again, it would be too soon.
The remaining men threw themselves into the boats and started rowing fast. Ten heartbeats later, Bevyn was off his horse, had thrown his boots in the sand, and was in the water. We spurred our horses, but in my heart, I knew we wouldn’t be able to stop the boats. We cascaded down the beach anyway and pulled up just short of the water’s edge. Hywel checked his horse beside me, breathing hard.
“Shall I have the archers fire upon them?”
“No, Hywel,” I said. “We don’t want to hit Marged.”
Then a splash came from one of the boats, at least a hundred yards off shore, and a chorus of shouts. I strained to see what was happening but my distance vision was not as sharp as it once was. Two boats turned in the water, but after more shouting and splashing, straightened again and continued west, away from us.
“My lord, look!” Goronwy pointed out to sea. He still had one arm wrapped firmly around Anna, who stood on the saddle to see better, her head level with Goronwy’s. And it was Anna who understood what she was seeing.
“Mommy!”
Bevyn had swum hard to the boats, but now returned, a small figure struggling beside him. Meg. They rested and swam, rested and swam, and were boosted in the end by the strong waves that pushed them to the beach.
They were crawling by the time I reached Marged, thrown onto their knees in the shallow water. I pulled her into my arms, aware of how light she was and how exhausted. She wore only her linen shift and her teeth chattered loud enough to hear. I tried to wrap my cloak around both of us, but Humphrey hurried up with a spare cloak and laid it over her.
“I’m so sorry, my lord,” he said. “I failed you.”
I couldn’t speak.
“Events were beyond your control, Humphrey,” Goronwy said, striding up the beach with him and saving me from having to answer and losing my temper completely. “If you hadn’t chosen to ride beside her, and fallen with her, we might have never have found her at all.”
“Goronwy is right, Humphrey,” Marged said. Shivering uncontrollably, she’d pressed her face into my chest and the words came out muffled. “If this was anyone’s fault it’s Dafydd’s.”
“Or mine,” I said.
“How can you say that, Llywelyn?” She lifted her face to look into mine.
“Because I allowed him back into my country,” I said.
“And if you hadn’t, my lord,” Goronwy said, “King Henry wouldn’t have agreed to the treaty and acknowledged you Prince of Wales. You had no choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” I said.
Actions have consequences far beyond what we can ever foresee, and most of the time, we’re just struggling to stay upright as the surf pounds us to our knees.
* * * * *
“I’m fine, Llywelyn,” Marged said, as I loaded her onto my horse. “I’m warm enough.”
“You’re not, cariad. For Anna’s sake, if not mine, you will listen to me.”
She might not like it, but for once obeyed. I’d dressed her in one of my men’s spare clothes—he was only a little taller than she, though twice as wide—and she’d grinned at me through blue lips at the sight of the breeches. Now, she hugged Anna for just a moment before relinquishing her to Goronwy once again. Anna seemed content with that, but I’d observed enough of Marged’s mothering to know how few circumstances there were in which she would ask Anna to sit in another’s arms if hers were available.
“I don’t know why you feel the need to pretend otherwise. Any one of my men would be unwell if they’d experienced the day you’ve had. We need to get you warm and into a bed, but we’ve at least an hour’s ride before we’ll reach Castell y Bere.”
Marged pushed her hair out of her face with one hand. The careful style had long since come down and lay a sopping mass around her shoulders. “Yes, Llywelyn,” she said.
“I’ve sent men ahead to warn the castellan that we’re coming, and in what condition,” Hywel said.
“We’re short a horse,” Humphrey said. “Yours shouldn’t carry two that distance. I’ll walk. It’s no matter to me.”
“You will do no such thing!” Goronwy said. “Although you were far too arrogant before, contrite doesn’t suit you either. We won’t allow the grandson of the Earl of Hereford to walk ten miles home!”
“Yes, sir,” Humphrey said, still looking sheepish.
“Come to think of it,” I said, “you may ride Glewdra behind Marged. She’s strong enough to carry you both. I’ll ride your horse. That way, none must be left behind.”
“As you wish, my lord,” Hywel said.
