Read Online Time and Chance by Sharon Kay Penman - Free Book Online
Authors: Sharon Kay Penman
Ads: Link
suspiciously like Welsh surrender to these ears. Suppose you tell me, Lord Ranulf, why I should even consider such one-sided terms. What could I possibly get out of it?”
“You’d get the English army out of North Wales.”
Owain smiled skeptically. “For how long?”
Ranulf leaned forward tensely. “That would be up to you.”
Owain’s eyes narrowed, but his expression did not change as the others began to heap scorn on this “English peace,” and when Owain got to his feet, Ranulf reluctantly rose too, taking it as a dismissal. So did Owain’s sons, and they were all caught by surprise when the Welsh king beckoned to Ranulf, saying, “Come with me.”
Ranulf hastily followed Owain from the tent. Ignoring the stares and speculation of his soldiers, Owain began to walk, and Ranulf fell in step beside him. A turquoise twilight was spilling over the hills, and the few clouds overhead were darkening to a deep purple. Off to the south, Ranulf thought he glimpsed the fading gleam of the River Elwy. They were just a few miles from Rhuddlan and the English army. A few miles and a few days and then Armageddon. Unless he could convince Owain to accept the English terms. Unless the Almighty deigned to work a miracle solely on his behalf.
“What did you mean,” Owain asked abruptly, “when you said it would be up to me?”
“King Henry’s terms are not easy to swallow. But if you can force them down this once, you’ll not have to drink from that cup again. If you keep faith with him, he’ll keep out of Wales.”
“How can you be so sure of that?”
“Because,” Ranulf said, “I know my nephew, about as well as any man can.”
Owain had led them into the shadowed circle cast by a sky-scraping oak. “I’ve spoken to your uncle about you,” he said unexpectedly. “Rhodri swears that your soul is Welsh. He says you are that rarity, a man as honorable as he is honest. But can you be loyal to Wales and Henry, too?”
Ranulf summoned up a grimacing smile. “God knows, I am trying.” “The English campaign has hardly been a rousing success so far. Your nephew’s attempt to outflank me almost cost him his life, and his fleet was badly mauled in that raid on Môn. Why should I make peace when I am winning?”
“Because we both know that you can win battles, but not the war,” Ranulf said bluntly. “Wales can match neither the resources nor the armies of the English Crown. For every Welsh child born, the Lord God has chosen to let twenty be begotten across the border. I am not saying it would be easy to conquer Wales. But I fear it could be done.”
“And you think this young lordling is the man to do it?”
“You mock him at your peril, my lord Owain. Yes, Harry is young.
He learns fast, though, rarely making the same mistake twice. And he gets what he wants. You need proof of that? Both his crown and his queen were once claimed by other men. But by the time he was one and twenty, he’d won the English throne and taken Eleanor of Aquitaine into his bed.”
Ranulf paused, taking a deep, deliberate breath before saying then, with all the conviction at his command, “Trust me in this if nothing else, my lord. Henry Fitz Empress is no ‘young lordling,’ but the most dangerous foe you’ve ever faced. His will was forged in the same fire that tempered the blade of his sword. If you provoke him into war to the uttermost, he’ll do whatever he must to win that war.”
“You say he gets what he wants. How do I know he does not want Wales?”
“Harry is ambitious, not rapacious. For all that gluttony is one of the Seven Deadly Sins, it is not amongst his. He does not bite off more than he can chew, and he well knows that Wales would be a tough mouthful. Moreover, he has shown himself to be a fair and just liege lord to the diverse lands within his domains. He rules Anjou, Normandy, Maine, Touraine, England, and his wife’s Aquitaine, without meddling in their customs, laws, or languages. He told
“You’d get the English army out of North Wales.”
Owain smiled skeptically. “For how long?”
Ranulf leaned forward tensely. “That would be up to you.”
Owain’s eyes narrowed, but his expression did not change as the others began to heap scorn on this “English peace,” and when Owain got to his feet, Ranulf reluctantly rose too, taking it as a dismissal. So did Owain’s sons, and they were all caught by surprise when the Welsh king beckoned to Ranulf, saying, “Come with me.”
Ranulf hastily followed Owain from the tent. Ignoring the stares and speculation of his soldiers, Owain began to walk, and Ranulf fell in step beside him. A turquoise twilight was spilling over the hills, and the few clouds overhead were darkening to a deep purple. Off to the south, Ranulf thought he glimpsed the fading gleam of the River Elwy. They were just a few miles from Rhuddlan and the English army. A few miles and a few days and then Armageddon. Unless he could convince Owain to accept the English terms. Unless the Almighty deigned to work a miracle solely on his behalf.
“What did you mean,” Owain asked abruptly, “when you said it would be up to me?”
“King Henry’s terms are not easy to swallow. But if you can force them down this once, you’ll not have to drink from that cup again. If you keep faith with him, he’ll keep out of Wales.”
“How can you be so sure of that?”
“Because,” Ranulf said, “I know my nephew, about as well as any man can.”
Owain had led them into the shadowed circle cast by a sky-scraping oak. “I’ve spoken to your uncle about you,” he said unexpectedly. “Rhodri swears that your soul is Welsh. He says you are that rarity, a man as honorable as he is honest. But can you be loyal to Wales and Henry, too?”
Ranulf summoned up a grimacing smile. “God knows, I am trying.” “The English campaign has hardly been a rousing success so far. Your nephew’s attempt to outflank me almost cost him his life, and his fleet was badly mauled in that raid on Môn. Why should I make peace when I am winning?”
“Because we both know that you can win battles, but not the war,” Ranulf said bluntly. “Wales can match neither the resources nor the armies of the English Crown. For every Welsh child born, the Lord God has chosen to let twenty be begotten across the border. I am not saying it would be easy to conquer Wales. But I fear it could be done.”
“And you think this young lordling is the man to do it?”
“You mock him at your peril, my lord Owain. Yes, Harry is young.
He learns fast, though, rarely making the same mistake twice. And he gets what he wants. You need proof of that? Both his crown and his queen were once claimed by other men. But by the time he was one and twenty, he’d won the English throne and taken Eleanor of Aquitaine into his bed.”
Ranulf paused, taking a deep, deliberate breath before saying then, with all the conviction at his command, “Trust me in this if nothing else, my lord. Henry Fitz Empress is no ‘young lordling,’ but the most dangerous foe you’ve ever faced. His will was forged in the same fire that tempered the blade of his sword. If you provoke him into war to the uttermost, he’ll do whatever he must to win that war.”
“You say he gets what he wants. How do I know he does not want Wales?”
“Harry is ambitious, not rapacious. For all that gluttony is one of the Seven Deadly Sins, it is not amongst his. He does not bite off more than he can chew, and he well knows that Wales would be a tough mouthful. Moreover, he has shown himself to be a fair and just liege lord to the diverse lands within his domains. He rules Anjou, Normandy, Maine, Touraine, England, and his wife’s Aquitaine, without meddling in their customs, laws, or languages. He told
Similar Books
