Read Online Dragon's Lair by Sharon Kay Penman - Free Book Online
Authors: Sharon Kay Penman
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the sacks and reload them in the new wagons. The woolsacks are deliberately made so heavy for that very reason, to thwart theft. And even if he could have gotten them away, what then? They'd have to be smuggled into England and then sold to traders on the alert for that very stolen wool. No, Llewelyn made a pragmatic decision to settle for what he could safely steal and took his vengeance upon Davydd with flint and tinder."
Justin saw the logic in Thomas's argument. He just did not want to admit that much of the ransom had gone up in a cloud of smoke, knowing what a blow that would be to his queen. The total ransom demanded was so huge that those sacks of fine Cistercian wool were needed, each and every one. He understood now why Chester was so critical of Davydd's part in this calamity. Thomas de Caldecott was right; there was more than enough blame to go around.
~*~
They headed into Wales on the morrow, keeping close to the Dee estuary. Although Wales was known as a mountain citadel, the coastal lands were flat. But the going was still not easy, for they had to contend with salt marches and quicksand bogs while skirting the deep, tangled woodlands that lay just to the south. They stopped for the night at Basingwerk Abbey where Thomas was well known to the hospitaller, testifying to how frequently he'd made the journey between Chester and Rhuddlan Castle. He'd soon proved himself to be an agreeable traveling companion, one who took setbacks in stride and kept complaining to a minimum and knew what lay around every bend in the road. He was a talker, so he was good company, too, keeping up a steady stream of lively conversation as the miles plodded by.
By the time they'd reached Basingwerk Abbey, Justin had learned that his new ally was thirty and three, that his elder brother held a manor of the Earl of Chester at Caldecott in Cheshire, that he'd picked up some of his Welsh from his mother, who'd been raised in Pembrokeshire, and was taught the rest by a Welsh mistress. And by the time they were within sight of Rhuddlan Castle, Justin knew that Thomas took great pleasure in hawking, gambling, hunting, gossip, Gascon wines, and women, but he took little pleasure in sea voyages, tedious church sermons, sharing beds with strangers in flea-infested inns, salted herring during Lent, roan horses, cats, and his elder brother. He had Justin laughing more often than not, and since Justin was quiet by nature, they complemented each other quite well, the one offering entertainment, the other an audience.
Rhuddlan Castle was strategically situated at the lowest crossing point of the River Clwyd, the locale of several strongholds down through the years. The present fortress had long dominated the crossing, a bulwark of English power until captured by Davydd's formidable father a quarter-century ago. It looked impressive at first glance, with a rectangular keep situated upon a sixty-foot-high mound and a large bailey defended by steep palisades and a deep, wide ditch. But as they got closer, Justin saw that all of the castle's structures were wooden, not fortified in stone, as were the principal castles of the English Crown and baronage. Compared to the great citadels of Windsor and Chester, Rhuddlan no longer looked so invincible to Justin.
They were admitted without difficulty; Thomas was well known here, too. Dismounting in the bailey, they were welcomed by the Welsh prince's steward, and a man was sent to inform Davydd of their arrival. Justin watched him scramble up the perpendicular steps cut into the mound as he asked the steward about accommodating their escort; it was an unfamiliar experience, having men at his command, but he was learning to like it.
"Let's go into the hall," Thomas suggested, tugging at Justin's arm. "Princes like to make an entrance, so this could take a while."
He switched from French to Welsh then, as he turned back to the steward, and Justin decided his boasting was justified; Thomas did indeed speak
Justin saw the logic in Thomas's argument. He just did not want to admit that much of the ransom had gone up in a cloud of smoke, knowing what a blow that would be to his queen. The total ransom demanded was so huge that those sacks of fine Cistercian wool were needed, each and every one. He understood now why Chester was so critical of Davydd's part in this calamity. Thomas de Caldecott was right; there was more than enough blame to go around.
~*~
They headed into Wales on the morrow, keeping close to the Dee estuary. Although Wales was known as a mountain citadel, the coastal lands were flat. But the going was still not easy, for they had to contend with salt marches and quicksand bogs while skirting the deep, tangled woodlands that lay just to the south. They stopped for the night at Basingwerk Abbey where Thomas was well known to the hospitaller, testifying to how frequently he'd made the journey between Chester and Rhuddlan Castle. He'd soon proved himself to be an agreeable traveling companion, one who took setbacks in stride and kept complaining to a minimum and knew what lay around every bend in the road. He was a talker, so he was good company, too, keeping up a steady stream of lively conversation as the miles plodded by.
By the time they'd reached Basingwerk Abbey, Justin had learned that his new ally was thirty and three, that his elder brother held a manor of the Earl of Chester at Caldecott in Cheshire, that he'd picked up some of his Welsh from his mother, who'd been raised in Pembrokeshire, and was taught the rest by a Welsh mistress. And by the time they were within sight of Rhuddlan Castle, Justin knew that Thomas took great pleasure in hawking, gambling, hunting, gossip, Gascon wines, and women, but he took little pleasure in sea voyages, tedious church sermons, sharing beds with strangers in flea-infested inns, salted herring during Lent, roan horses, cats, and his elder brother. He had Justin laughing more often than not, and since Justin was quiet by nature, they complemented each other quite well, the one offering entertainment, the other an audience.
Rhuddlan Castle was strategically situated at the lowest crossing point of the River Clwyd, the locale of several strongholds down through the years. The present fortress had long dominated the crossing, a bulwark of English power until captured by Davydd's formidable father a quarter-century ago. It looked impressive at first glance, with a rectangular keep situated upon a sixty-foot-high mound and a large bailey defended by steep palisades and a deep, wide ditch. But as they got closer, Justin saw that all of the castle's structures were wooden, not fortified in stone, as were the principal castles of the English Crown and baronage. Compared to the great citadels of Windsor and Chester, Rhuddlan no longer looked so invincible to Justin.
They were admitted without difficulty; Thomas was well known here, too. Dismounting in the bailey, they were welcomed by the Welsh prince's steward, and a man was sent to inform Davydd of their arrival. Justin watched him scramble up the perpendicular steps cut into the mound as he asked the steward about accommodating their escort; it was an unfamiliar experience, having men at his command, but he was learning to like it.
"Let's go into the hall," Thomas suggested, tugging at Justin's arm. "Princes like to make an entrance, so this could take a while."
He switched from French to Welsh then, as he turned back to the steward, and Justin decided his boasting was justified; Thomas did indeed speak
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