Gwendolyn's Sword Page 24

  De Coutances stared, and Gwendolyn saw with disappointment that the justiciar had been taken by surprise. John had turned their ploy against them, held it up for ridicule and made them look like fools.

  “You, obviously, John,” William d’Aubigni answered loudly, ignoring the rhetorical nature of John’s question. “There are too many witnesses to count who are familiar with your obsession with the stories of Arthur Pendragon and Merlin. It’s no secret that your brother, King Richard, announced that his nephew Arthur would succeed him to the throne specifically to taunt you, because he knows your greatest fear is that all of those prophecies will indeed come to pass.”

  The hall was quiet again, and Gwendolyn smiled a little as John struggled to maintain his composure.

  “A boy’s passing fantasy was all that it was. I’ve grown up now, d’Aubigni, enough to know that that woman’s only value is between her legs. And that ground remains unplowed, as of yet,” he added, turning to Gwendolyn as another wave gasps and whispers rolled around her. “You may as well return to my mother at the Tower, Lady de Cardinham, because you serve no purpose here. Unless you would like to suggest another means of distracting me,” he said slyly.

  Gwendolyn felt the muscles in her arms tense at John’s reference to her unconsummated marriage. Nigel grunted beside her, ready to spring upon the prince at the first excuse. John had been thinking ahead when he offered his sword belt in the yard below; no honorable man would raise his weapon against one unarmed. She felt William’s movement beside her as his hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. She had no idea how the information had found its way to the prince, but she would not play into his attempt to unsettle her. “I am certain my husband would want to answer your claims personally, if he weren’t delayed in service to King Richard in his captivity.” John’s lips pursed into a smirk at her remark.

  “Your husband is no longer delayed, Lady de Cardinham,” he said, holding her carefully indifferent gaze. “Robert de Cardinham has been released from service. Did Mother not send a messenger to inform you? Ah, well, she is advanced in years.”

  “She is the dowager queen, and I’ll believe it when I hear it from her,” Gwendolyn replied evenly.

  John nodded slightly to her. “Your fidelity to my mother is commendable, if misplaced. But then, there are always those trying to use my mother to obtain some reward, through trickery or worse. Rumor has it that a sorcerer plagues my family now.”

  A low murmur passed around the hall and one of the men from the Tower guard muttered, “The beasts!” Walter de Coutances finally found his voice and stepped forward.

  “The only rumor of a sorcerer that I am aware of, John, involves you and your obsession with Caliburn. If you have spoken truthfully tonight, and have repented of these preoccupations of yours, then I am glad to hear it.”

  Prince John hesitated, and Gwendolyn watched him considering his next move with the same precision as a player in a game of chess. Perhaps she could unsettle him with her own revelation.

  “You sent your men, Walter de Cardinham among them, to attack the abbey at Glastonbury and search the crypt. You were searching for Caliburn.”

  John turned his gaze to her, his mouth drawn to a fine line.

  “Your brother-in-law told you this himself?” Gwendolyn knew John was too smart to ask a question that he did not already know the answer to, and she replied truthfully.

  “Walter de Cardinham has not been seen or heard from since Glastonbury. Like most of your supporters, he has been forced into hiding.”

  “I was there!” Nigel yelled angrily beside her.

  John tilted his chin slightly and turned his gaze to Nigel, slowly sweeping an appraising eye over him.

  “My goodness, and this is the best that my substantial treasury can muster for me, is it?”

  Some of the barons in the crowd laughed at the prince’s remark, and Gwendolyn knew better than to call the prince out as a liar. Nigel stared straight ahead defiantly but said nothing more, and John turned toward the justiciar with a triumphant sneer.

  “This woman is of no interest to me, Walter. Mother’s attempt to control me has failed. Again.”

  De Coutances exhaled a heavy sigh.

  “I will convey your message to her. In the meantime, I cannot allow you to leave Arundel.”

  For a moment Gwendolyn saw rage flash into the young prince’s eyes, then just as quickly he set it aside and forced his mouth into a thin smile.