Though I didn’t think much of Humphrey’s arms around Marged, either in principle or fact, I wasn’t concerned about some upstart English youth usurping me. She’d thrown herself out of Dafydd’s boat, risking death, rather than sail off with him. Dafydd, who’d never failed to charm any woman he wanted, when he wanted, and none ever seemed to regret the experience. Except Marged.
“Can you tell me what happened, Marged?” Half a dozen men had donated their blankets and she was so bundled up that all I could see of her was her white face, poking out from the blankets. Her cheeks had turned pink, a much a healthier color, and from the cold outside, not within.
“Humphrey must have told you what happened at the river, right?” Marged said. She twisted in her seat to look at him.
“Some,” I said.
“Dafydd was there to pull us out of the water,” Humphrey said. “I have no idea why. But I suppose after our days at your hunting lodge, it would have been easy enough to get here ahead of us. He must have known where we were headed.”
“He knew,” I said.
“So your brother leagues with Powys,” Humphrey said.
“Not for the first time, either.”
“Nor the last,” Marged said under her breath. I gave her a sharp glance, but Humphrey didn’t indicate he’d heard her.
“Go on,” I said. “Tell me the rest.”
“Dafydd picked Marged out of the water, threw her onto his horse, and off they went,” Humphrey said. “That’s all I know.”
Marged picked up the story. “We rode to the sea shore with its waiting boats.”
“What luck that you were so easy to take,” I said. “I would have thought they’d come to rescue Humphrey.”
“I guess not,” Marged said. “From the little Dafydd said it was you, my lord, that he wanted, not me.”
“Me? Are you sure?”
“So he said.”
“But he settled for you because you’re my woman.”
“Apparently.”
“Because he’s concocted yet another nefarious plot that we don’t really want to know about,” Goronwy said. “That Owain went along with it is astonishing. I thought he’d have better sense.”
“Dafydd hasn’t any,” Humphrey said. “He should have taken me with him or killed me in the clearing.”
“And why didn’t he?” Marged asked.
Humphrey had the answer. “Because he thinks I’m still on his side, on Owain’s side. They left me to be a spy in your camp.”
I deliberately didn’t look at Humphrey. I wasn’t sure he realized what he’d just admitted.
“And now that we that we know of his perfidy, what do we do about it?” Goronwy said, smoothing over the sudden silence. “Dafydd has sailed away, free and unhindered, as usual. The next time we see him, no doubt he’ll try to brazen it out, either denying or laughing off his actions.”
“We could run him out of Wales,” Hywel said, his voice almost a growl. “He’s no soldier.”
“Right into Henry’s arms again,” I said. “Not a plan that I would favor, all things considered.”
“My grandfather would support you,” Humphrey said. “He and I would tell the truth to the king.”
“And I appreciate that,” I said. “At the same time, as a future lord of the Marche, you should appreciate my desire to keep the events of Wales, within Wales, without disturbing the King of England with them.”
Humphrey snorted. “Disturbing is right.”
He knew what I meant, but even in friendly company, was too cautious to say any more.
Although my—and my grandfather’s—disputes with the lords of the Marche were legendary, both they and I would do almost anything to avoid entangling our politics with England’s. Henry’s power and resources were so much greater, his men so much more numerous, that England was always favored in any battle. I had won the right to rule Wales as its Prince, not because King Henry had lacked the power to defeat me, but because he lacked the will.
Given my conversations with Marged, I wasn’t confident I would get the same half-hearted response from Edward when he succeeded to the throne of England. I studied her as she leaned back against Humphrey, eyes closed. She’d called me ‘my lord’. Once. It pleased me, far out of proportion to what was probably reasonable. At last, maybe I was getting somewhere with her.
Humphrey had wrapped his right arm around Marged’s waist, held the reins with his left, and was instructing Glewdra with his knees. At eighteen, he was already a skilled horseman and would be as skilled a warrior as his grandfather when he grew into his man’s frame: a fine addition to the Bohun legacy.
Humphrey looked as if he might become a man I could respect, possibly even work with. And for that reason, I would let him return home unhindered, despite the danger in doing so. In time, he might forget what he owed me. The necessities of rule—and the tutelage of his grandfather—might well insure that he would try me for many years to come.