Chapter Sixteen
Llywelyn
At long last: Brecon.
I’d entered the keep earlier in the afternoon with Goronwy, pleased as always that I’d taken it from Bohun. Humphrey had been several steps behind us, escorting Meg and Anna, and he’d craned his neck to see what changes or improvements I’d made to his grandfather’s domain. I’d had to rebuild some of the craftsmen’s sheds in the bailey, damaged by fire when we took the castle, as well as make extensive repairs to the several of the walls. The latest problem was that the Honddu River slid by right under the southeastern castle walls and was undermining the stone foundation. The spring floods hadn’t helped.
“I’m glad that you made it without mishap, my lord,” Tudur said, striding up to Goronwy and me.
I clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m glad to see you too, friend. You have news for us?”
“I do,” he said, “though your young man-at-arms, Bevyn, whom you sent ahead of you to warn of the traitor in our midst only adds to the uncertainties.”
I glanced at Humphrey, who pulled out a chair for Meg at one of the tables and then sat across from her with a chess board. I’d watched him carefully since Lacey left, not wanting to give away the fact that I knew of Lacey’s potential betrayal. It was a test of a sort. So far, he’d not passed it.
“Has he played the game of kings with her before?” Goronwy asked.
“Not that I’m aware,” I said. “Maybe I’ll stick around to sweep him off the floor when she’s done with him.”
Goronwy smirked. “You do that, my lord. I’ll make sure the men are properly settled in their quarters.” He paced away and I turned to Tudur.
“What did you find? Whose ring was it?”
“Owain confessed it was his, but he’d given it to Dafydd many years ago.”
“As I feared,” I said. “Dafydd sent a messenger out of Gwynedd.”
“That is all we know, for now, my lord,” Tudur said. “The question remains: to whom did Dafydd send him?”
“And did he reach his destination?”
“And why did he die? Because he was a loose end that needed tying?” Tudur said. “To destroy any link between Dafydd and our unknown man? Or to prevent him from reaching him.”
“We’ll think on it,” I said. “Dafydd has much to answer for, even without this.”
A commotion from the kitchen caught my attention. One of my new boarhound puppies burst through the doorway, followed by Anna. The puppy ran under a table and I scooped the girl into my arms.
“Careful, cariad,” I said. “He bites.”
“He’s nice,” she said. “Can I have him, Papa?”
“He’ll be bigger than you someday. Perhaps we’ll find you a kitten instead.”
Anna put her arms around my neck and squeezed. My heart melted. I carried her to Meg and sat down to watch the chess match. “Is everything in order?” Meg said, her eyes still on the board.
“Yes,” I said, shifting Anna in my lap. “We should hear soon if Lacey reached your grandfather, Humphrey. Then you can go home.”
Humphrey looked up, met my gaze, and looked down again.
I allowed a few heart beats to pass. “Do you have something to tell me, son?”
Meg’s hand hovered above a pawn. Humphrey didn’t answer, so she picked up the piece and gently moved it into position. Humphrey continued to stare at the board, not meeting my eyes. Then without warning, he upended the chess board, sending the pieces scattering across the table and floor.
“God damn them to the seventh level of a fiery hell!” Humphrey surged to his feet and I matched him, afraid of what he might damage next. Meg reached for Anna and I handed her over before moving to confront Humphrey.
“Control yourself,” I said.
Humphrey sputtered. He fisted his right hand and slammed it into the wall behind him.
“Please believe that you are among friends, Humphrey,” Meg said. “Just tell us.”
Humphrey massaged his right hand with his left. “John asked that I aid him in some plot against you,” he said through gritted teeth. “I didn’t—” He stopped. “I sent him away.”
“But didn’t feel the need to tell me of it?” Llywelyn said.
“No! I did not!” Humphrey said. “Nor uncover the details, beyond that it was not for my grandfather that he was working.”
“Not your grandfather?” Meg said. “Isn’t John his man?”
“He is,” Humphrey said.
“Was.” Hywel strode across the hall towards us. “I followed him, as you requested, my lord. But instead of taking the turning to Huntingdon, he continued past it, on north.”
“What did you say?” Humphrey spun around to face Hywel, his face draining of color. “Why would he go north?”
“I don’t know,” Hywel said. He turned to me. “My lord, I apologize, but I didn’t want to risk my men by taking them further into England. We turned back and informed the Earl of Hereford of his grandson’s imminent arrival at Brecon.”
“Did you tell of him of his wayward servant?” Meg asked.
“I did,” Hywel said, “and he claimed no knowledge of his destination. Lord Bohun said, however, that he would attempt to find out more and would report those findings to you, my lord.”