  “And yet you have no authority to hold me here, either,” he countered. “Even as justiciar, you would not defy my mother’s wishes.”

  De Coutances hesitated, and Gwendolyn knew in that pause that John smelled victory.

  “Will you give me your word,” de Coutances said slowly, “as a Christian and a Plantagenet, that this is done, that you renounce your rebellion against your brother?”

  John turned away from de Coutances and looked down, and Gwendolyn watched his shoulders slump beneath the fine cloak. With his question, de Coutances had brought an end to the prince’s posturing. All of John’s military efforts had failed. His mercenary boats had failed to find any unwatched little slip of coast where they could land. Only a few barons and a smattering of castles had taken up his cause. His last effort, an attempt to bribe the Holy Roman Emperor with help from the coffers of Philip of France, had resulted only in the depletion of his treasury.

  John turned back to face de Coutances. “You have my word.”

  A stunned moment passed over the hall, followed by an eruption of cheers. John stood in the middle of the room, his features drawn down and the flashing grin from just moments ago replaced by a grimace.

  William d’Aubigni stood up from his seat at the dais and the hall became quiet again. “Forget all of this tonight, John, and take your rest here. Your father’s apartments are very comfortable, and I’m sure a man such as yourself will find his bed furnished with fair companionship.” William d’Aubigni did not smile as he spoke.

  John turned to face the dais and extended a hand graciously to the d’Aubigni’s son. “Edmund, perhaps you would accompany me to the king’s apartments below. I would like to take their measure, for my future visits to Arundel as your sovereign. My tastes differ somewhat from my father’s, as you know.” Although he spoke to Edmund, John fixed his gaze on the earl as he said the words.

  Edmund stood up, grinning like he had won a tournament ribbon, and joined the prince in the middle of the hall.

  “I won’t stay long,” John continued to the earl, “My men and I will be gone by morning. You can tell my mother that I am retreating north, to my castle at Nottingham, if she would like a word with me.”

  D’Aubigni nodded, “As you wish.” He turned back toward the dais and muttered under his breath, “Somehow I will recover from my disappointment,” drawing muffled laughter from his nearby men. The brief flash of rage rose again in John’s eyes, and again he suppressed it. He laid a possessive arm across Edmund’s shoulders and swept out of the hall with the earl’s son at his side, his men close behind.

  Gwendolyn took in a deep breath, as if John’s exit allowed fresh air into the hall again, and then crossed the room directly to Walter de Coutances and the earl.

  “He’s lying,” she said firmly, and the earl looked up at her with a gleam in his eye.

  “Of course he is,” he replied lightly. “He is John Plantagenet.”

  16

  ACCUSED

  “The trick now,” William d’Aubigni continued, “is to discover his true course before he’s got anything underway. Cut him off at the knees before he gets started.”

  Walter de Coutances huddled in a tight conversation in a corner of the hall with his secretary, the man who had traveled with him since the Tower. He talked directly into the man’s ear, and his secretary nodded, his lips moving as he memorized the justiciar’s orders. Within moments the man pulled his cloak about his shoulders, raised his hood to cover his head, and swept through the hall and down the st
eps to exit the keep.

  “Leofwin will leave now and travel without stop to the Tower, changing to fresh horses along the way. That will bring him to the Tower by midday tomorrow. With John here under our watch, the prince can’t send anyone out to intercept him. Eleanor will know tomorrow everything that John has said here today. She will send her orders for you—and for us—after that.”

  Gwendolyn smiled at the justiciar, and the realization started to settle in that perhaps this really was over, and she and William could return safely to Penhallam again, maybe in a matter of days. She turned around to face William.

  “What do you think?”

  William cocked an eyebrow and shrugged. “We’ll see. John is up to something. He’s not done, not just like that.”

  “True. But whatever it is, apparently it will have nothing to do with me or Caliburn.”

  William gave her a warning look.

