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On Palm Sunday, Prince Llewellyn’s brother Dafydd attacked an English stronghold, and yet another war was begun.

Gryff made the mistake of laughing when he first heard of it.

Dafydd, of all people, to start an uprising.

It seemed to him a farce that someone so like himself – loyal to the English crown, living among the Normans for so many years and from such a young age – would pretend to care about Welsh independence.

Gryff said to Will that he thought it must be simple greed and maneuvering, that there must be some other motive than rebellion.

Hadn’t Dafydd once plotted to murder Llewellyn, in hopes of gaining his brother’s lands and power?

That old Welsh way of rival brothers. No one could seriously think such a man was committed to any cause but his own advancement.

But then the Welsh attacked more English castles, and Prince Llewellyn raised an army, and no one was laughing – least of all King Edward. Wales was in open and earnest rebellion.

“Who else has joined Llewellyn?” Gryff asked Will, who always knew every alliance, every political whisper. He knew as well exactly what Gryff was asking.

“Deheubarth.”

Will did not say more, because that one word told him the only thing that mattered. If the southern realm of Deheubarth had joined Llewellyn’s north in rebellion, his own family’s fate was inevitable.

Gryff looked at the hawk’s lure in his hands.

He was repairing it, replacing feathers and attaching a stronger cord.

Like the Welsh nobles, he thought: put the pieces together into the semblance of a bird that almost looked like it was flying free, but really it was only a target for the bird of prey.

The hawk would strike it over and over, and one day soon it would fall to tattered pieces again.

“My father has joined the cause of Wales, then.” The alliance between families was ancient, and still strong after the last uprising. His father always chose Llewellyn’s fight over everything else.

“The Welsh have won many battles these past weeks. Many more than Edward would like.”

“Ever do they win for a time, before they lose. And when they lose this time, what will be my father’s punishment? Will he be forced to give his lands, or his other sons?”

Gryff might be reunited with his brothers after all these years if they too were made hostage. They would be fellow sacrifices to his father’s politics.

But the look on Will’s face put fear into him.

“It is not like the fighting of years past, Gryff. No more is it a mere nuisance to be tolerated by the king. Edward means to win at last, no matter the cost.”

Gryff had no illusions about King Edward’s skill at war, nor his capacity for ruthlessness. “My father will lose both, then. His sons and his lands.”

“And his life.” Will was only fifteen, but he spoke with a gravity and intelligence that belied it.

“Your brothers’ lives too are forfeit, even young Owain, if they fight against the crown.

There will be no treaties this time, nor any Welsh rulers great or small left to challenge Edward.

He will conquer Wales entire, and has sworn to leave no treasonous Welshmen alive. ”

The blood had turned cold inside him as Will spoke.

Strangely, he did not think of his brothers and their fate.

It was the thought of Philip Walch and his sons, and what might happen to them, that brought a great despair into his heart.

And others he remembered fondly – Madrun who brewed the mead, and Tuder who kept the hounds, and Father Ifor in his tiny village church.

They would be conquered entire. They would be ruled by Normans who despised them, thought them godless savages, and sought to stamp out all the ancient and most beloved Welsh ways.

“Aderinyth.” He had to stop and clear his throat of emotion. It was rare for him to speak the name of his homeland. “It lies so deep within Wales that there is hope it will be spared the worst.”

Will looked at him as though he could not believe he was so slow-witted.

“And you are not deep within Wales, but here in the household of the king’s brother.

Think you that you will be spared, Gruffydd ab Iorwerth?

” He pronounced the name like it was the most damning detail of all – because it was.

“You are here as surety for your father’s obedience, and he has joined a war against those who hold you. ”

Gryff wanted to scoff at this concern, but could not quite manage it.

“Edward will not want me dead, Will. I am a pawn.” He pulled the new cord too tight on the lure and the seam in the leather was torn asunder. “I am meant to be used. He will use me, just as my father has used me.”

Will nodded. He had that look he got sometimes, brow furrowed, lips pulled tight as he put his mind to work. He was too clever for one so young.

“I dread the day he has more use for your death than your life.”

“Who? My father or my king?” Surely both could make good use of his death.

But Will disregarded this cynical query and said Gryff must increase his worth to the king.

Advise the king’s commanders on how best to fight against the Welsh, he said, and Gryff agreed.

Remind the king that Gryff had sworn fealty to the crown, Will suggested – so he did.

He sent messages to his father and his brothers, telling them they must submit to Edward, that they were traitors, that he condemned their actions and was shamed by them – and Will did his best to ensure everyone at court knew of these messages and sentiments.

All the while Gryff reminded himself it was true: he was ashamed; the Welsh should submit; rebellion was treason; Edward was destined to win.

And all the while, he and Will never spoke about the other truth – that his life was more valuable to a king he had barely met than it was to his own father.