The Reckoning - 3 Read Free

of Welsh wolves. Beyond the castle's walls a blizzard raged upon the peaks of Eryri, aptly named "Haunt of Eagles" by the Welsh and "Snowdon" by the English. But Dolwyddelan's great hall was a citadel of cheer, defying nature to do its worst, offering warmth and light and pleasure to all fortunate enough to be sheltered before its open hearths.
The Welsh held poets in high esteem, and as Llygad Gwr approached the dais, he was accorded an enthusiastic reception. He strummed his harp until the audience fell silent, waiting expectantly for his latest composition. They were not disappointed. His song was a lyric tribute to his Prince, and
Llewelyn heard himself acclaimed as a "chief of men, who rageth like fire from the flashes of lightning," heard himself lauded as another Arthur, as the Lion of Gwynedd and the Dragon of Arfon. Llygad Gwr concluded with a dramatic flourish, with a final paean to the "lawful King of Wales," and the hall resounded with exuberant applause.
Llygad Gwr was beckoned up onto the dais. People were discussing what they'd just heard, and few paid heed when another bard took center stage, for Llygad
Gwr was the star and this man not known to
    them. His first verse, therefore, was all but drowned out by the clatter of knives and spoons, the clinking of cups. Only gradually did the hall quiet as men began to listen, heads swiveling in astonishment, mouths ajar, for if the bard was unknown to them, his song was not, a tribute penned by Y Prydydd
Bychan to Owain ap Gruffydd, Llewelyn's brother, Llewelyn's prisoner.
t A ruler bold is Owain, resolute
Round him the ravens flock, All praise him bold in conflict, From ancient kings descended.
By now there were no sounds to compete with the singer, but rarely had a poet performed in such strange isolation; every eye in the hall was riveted, not upon the bard, but upon the man on the dais. If Llewelyn was as astounded as the audience, it didn't show upon his face. Whatever his initial reaction, he had his emotions well in hand, and his face was impassive as he listened to this seditious eulogy to his elder brother, imprisoned at Dolbadarn Castle for the past fifteen years.
Men expected Llewelyn to interrupt. He did not, and the bard's rash assurance began to falter. He rushed through the final verses, no longer meeting his
Prince's cool gaze. Only then did Llewelyn turn away. Ignoring the puppet, he sought the puppeteer, knowing that but one man would have dared such an outrageous affront. Across the width of the hall, his eyes linked with those of his brother Davydd. For a long moment, they looked at each other, and then
Davydd slowly, deliberately, raised his wine cup high.
"To the Dragon of Arfon," he said, poisoning Llewelyn's peace with a smile as dazzling as it was dangerous.
Men followed Davydd's mocking lead, drank to their Prince's health.
Conversation resumed. It was almost as if the incident had never happenedalmost. There were few in the hall who did not understand the significance of what they'd just seen, for there were few who were not familiar with the history of Llewelyn ap Gruffydd and his brothers. Owain had been the firstborn, but in Wales that counted for naught. Unlike the English, Welsh sons shared their patrimonyeven a kingdom. In theory, at least; in practice, the ancient Welsh laws fostered fratricide more often than not. Such had been the case for the sons of Gruffydd, the grandsons of Llewelyn Fawr, greatest of the Welsh princes.
Llewelyn Fawr had seen his country too often convulsed by these winner-take-all bloodlettings, had decided there must be a better way, even if that meant emulating their English enemies. He had dreamed
    of a united Wales, bequeathing that dream to his favorite grandson and namesake. And in time it had come to pass. Llewelyn ap Gruffydd was the first
Welsh ruler to claim suzerainty over the realms of Gwynedd, Powys, and
Deheubarth, to accept the homage of the other Welsh lords, to be recognized as
Prince of Wales by