The Reckoning - 3 Read Free Page A

the English Crown.
His was a great accomplishment, achieved at great cost. Owain, underestimating the power of his brother's dream, had led an army into Llewelyn's half of
Gwynedd, and paid for his folly with his freedom. Rhodri, the youngest brother, prudently kept to the shadows. But Davydd was not one to acknowledge defeat and not one to be overlooked.
Twice Davydd had rebelled against Llewelyn's dominance. The first time, he was sixteen, riding at Owain's side. Unlike Owain, he had been forgiven. The second time, he had not. After an abortive alliance with the English King's son, he had fled into England. His exile was to last four years. But under the terms of the Treaty of Montgomery in 1267, he had been permitted to return.
The Lord Edward had insisted upon it, for he saw Davyddthe discontented, the aggrievedas the Trojan Horse in the Welsh Prince's camp. Edward, for all his shrewdness, had not yet realized that Davydd did no man's bidding but his own.
Dancing had begun, and the hall was soon aswirl with color. Llewelyn did not join the carol; he remained on the dais, absently sipping from a brimming cup of hippocras, ignoring the curious stares of his subjects. After a time, he felt a hand touch his elbow. Einion ap Caradog had watched the byplay between the brothers with a sad sense of inevitability. Uncle to them both, their mother's youngest brother, he had often sought to act as peacemaker, usually to no avail. He understood divided loyalties, understood the danger in loving where there can be no trust, and he knew that Llewelyn did, too. There had always been bad blood between Llewelyn and Owain. But with Davydd, it was different. Theirs was a more complex relationship, one of tangled need and rivalry and wary affection, and Llewelyn bore the scars to prove it. Einion suspected that Davydd did, too, although with Davydd, one could never be sure of anything.
Einion had often thought that Llewelyn seemed alone even in a crowd. He smiled now, but there was a distance in his eyes. Survivor of a turbulent childhood, a war-ravaged youth, he was, at forty-two, a man who'd learned to deal with pain by denying it, a man who shared few secrets of the soul. Einion moved closer, and as soon as no others were within earshot, he said quietly, "I
thought you and Davydd were getting along better these days."
"I suppose we are . . . when compared with Cain and Abel." Llewelyn smiled again, briefly, without humor. "After I offered to make
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Davydd my heir, I thought we'd finally found a path through the marshes and onto secure footing. I told him I did not want to see him shut away from the sunlike Owain. But neither did I want to spend my days wondering how long he'd be loyal this time. And so I held out the promise of a crown. Only Davydd grows impatient. He has never been one for waiting, has he?"
«, Einion sighed. "You're not being fair, Llewelyn," he said, and the yo^hger man gave him a quick, searching look.
"You think not?" he asked, and Einion slowly shook his head.
"Davydd is not utterly to blame. You restored to him his former lands, but you have kept a heavy hand on the reins. Knowing Davydd as we do, is it so surprising that he is balking?"
Llewelyn was silent, dark eyes opaque, unrevealing. Einion dared hope he'd planted a seed, but he was not sanguine about it taking root, for he knew that whenever the needs of the Prince came into conflict with those of the brother, the Prince prevailed. Llewelyn always put Wales first. And Davydd always put
Davydd first. Was it so surprising, then, that they were once again on a collision course?
"My ears are burning. Might you have been talking about me?" Davydd had appeared without warning; he had a sorcerer's flair for dramatic entrances and exits, and he grinned now at Llewelyn's involuntary twitch. "Your nerves are on the raw tonight, Brother. Could it be that the entertainment was not to your liking?"
"On the contrary, Davydd. It never hurts to remind men of the high price