“Did he?” I said. “A new spirit of cooperation indeed among the Bohuns. It is without precedent.” Humphrey glared at me, but when I matched his gaze, he soon looked away. Once again he’d not comported himself as well as he might have, and he knew it. He bent his head and sagged onto his bench.
The others left, Anna crawled under the tables to find the wayward chess pieces, and Meg and Humphrey resumed their game, though neither player’s attention was on it. Although I could have chastised Humphrey further, Meg was all he needed.
“Why didn’t you tell us, Humphrey?” She moved a castle forward and didn’t look at him.
“Where do my loyalties lie, my lady? I am your prisoner.”
“Are you?” she said. “It looks to me the only prison you inhabit is one of your own making.”
At her words, Humphrey abandoned any pretense of playing the game. “You’re speaking of honor again.”
“You knew the right thing to do,” Meg said, “but you didn’t do it. We are enemies, yes, but not in this and not today.”
“It would serve my house if Lord Llywelyn were dead.”
“And it is worth the loss of your soul to see that happen?”
“I have killed men,” Humphrey said, “but only in battle. These machinations and subtle plotting are beyond me. I know that worries my grandfather, who is a master.”
“All you have to worry about, Humphrey, is your own actions,” Meg said. “It may be your destiny to lead men in war, perhaps even against my lord. But it’s not your nature to sneak around in the dark. Prince Llywelyn has been open in his dealings with you, and as you yourself are a knight, he expects the same in return.”
“I know it. It was not clear to me that stopping a plot perpetrated against him by another was also my duty.”
“And now?”
He held her gaze. “I still don’t know that it is.”
Meg nodded. “That’s honest anyway.”
Humphrey tipped his chin in my direction. “Your prince knows subterfuge well. My grandfather has told me.”
Meg glanced at me and her eyes twinkled. “I believe it. He’ll tell you that the end justify the means at times, but he’d also say that he accepts responsibility for his actions. A lord must understand himself and his motives, whether for good or ill.”
“I can do that,” Humphrey said. “I will do that.”
“Then you will be a man of whom your grandfather can be proud,” I said.
Humphrey gazed at Meg for another count of ten, then stood, bowed, to both her and me, and left the room.
“You think that of me, do you?” I caught a stray hair that had come loose from Meg’s wimple and tucked it behind her ear.
“I know it.”
* * * * *
Bohun made Humphrey cool his heels with us for more than a week, so it was actually Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn who was the first of the conspirators I confronted. He strode into Brecon’s great hall as if he owned the place, which he, of all my barons, allies, and enemies, never had. I found his attitude irritating so got straight to the point.
“Where is your son?” I asked him. Gruffydd halted before me, made the proper obeisance, even if the bow wasn’t quite as deep as it should have been, and seated himself across from me. A servant brought a trencher of food and a carafe of wine.
“In England, with Prince Edward,” Gruffydd said.
“That tells me everything and nothing,” I said. “I’ve not spoken with Humphrey de Bohun himself, but his grandson is with us here at Brecon and he confirms Owain’s involvement in an attack on me at the forest of Coed y Brenin. What do you say to that?”
Gruffydd turned beet red and sputtered, but didn’t reply.
Tudur leaned in. “You didn’t think our lord would charge you with this outright? Did you think that he would dance around you, anxious to appease you and your heir?”
Gruffydd’s hands clenched and unclenched. Finally he seemed to master himself. He straightened in his chair and came out with the truth. “I have dealt with him, my lord. I assure you that I had no part in his misadventure.”
“I didn’t think you did,” I said. “You’ve never been a fool. Your son, however, doesn’t appear to share your strengths.”
“My son,” Gruffydd said through gritted teeth, “was led astray by your brother. When Dafydd came to him with a plan to attack you, he felt that he couldn’t turn away such a powerful overlord.”
I let the silence draw out as I studied Gruffydd. He held my gaze, defiant. Again it was Tudur who spoke. “If you really believe this explanation is a proper justification for his actions, I wonder that you’ve held onto your lands as long as you have. Would not the proper course for Owain have been to inform Prince Llywelyn—or you at the very least—of Dafydd’s plans? Loyalty to the Prince of Wales surely trumps loyalty to a traitorous brother, whether or not he is a prince.”
This was the same conversation Meg had just had with Humphrey. I wondered why this appeared to be such a difficult concept for everyone to grasp. Meg told me I was much loved by my people’s descendants. But maybe it would be better to be feared by those who lived now.
