Falls the Shadow Read Online Free PDF

before, but he would have to learn. He had two now that he must not betray, Papa’s and Aunt Elen’s.
    Llelo’s father had joined those gathered around Llewelyn, so Llelo could in good conscience do likewise. Llewelyn noticed his approach, welcomed him into the circle with a smile, but did not interrupt himself, having just revealed his plans to meet with Gruffydd Maelor, the new Prince of the neighboring realm of Upper Powys.
    “His father, Madog, was my cousin, a steadfast ally.” This said for the benefit of his English listeners. “He died at Martinmas, may God assoil him, and was buried at Llyn Eglwystl, the abbey you English know as Valle Crucis. That is where Ednyved and I have agreed to meet his son.”
    “And I daresay you’ll find the time to do some hunting along the way,” Joanna murmured, with the indulgent smile of a longtime wife, and Llewelyn laughed.
    “And would it not be a deed of Christian charity to feed my own men, rather than to have the poor monks empty their larders on our behalf?” Llewelyn accepted a wine cup from a servant, and his eyes strayed from Joanna, came to rest upon his eldest son. He drank, watching Gruffydd, and then said, “You have ever loved the hunt, Gruffydd. Should you like to accompany us?”
    For the span of an indrawn breath, Gruffydd looked startled, vulnerable. “No!” he said, too vehemently. “That would not be possible.”
    “As you will.” Llewelyn drank again, then felt his wife’s hand upon his arm. “What say you, breila? Should you like to come?”
    Joanna smiled, shook her head. “Alas, I’ve never shared your peculiar passion for hunting in the dead of winter!” Llelo was standing beside her, close enough to touch. She recognized the look of wistful yearning on his face; she, too, had been a solitary child. “Llewelyn…why not take Llelo in my stead?”
    Llewelyn glanced at his grandson, surprised but not at all unwilling. “Well…think you that you’re old enough for a hunt, Llelo?”
    “I’m nigh on nine, Grandpapa,” Llelo pleaded, and Llewelyn no longer teased, seeing the nakedness of the boy’s need.
    “I can think of no better companion, lad, will take you right gladly…if your lord father has no objection.”
    All eyes were now on Gruffydd. He looked at his son. The boy’s heartbreaking eagerness was painfully apparent, his mute entreaty far more poignant than begging or cajoling would have been. From the corner of his eye, Gruffydd saw his wife, knew she was silently willing him to say no.
    “I often took you hunting when you were Llelo’s age.” Llewelyn’s voice was very quiet. “You remember, Gruffydd?”
    “Yes…I remember.” Gruffydd bit back a harsh, humorless laugh. As if he could forget! “I’ll not forbid you, Llelo. The decision is yours.”
    Llelo drew a sharp, dismayed breath, for he knew that his father wanted him to refuse. Yet he knew, too, that he could not do it.
     
    The ten days that Llelo passed with his grandfather at the Cistercian abbey of Llyn Eglwystl were touched with magic. His grandfather had never had much time for him before; now they shared a chamber in the abbey guest house, and at night, Llelo would listen, enthralled, as Llewelyn and Ednyved reminisced, related stories of their boyhood, of a lifetime of wars with the English. Best of all, his grandfather kept his promise, took the boy hunting with him. On a cloudy, cold day in late January, a day Llelo would long remember, his had been one of the arrows that brought down a young hind, and when venison was served that night in the abbey guest hall and the infirmary, Llewelyn had announced to one and all that they were eating Llelo’s kill.
    Only one shadow marred the utter perfection of the day, Llelo’s awareness that their time together was coming to an end; there were just four days remaining until they returned to Aber. But he soon forgot all else when Ednyved began to spin a tale of Saracens, hot desert sands, and queer humped