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  The mood in the hall had turned almost festive, with laughter and broad smiles glowing in the warm light from the hearths. No one spoke to her or even acknowledged with a look that she was there. The reason for her stay at Arundel had been revealed, with all of its far-fetched absurdity, and allegations had been made against her marriage. She felt invisible, like a phantom in the midst of their jubilation, and she found she was grateful for it. The sun had begun its descent, and the call to Vespers rang from the parish church in the village beyond the walls. Many of the revelers, Matilda d’Aubigni among them, filed out of the hall to cross the courtyard and climb the steps to a small chapel above for prayers, leaving a handful of the fighting men, women with children, and a few others behind in the hall. Michael waited for Gwendolyn, standing out of the way near the wall with Nigel. The boy had an anxious expression, and she extended her hands to him again.

  “De Coutances has sent a messenger to Eleanor,” she told Nigel, and the mercenary nodded, his distaste for the prince and his words still evident in his eyes. She sighed and placed a hand on his arm, and Nigel’s attention snapped to her gaze.

  “Thank you, Nigel Fitz Richard.”

  Nigel blushed, cleared his throat.

  “We may be free to leave Arundel soon. Where will you and Ella go?”

  Nigel narrowed his eyes and looked past her, over her shoulder. “I don’t know. The only family she’s got is in London, but I can’t provide any kind of life for her there.”

  “That’s not her only family.”

  Nigel turned his eyes back to Gwendolyn with his brow drawn down as he puzzled over her words. She reached out to Michael and drew him near again as William stepped to her side.

  “Perhaps the five of us can return to Penhallam together,” she casually suggested.

  Michael’s face broke out into a grin and he looked up at Gwendolyn, William and Nigel. Nigel finally understood her remark about family, and he stood up a little straighter.

  “We always need more good men,” she continued. “And if Robert’s on his way back, and Walter on the run, we may find ourselves spread thin if we need to send men to guard Restormel until Walter can pay his way back into good standing with the crown.”

  “If I can be of service,” Nigel said, looking to William a little uneasily.

  “We’ll have to return to London first anyway, to retrieve my father’s letter and find out if Robert really has returned, as John said.”

  Heads turned as Edmund re-entered the hall, his black cloak flowing behind him. He crossed to the dais and stood expectantly before his father.

  “The prince has decided not to stay after all, Father,” he announced loudly with a confident smile.

  Walter de Coutances looked up suddenly from behind Edmund, and d’Aubigni rose from his seat, his face purple with rage.

  “Where has he gone?” D’Aubigni shouted at Edmund. “Edmund! What have you done?”

  “I have saved you from a judgment of treason, Father,” Edmund said slowly, appearing to enjoy the effect his words had on the earl. D’Aubigni fixed his glare upon Edmund, but Gwendolyn could see a small question of uncertainty cloud his eyes.

  “Go on,” he said, his voice laced with threat.

  Edmund turned on his heel, looking around the room. He had been a fast student of John’s, Gwendolyn realized. She felt William tense beside her, heard the rustle of his cloak as he pushed it away from his left shoulder, clearing the way for his sword.

  “John did not make an empty accusation when he claimed that a sorcerer had turned his unholy attention toward his family.”

  Again Edmund paused, allowed his words to register. He slowly reached inside his cloak.

  “John has trusted me with the proof.”

  Edmund pulled out Gwendolyn’s letter from her father.

  The letter was rolled, still tied by its ribbon, but she recognized it immediately: the thickness, the shade of the vellum, the smudge of mud when she had unrolled it after swimming in the river.

  “What is that?” the earl snapped, irritated at having to entertain his son’s theatrics any further.

  “A bewitched letter,” Edmund said darkly, unrolling it and revealing the familiar script. “Given to Eleanor to cast a spell upon her—by that woman and her wizard!” Edmund spun around and pointed his hand, which still held the letter, at Gwendolyn and William. Gwendolyn’s heart raced, and without thinking she reached for the letter in his hand.

  “Do you see, Father? She reaches for it! She knows she is discovered!” Edmund crossed to the hearth and cast the letter into the flames. “Here’s what we do with witchcraft at Arundel, Lady!”