Goronwy stood behind me, tapping his foot in an uneven staccato. I was tempted to put a hand on his leg to stop him, but refrained. I too was impatient with Gruffydd. I couldn’t trust him and I couldn’t ignore his son’s blatant rebellion. He would have to bend or I couldn’t let him leave Brecon.
Gruffydd took a long gulp of wine and set down his cup. He scrubbed his hair with both hands, sending the graying curls sticking up every which way, and then to my relief, capitulated.
“You have my apologies, my lord. I dragged the story from him when he returned to Powys. He claims the plan was entirely Dafydd’s, but I can hardly credit it. It was Owain himself who convinced the Bohun lad to join them; he who paid a village headman to empty his village; he who aided Dafydd in his kidnapping of your woman. When and if Owain finds himself under my roof again, be sure that I will keep him on a tight rein. I will also send a report to Prince Edward of his deeds. He will be no more pleased at Owain’s activities than you are.”
I wasn’t too sure of that but let it go. I had what I wanted from Gruffydd, for now.
* * * * *
We were nearly into April before a man shouted from the top of the battlements that the Hereford delegation was coming, the elder Humphrey de Bohun at its head, as evidenced by his personal shield—six red lions en passant on a gold background.
Humphrey de Bohun was a lion of a man, with a mane of white hair and beard, in the fashion commonly worn among the English.
“My lord Prince,” Bohun came to a halt in front of me, back straight, jaw firm, and tipped forward in a slight bow, an exact replica of Gruffydd’s posture a week earlier. Except in his case, the Bohuns had owned Brecon. Clare had taken it from him early in the Baron’s War, and then I took it from Clare. The Bohuns and I had been allies then, though our alliance hadn’t gone so far as to inspire me to give the castle back to the them.
“Lord Bohun,” I said.
I seated him on my right hand and had Goronwy on my left. Meg sat demurely with Anna at the head of the closest side table. I was sure her ears were as wide-open as they could be. Humphrey entered the room a moment later and made a bee-line for his grandfather, who didn’t stand to greet him.
“Find yourself a seat, boy,” Bohun said. “I’ll speak with you later.” His words pulled Humphrey up short, though he was becoming quite good at the stone-faced look.
“Yes, sir.” He turned to seat himself across from Meg. I didn’t say anything. Among the English, a man could be twenty-one before he came into his inheritance. It was ridiculous to leave it so late, with half a man’s life gone already. Perhaps that was this younger Humphrey’s problem: his grandfather still treated him as a child when he had the mind to be a man. He resented that treatment and his anger was manifested in foolish behavior.
“You’ll release him to me, then,” Bohun said between bites of chicken. He tossed an empty bone into the dish set in front of us and speared an onion with his belt knife.
“Yes,” I said. “I told you I would.”
“And no hard feelings, eh?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” I said. “I lost good men because three noble boys—and I don’t care that Owain and Dafydd are nearly thirty—had men-at-arms to command and thought to end my life for a lark.”
“Huh.” Bohun grunted. “If a Bohun seeks your death from now on, it will be on a field of battle, not an ambush.”
“Before we captured your grandson, I would have thought that the case anyway,” I said.
Bohun rumbled deep in his chest and his eyes narrowed at Humphrey who didn’t notice as he was conversing with Meg. “I hear you have a new woman.”
I paused, a wine goblet half-way to my lips. “Yes. I would hardly have thought such news would invite comment.”
“Everything you do invites comment, especially when it’s out of the ordinary. I hear she warned you of the ambush too, though I confess, rumors that she is a witch are surely grossly exaggerated, if that is the woman there with the child on her lap.”
“That is she. What of Lacey?” Meg and Anna were none of Bohun’s business.
“No word,” Bohun said. “I sent out riders, but he has disappeared.”
“And Edward?”
“Ah.” Bohun looked squarely at me for the first time. “We come to the meat of it. You know he intends a Crusade?”
“Yes.”
“He cannot go until he accumulates funds he does not yet have,” Bohun said.
“Always the plight of princes.”
“And earls.” Bohun snorted. “Be that as it may, he seeks the security of his father’s kingdom while he is away; I believe he sees you as a threat to that.”
“His father still lives,” I said.
“A figurehead,” Bohun said. “You know that. We all face the ambitions of the younger generation, and I am one generation older than you. Any man who has seen his son die for an ideal has faced his own mortality. My grandson must grow stronger before I die. It is now, with Edward on the verge of leaving for the Holy Land, that I must take those steps that will secure my lands for him.”
“Surely Edward wouldn’t deny your grandson his inheritance?” I said. “He forgave you for fighting on the losing side.”
