Falls the Shadow Read Online Free PDF Page B

beasts called camels. Ednyved was his grandfather’s Seneschal, a lifetime companion and confidant, and one of the few Welshmen who’d seen the Holy Land. He’d returned that year from a pilgrimage to Palestine, and Llelo was spellbound by the stories he had to tell; the only bedtime tales he enjoyed more were those accounts of Llewelyn’s rise to power. He’d begun a rebellion at fourteen, had eventually wrested control of Gwynedd from his uncles in a bloody battle at the mouth of the River Conwy, and Llelo never tired of hearing about it.
    Propping himself up on his elbow, he glanced across at his grandfather’s pallet. The Cistercians were an austere order, and the Abbot did not have lavish private quarters to offer his Prince, as a Benedictine abbot could have done. Llewelyn had reassured his apologetic hosts that he was quite comfortable. He had, after all, done his share of sleeping around campfires, he’d laughed, and Llelo felt a sharp twinge of envy, yearning for the day when he, too, could sleep under the stars with a naked sword at his side. It had been some moments now since either Llewelyn or Ednyved had spoken, and he hastily sought for a conversational gambit, one that would keep sleep at bay for a while longer.
    “Did you never want to go on crusade like Lord Ednyved, Grandpapa?”
    “I thought about it, lad. But our English neighbors covet Wales too much; I never felt I could risk it.”
    “My father hates the English.”
    “He has reason, lad. He spent four years in English prisons.”
    “He did? I did not know that! When? How?”
    “I’ve told you how King John led an army into Gwynedd, how I had to send Joanna to his camp, seeking peace. When I yielded to him at Aberconwy, he compelled me to give up thirty hostages. He insisted that one of them be Gruffydd.” Llewelyn was staring into the hearth flames. After a time, he said, “He was just fifteen, and he suffered greatly at John’s hands.”
    “Do you hate the English, too, Grandpapa?”
    “I hated John. But no, I do not hate all the English. I’d hardly have found English husbands for my daughters if I did. Davydd’s wife is English, too. Of course they were marriages of policy, done for Gwynedd’s good.”
    “Was your marriage done for Gwynedd, too, Grandpapa?”
    “Indeed, lad. Joanna was the English King’s bastard daughter, just fourteen when we wed.” Llewelyn laughed suddenly. “An appealing little lass she was, too, but so very young. I can scarce believe we’ve been wed for more than thirty years.”
    Llelo sat up on the pallet. He knew, of course, of the great scandal that had scarred his grandfather’s marriage; he’d heard his parents discuss it often enough. Six years ago the Lady Joanna had taken an English lover, and Llewelyn had caught them in his bedchamber. He’d hanged the lover, sent Joanna away in disgrace. But in time, he’d forgiven her, had created another scandal by taking her back. Llelo yearned now to ask why, did not dare.
    “Grandpapa, may I ask you a question? I do not want to vex you…”
    Llewelyn turned on his side, toward the boy. “Ask,” he said, and Llelo blurted it out in one great, breathless gulp.
    “Grandpapa, why did you choose Davydd over my father? Why did you keep him in Deganwy? Do you hate him so much?”
    “Hate him? No, Llelo.”
    A silence settled over the room. Llelo shivered, drew his blanket close. “Are you angry?”
    “No, lad. I was but thinking how best to answer you, how to make you understand. Do you see our hunting gear in yon corner? Fetch me a quiver of arrows.”
    Mystified, Llelo did. Llewelyn sat up, spilled arrows onto the bed. “Think of these arrows as the separate Welsh principalities. This first arrow is for Gwynedd. These two shall be for Upper and Lower Powys. And this one for South Wales, for Deheubarth. Now add these others for the lesser lords, those who stand by their princes.” Holding them up, he said, “Watch, lad, whilst I try to break