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at Geoffrey's letter. Time was of the essence. |
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"As soon as the men are a little rested and the supplies renewed, we will move upon Llewelyn's keeps and towns, as I first advised, I have high hopes of success because the king is sending Faulk de Bréaute south to take Cardigan and his place will be filled by the Welsh princes who are opposed to Llewelyn's usurpations. I have not always felt great trust in the promises of these men, as you know, but that they are coming in their own persons gives me greater confidence that they will truly do their best to forward our purpose. It is desired that we set forth again before the tenth day of July. I beg you, therefore, to make what haste you may. If it is not possible for you to serve me in this, I will buy what is needful, but the cost will be very high as many, including the king, will be forced to do the same and the prices will be driven up. Please be sure to write to me at Oswestry so that I will know whether to buy or to await what you send. This is all my news, so then, farewella sad, dry thing is a farewell thus written. I would rather, although it gave me much pain, to say farewell to you in my own person, as I did three weeks agone. I would still rather give you greeting. Written this twenty-second day of June, God knows where in Wales, by your loving husband Lord Geoffrey Fitz William." |
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The summer breeze, soft and warm, stirred the leaves on the rose canes, speckling the parchment with dancing light and shadow. Joanna reread the last few lines and then read them still again. The words were flickering with the light, but she found no difficulty in making them outnor would she have had any more difficulty had her eyes been closed. There was much to doletters to be written, permission to leave, at least for a few days, to be obtained from the queen, her men to be warned and messengers readiedbut Joanna reread very carefully the end of her letter, which told her nothing of any importance, nothing that she needed to know, until Brian got suddenly to his feet, tugging at the leash, and a shadow fell over the parchment. |
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"I do not believe my eyes," Henry de Braybrook said. |
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