“It was my son at Evesham, not me,” Bohun said. “I paid the fines. On top of which, I am Edward’s godfather and he knows me well. He’d prefer that every one of the barons of the Marche were at each other’s throats, as that will mean they won’t be at his or his father’s while he’s away. For him to refuse me my lands would only bring instability to the region in his absence. He knows that. Edward is a calculating bastard if there ever was one.”
“You speak frankly,” I said. “I’m surprised.”
“You expected me to pay you for my grandson in gold?”
“No,” I said. “You are correct in thinking it was information I wanted. Do you have more to tell me?”
“I can speak to you of Clare,” Bohun said, “and Mortimer.”
Christ! “The both of them chafe at me like pebbles in my shoe,” I said. “News of Clare’s building plans is what brought me south in the first place, but it is Roger Mortimer who’s been much in my thoughts of late.”
“You don’t have to worry about Clare as yet.” Bohun waved his hand dismissively. “He’s not done more than dropped a few stones on the ground so far. No, his plans are to bring you south and bring you down.”
“How?”
“That I don’t know. Gilbert de Clare was my ward four years ago when he inherited his lands, and fought alongside my son until he betrayed us for Edward. Does Edward trust him? I don’t think he trusts anyone. Does Mortimer? I only know that you have done something to garner Mortimer’s ire and rumor has it that he hates you with an inspired passion.”
I put down my cup to study Bohun who chewed avidly on a piece of parsley. “I supported Montfort against the King,” I said. “Mortimer was the king’s staunchest ally through loss and triumph. He carries a grudge against me three years on, but not against you?”
“You’re the easier target,” Bohun said. “And you have no heir to your lands.”
“Do you suppose they think to use Clare as their weapon?”
“That is exactly what I think,” Bohun said. “And Clare is young enough still to seek to please them as proof of his allegiance.”
“And despite your allegiance to the English crown, you can’t abide Clare.”
“The whoreson burned Montfort’s boats and the bridge across the Severn at Gloucester! I’m surrounded by men whose honor is a thin sheen through which they manipulate the world, easily swept aside at the first hint that it might serve them better to be without it!”
“I have always been constant,” I said. “I’ve only bowed to necessity.”
“Well, there is that. I can only say the same.”
We both lifted our glasses, thinking of all the times we’d had to bend our knees, our necks, and the honor we had left, despite Meg’s staunch admiration, to an English king or to necessity in order to hold onto our lands, lands we only held at the king’s pleasure. I, at least, had Wales and the Welsh people as a patrimony. Bohun’s right to his lands was more ephemeral. His family had carved their estates out of lands that had once belonged to others and could again. He’d lost his son at Evesham. Even if Humphrey didn’t realize it today, he was Bohun’s most precious possession.
* * * * *
“We must see now, to Clare,” I said to Meg. We stood on the battlements above the gate and watched the Bohuns exit through the northern castle gate and follow the road east to England. They rode side by side at the head of Bohun’s men. The elder Bohun hadn’t castigated his grandson in public, but I wouldn’t have wanted to be in Humphrey’s shoes when his grandfather admonished him in private. That would be a tongue lashing to remember.
The scouts I’d sent south had returned an hour earlier. “It is as you suspected, my lord,” Bevyn had reported. He was the youngest of the group but the other men respected his intelligence and ability and allowed him to speak for them all. “A few stakes in the ground are all that Clare has placed. However, of more significance are the preparation for defensive dams and moats.”
“We spoke with people in a village nearby,” Rhodri continued. “They claim it will be the largest castle every built—even in the whole of England!”
“So the Red Earl has plans, does he?” I said. “We’ll see about that.”
“King Henry will support you, surely,” Goronwy had said. “It’s your land.”
Tudur snorted. “Not likely. The King won’t be pleased to know that Clare is playing fast and loose with our treaty, within only a few months of its confirmation, but within the Marche, the King has tied his own hands long since.”
“Marcher lords are allowed to wage war on one another without royal interference,” Goronwy said. “But Prince Llywelyn is not included in that understanding.”
“So we say,” said Tudur. “Clare doesn’t seem to be paying attention.”
“Then I will make him,” I said.
Even as I dictated the letter to King Henry objecting to Clare’s actions, the Earl of Hereford’s parting words stayed with me, hovering in the back of my mind like the warning they were: “You have a warrior at your threshold in Mortimer. Don’t allow the Red Earl to distract you such that you lose this castle. It is my castle, remember, and I expect it back in good condition, when you’re done with it.”