  “No!” Gwendolyn cried out and lunged toward the hearth, but too late. As the vellum caught flame, the edges curled and a thick green and black smoke poured from it as it burned.

  “See for yourself! See the smoke of Hell come forth from her charm as it burns!” A noxious fume filled the hall, and Gwendolyn and the others began to cough and cover their mouths.

  Walter de Coutances held the edge of his cloak up against his mouth and nose, but he stared with wide eyes at Gwendolyn and then William.

  Edmund coughed loudly and continued. “They sought to exploit the queen and her concern for her sons by tricking her into an absurd plan, all to gain their reward: title to the lands of John’s faithful servant, Walterus de Cardinham.” Edmund stood triumphantly in front of her and William. Gwendolyn realized that the four men of the Arundel guard that had stayed behind from Vespers were the men loyal to Edmund.

  “You did something to the letter,” Gwendolyn gasped. “She promised …”

  The earl stood up from the dais and crossed the hall to his son, his fists shaking with rage.

  “And this man—” Edmund began, pointing at William.

  “That’s enough,” the earl said, cutting him off. His tone was deadly, and for a moment Edmund seemed to lose his resolve, but he looked around the hall, saw his men nearby, and pressed on in a lowered voice.

  “This man just spent an evening in the company of a known, self-proclaimed augur. You give shelter to the very sorcerer that has plagued the Plantagenets, Father. The Devil’s own servant.”

  As he spoke, Edmund’s men had approached and stood silently behind the earl and Edmund. D’Aubigni was completely unaware of their presence, Gwendolyn realized. William seemed to recognize the danger as well, and he stepped toward the earl to offer protection if needed.

  “I will remind you that William saved my life,” the earl warned his son.

  The next few moments unfolded before Gwendolyn like something unreal and distant, a terrible dream.

  Edmund drew his dagger, holding it high over his head, and lunged at William. The earl’s son had never actually shed blood or put himself in the way of danger, and his inexperience caused him to hesitate a fraction of a moment, long enough for the earl to grab his left arm and throw him off balance. Edmund’s men grabbed the earl, and Edmund lurched at William as the earl lost his grip. William had pulled his sword, but Edmund fell into him, h
is dagger piercing William in his side at an odd angle beneath his armpit. William staggered back from Edmund, his sword lowered, and he felt a warm flow seep down his side as Edmund withdrew, with the dagger still in his hand. Nigel and Gwendolyn drew their swords and advanced on Edmund’s men, just as Edmund recovered himself, brandished the weapon high over his head in both hands, and turned back to William, who was leaning against the wall. William pushed himself up to standing as Edmund lunged at him again, but this time the earl flung himself between them. Edmund’s blade, intended for William, disappeared deep into his father’s chest instead.

  Edmund stumbled back from his father, his hands raised as if he could repudiate his own dagger. He stared with wild eyes at the ornamented hilt that protruded from the earl’s chest. Blood poured from the wound and his father dropped to his knees before him, open mouthed and staring, then onto his side. William d’Aubigni made no further sound except for the release of his last breath.

  “Oh, Father,” Edmund murmured, tears spilling onto his cheeks.

  Edmund looked around himself with darting eyes. His men had formed a circle around him, swords raised, held in check by Nigel and Gwendolyn. The women and children who had stayed behind from Vespers cowered in a corner near the dais, and Michael pressed himself against the wall nearby, behind Gwendolyn and Nigel. William leaned against the wall, breathing in small sips, but he held himself erect, sword ready. Walter de Coutances stepped forward and reached down to pull the earl’s sword free from his belt. The old archbishop drew the blade in a fluid movement and turned to join Gwendolyn and Nigel, facing Edmund and his men, the aged warrior’s eyes sharp and dark. Edmund’s men had their mail tunics on, but no coifs or helmets. Gwendolyn was aware of her lack of armor and shield, but only to register that her blows must be precise. There was the briefest pause as the two bands of fighters faced off.