Chapter 11

                                    

                                          


                          
The next morning Brienna arrived, after eating breakfast in a quiet corner of the bustling kitchen, in Llewellyn's war room, where he was lacing his boots in preparation for a ride. 
                          
"Are we going somewhere?" she asked. She hadn't dressed for a trip.
                          
"I'm going on progress for a few days into the surrounding villages," Llewellyn explained.
                          
Brienna nodded. Progress was when kings went from town to town in the region over which they ruled, settling disputes, meting out favors, and collecting taxes in the form of money or goods like sheep or grain. 
                          
"Come over here," he beckoned her, standing up and going to the table that was covered by the large, unrolled map. "You see all this," he said, waving his hand over the figurines that marked troops, territories, and prospective sites for future battles over the lands of Wales and England.
                          
"Yes. It's the planning of a war," Brienna said. She'd grown up around such maps, and sometimes could only recall her father in the posture of bending over them.
                          
"Planning of a war, that's true. But this," he gestured, taking in the map again, "is planning in it's later stages. Most soldiers don't know this, but a battle is usually won or lost before even stepping on the field. Part of it is done here, over a rawhide map with little pieces of wood, but much of it is not."
                          
"Where are wars won or lost, then?" Brienna asked, getting caught up in the excitement Llewellyn showed as he warmed up to his subject. He had picked up one of the figurines and was rolling it back and forth between his hands.
                          
"In court," he answered. "Believe it or not, the security of this castle, and everyone who lives within sight of it, rests on currying favor with the right people in the over-decorated drawing room of the English king."
                          
Llewellyn put down the figurine and rested his hands on the map, staring into it as if he could stare into the past, and a simpler time when that security was more a matter of who had more strength, and more skill with a sword.
                          
"Why would you want to make friends with anyone in the English king's court?" Brienna asked, appalled. Where she came from, the English were dogs, savages, brutes that had to be viciously put down, not befriended.
                          
"I know," Llewellyn said, understanding her meaning. "Even now, hearing myself say those words..." He folded his arms over his chest and looked down at her. "But times have changed. When you're fighting the devil, you play by his rules. And the game we're playing with the English king is one of diplomacy." 
                          
"Isn't that a man's domain?" Brienna asked.
                          
"There are certain kinds of diplomacy that a woman will always be better at," Llewellyn said slyly, but didn't elaborate. "While you're here, we might as well strive to learn something that could make you useful to your husband, once he is king." he said, picking up his sword and cloak from where they hung on a chair by the hearth.
                          
"By turning me into a court spy?" Brienna wondered sarcastically.
                          
Llewellyn ignored her tone. "Eventually. For now, let's start by teaching you to read. Latin, of course. Also French. That's all they speak over there."
                          
"How will you teach me to read while you're on progress?" she asked.
                          
"Oh, I don't have time for that," he said. "You'll be taught the language arts by Isobel. Who better?"
                          
Brienna slumped inwardly. Isobel had made it clear that she found Brienna either a nuisance or a target of ridicule. She would probably be a very unforgiving teacher. There was no time to refute Llewellyn however; he was halfway out the door.
                          
"Who knows," he was saying, "perhaps we'll make you into a fine asset to that loaf of a prince of Leinster."
                          
Brienna scowled, but Llewellyn was gone too quickly for her to defend her future husband.