And that night, I lay awake thinking of battle, unable to sleep, even as I wrapped my arms around Meg to hold off the coming challenge:
May twenty-second, in the year of our Lord, twelve hundred and sixty-six. I pace across the great hall of my castle at Brecon. Although it belonged originally to the Bohuns, I took it from Clare in 1265. Mortimer thought it should have been his. He cannot forgive me.
The men are waiting; they’ve been waiting for days as we’ve watched the progress of Mortimer and his men across the plains, up and down the ridges and valleys that lead to Brecon. They crossed into Wales at the great Dyke, and I wish every day of my life that it still stood as it once did, a barrier between my people and those who seek to conquer us.
I mount Glewdra and she tosses her head in expectation. Battles don’t scare her. She’s fought in many, carrying me through all of them with a surety that makes her one of my staunchest friends. I pat her side.
“Another chance, cariad.”
She whinnies and trots forward, head up and proud, for she knows that it is her place to ride at the head of any host of men. I’m joined by Goronwy and Hywel. We cross the drawbridge and take the main road out of Brecon. Once past the village, however, we head across the fields, making for the heights above Felinfach, the last major ford before Mortimer can reach us.
“You are prepared,” I say to Goronwy, not as a question, but a statement of fact.
“Yes, my lord,” he says. “They will crowd the ford. It is the best place to hit them, and the farthest they will reach into Wales, now and perhaps forever.”
“You are that confident?”
“Do you remember Cymarau?”
“I could never forget such a victory,” I say.
“It will be like that,” Goronwy says.
I nod, sure in his assurance, and turn my attention to the road ahead and the task that lies before us. We will turn Mortimer back, and he will not raise another army for many a year.
The sun rises over our heads as we climb the ridge, a hundred feet above the ford, but sloping down to it over less than a quarter mile. Goronwy has spent some time thinking about his plan of attack and has prepared the ground accordingly. Trees blocking our view of the river have been cut down and hauled away, and now the archers crouch behind a stone wall he built over the course of three days, a perfect one hundred yards from the ford. At Goronwy’s signal, they will stand and fire.
As horseman, we wait just inside the stand of trees at the top of the ridge. Mortimer doesn’t know we’re here, hasn’t realized that our scouts have been following his progress throughout the last three days. Mortimer’s stronghold at Wigmore Castle in Herfordshire is not far away, but this is a foreign land and he doesn’t know the terrain.
I suspect, though I do not know, that Mortimer’s attempt at Brecon is actually an attack on Clare, whom he despises, even as he welcomes him back into the royal fold. King Henry gave Brecon to Clare, if he could take it from me, that is. As he cannot, Mortimer sees it as fair game.
A mistake.
“They’re coming, my lord! They’ve reached the ford of the Dulas!”
Goronwy’s hand rises and then falls, loosing the arrows the archers have been holding. The arrows fly, arcing through the morning light, the sun glinting off their metal heads. They hit, and the carnage begins at the ford. Another flight of arrows flies, and then another. Underneath the cover of the last, Goronwy releases the cavalry. They race forward, screaming to the heavens, a lance headed straight for the heart of Mortimer’s men.
For once, Goronwy has convinced me to stand with the rear guard, to watch as a sentinel on the hill. Under normal circumstances, it is my role to lead my men, but today, there is something he wants me to see.
And there it is. On the left flank of Mortimer’s army is the man himself. He has led a host of men and horses away from the ford and is attempting to cross at a more southerly point. Yet, the horses flounder in the current. I could have told them that the Dulas runs deep there. Any Welshman could have. But he is of the Marche, and has received some bad advice.
With a shout, I urge the men with me into a gallop. We race down the slope to the point where Mortimer will come across, if he makes it. He sees us coming and even from this distance I see him shake his head. Almost at the same moment, another flight of arrows passes over our heads and slams into the hapless riders on the opposite bank. The archers have moved east so as to not hit us, and have found better ground from which to kill.
Mortimer glances left then right. He shouts at me words I can’t hear properly over the rush of the water and the screams of dying men and horses. He brandishes his sword, but then turns his horse’s head and retreats up the bank. His men follow.
Soon the defeat becomes a rout. Mortimer’s army is decimated; defeated so entirely that only a handful of knights and men-at-arms are able to flee to the woods on the other side of the Dulas.
The archers fire at their backs and more men go down. The horsemen outpace the foot soldiers, who are racing away, but still not fast enough because Goronwy gives the order for our cavalry to cross the river after them. They splash through the river shoulder to shoulder and give chase, running Mortimer’s men down from behind, one by one. In the final count, Mortimer loses a hundred and fifty foot and twenty horse at the ford of Felinfach. We lose less than a tenth of that.
Death is everywhere, but yet again, has not come for me.