By Paul Carrier
When it comes to historical fiction set in England, the 12th and 13th centuries offer a wealth of characters, real and folkloric: Richard the Lionheart; his brother and successor as king, John; their parents, Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine; and, of course, Robin Hood.
But what about Llewelyn the Great? Never heard of him? Neither had I until I read Sharon Key Penman’s Here Be Dragons, which centers on the (quite real) marriage of Prince Llewelyn of Wales and Joanna, the illegitimate daughter of England’s King John.
Born about 1172, Llewelyn eventually ruled most of Wales, which he dominated for some 40 years. As he and John vie for control of that country, the conflict leaves Joanna torn between the two men she loves.
The novel’s title notwithstanding, this is no fantasy. There are no dragons in Penman’s carefully researched and well-told tale (although the red dragon is a Welsh symbol) nor does Robin Hood make an appearance. But the novel teems with nuanced characters who spring from the pages of history, as well as action aplenty: an imprisoned queen, sibling rivalry, infidelity, a battle for the English crown, hints of incest, blind ambition, a clash of cultures. And, of course, the fate of Wales, which hangs in the balance.
We meet Henry II as his life ebbs away, but Eleanor of Aquitaine survives him. She emerges here as a brilliant, cynical and manipulative woman who favors her warrior son Richard (of Lionheart fame) over his scheming brother John. Richard inherits the crown, but John ascends to the throne after Richard is wounded in battle and dies.
Llewelyn is ambitious, good-natured and nationalistic, a skilled fighter in his own right. Following her marriage to him, Joanna blossoms from a confused and frightened orphan into a thoughtful and intelligent wife, mother and diplomat. But it is John who proves to be one of the most intriguing characters in Here Be Dragons, because he is far more complex than the one-dimensional villain who figures so prominently in Hollywood’s periodic forays into Sherwood Forest.
Initially overshadowed by the charismatic and battle-hardened Richard, John is a brooding, insecure and resentful plotter obsessed with obtaining the crown for himself. Yet he dotes on his children, whether legitimate or not, and displays more depth and administrative ability than Richard did while he was king. John is determined to subjugate Wales, while Llewelyn gambles that disgruntled English barons will rise up against their king if squabbling Welsh princes put up a united front.
Penman’s familiarity with setting and period is apparent. When the young Joanna finds herself at a banquet, for example, we get a detailed look at the menu: “roasted venison, lampreys in sauce, a rissole of beef marrow, pea soup, glazed wafers, pancake crisps, and a sweet spiced wine (John) called hippocras.” The novel's cast includes intriguing historical figures with whom we are unfamiliar, such as Nicholaa de la Haye, the female caretaker of Lincoln castle who retained that office even in times of war.
The author respects the intelligence of her readers; it doesn’t hurt to have a dictionary handy while tackling this novel, which spans some 50 years. Cambridge is referred to as Cantebrigge, for example, and the 700 pages of Here Be Dragons are peppered with arcane but appropriate terms, such as bar sinister (illegitimacy) and seneschal (a steward in charge of a lord’s estates). Penman reminds us that England’s nobility during this period, being of Norman ancestry, speak French, not English. Yet to the Welsh, any distinction between the Norman conquerors of England and their Saxon subjects is irrelevant.
Occasionally, Here Be Dragons reads like a romance, with pillow talk and marital squabbles tumbling across page after page. And the Welsh names, in addition to being difficult to pronounce, are hard to sort out; for the uninitiated there is a certain sameness to them. An introductory listing of who's who would have been helpful.
But the sweep and believability of Penman’s tale, coupled with the elegance of her prose, carry the day. When Llewelyn suffers a setback and finds himself forced to submit (temporarily) to John and his barons, for example, Llewelyn “could count his enemies like rosary beads” and saw that they “watched him with mocking eyes and smiles like unsheathed daggers.”
