A True and Perfect Knight (13 page)

Gennie turned in the opposite direction. She let her fists fall and her shoulders slump. He was right; she would have to say her farewells to Thomas. But how could she? How could she say she loved him and then leave him with only Marie and Rebecca to care for him? Gennie shook her head as she walked through the trees toward the riverside and the sound of Thomas’s laughter.

Much though she wanted things otherwise, she had no choice but to bid Thomas goodbye and ride posthaste to the king. She prayed that God might forgive her sins and allow her to see her son once more before she died. She knew King Edward would not.

Haven knew when she had left the clearing. That subtle perfume of lavender and woman was gone. The very air felt somehow flat and stagnant without her presence to stir it to life. He shook his head. What foolishness was this, imagining that the widow made breathing easier? Owain’s lucky blow must have done more damage than Haven had originally thought.

He stood before the tent and moved his jaw from side to side. It still pained him. His whole body hurt. But he knew Owain hurt more. The memory of the man-at-arms sprawled in the dirt rose before Haven. He smiled, then winced. The smile resplit Haven’s barely healed lip. He swiped at the trickle of blood and entered the tent, bellowing for Watley.

The squire jumped, spilling soapy water down the front of Owain’s jerkin. Watley hurried to rise from where he bent over the man-at-arms and managed to slam the now empty bowl into the older man’s chin.

“Ow.” Owain threw Watley a hostile look.

In the opposite corner, Soames hid a chuckle under a cough.

Haven remembered not to smile and sat himself on a pile of bedding.

Watley left to get clean water and rags.

“Sir Haven, I almost feel sorry for you with such a clumsy squire.”

Haven ignored Owain’s dig.

“Can you ride as you mend?”

“Aye, sir.”

“I’ve very little time. Will your men accept your oath to me as surety for themselves as well?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Soames, call two of the men who were with Owain this morning to stand witness to his oath. On your way back fetch me quill, ink and parchment.”

“Aye, sir.”

His second-in-command left. Haven studied Owain for several moments, wondering how much faith to put in his new vassal. “You and the men with you pursued Dreyford’s family out of loyalty to Roger?”

“Out of loyalty to the Dreyford family, sir. Roger was a changed man since he returned from the crusade.”

“Not since his marriage?”

“He grew wilder after marrying Lady Genvieve, but the changes began before he wed.”

“So you did not follow him into treason?”

“We did not betray our king.”

“Why were you not at the Dreyford holding when the new owners arrived?”

Owain looked away. His throat worked before he spoke. “I had tried to keep Sir Roger from his treasonous companions on other occasions. This time, I was given false information that took me far from Dreyford lands. By the time I learned of the deception and returned, Sir Roger was dead, and you had taken Lady Genvieve and her son with you.”

Haven watched the man as he told his halting tale. Did Owain’s difficulty speaking his story come from grief and regret over his own failure or from an innate difficulty with lies? “Who gave you this false information?”

Owain’s face took on a stricken aspect. “Lady Genvieve,” he said quietly.

“Could she have been misinformed herself?”

Soames returned, forestalling further discussion. Haven took the parchment, ink and quill. He wrote as he instructed the men in their duty as witnesses. “Do you understand what you are to do?”

“Aye, sir, we’re t’watch Owain swear fealty to you and make our mark on the paper after he does.”

“Good.”

Owain knelt before Haven, his hands raised in front of him as if in prayer. Haven placed his hands around Owain’s.

I, Owain Langdon, banneret and knight of Yorkshire, do pledge my fealty to Sir Haven de Sessions and his overlord King Edward of England and acknowledge that I owe homage and service to you both as the troth between us commands. This I swear in the presence of these witnesses, on this day anno domine MCCLXXXII.

Watley entered as Owain and the other two men exited.

“Soames have the horses made ready,” Haven ordered.

Watley dabbed at Haven’s face with a damp cloth.

“Ow.” Haven grabbed the cloth from Watley’s hands. “You’ve the touch of a goat. I will do this myself. Go and practice your swordplay. When you are able to slice an onion with a single stroke of your blade and the halves remain standing as if whole, then you may tend my person again.”

Watley flushed. “I try to please your lordship in all things,” he said backing out of the tent.

The squire’s hero worship put Haven on edge. Good thing Watley would have to stay behind with Thomas. Haven could use a few days’ respite from the young man’s nervous care. In fact, this whole business with the widow made Haven short-tempered. He would be glad to have the journey over and the widow off his hands.

Alone, finished with the water and rags, Haven let out a groan as he stood. Owain could fight well. Haven prayed that he was right to trust the man.

Gennie sat on the riverbank, watching Thomas play in the shallows. She had said her farewells and given Rebecca, as well as the servants, instructions for Thomas’s care.

“He is a good boy.”

de Sessions’s words struck her from behind her. Her body jerked. It was time to leave. “Yes, sir, he is,” she said, rising. Worries for Thomas’s future shook her voice, and she turned around.

“He needs a man’s influence.”

“
Oui.
”

“Do not fear for him, madame.”

Had de Sessions heard the tremor in her voice when she thought of Thomas’s life? “And why should I not fear for him? He is the child of a traitor. However innocent Thomas is, his father’s crime will follow him all of his days. What surety is there for such a child?”

“There is little surety for any child. He is young, strong and resourceful.”

“Mayhap too young.”

“Nay, he is not. You have taught him right from wrong, and to recognize when he needs help. That will sustain him while he learns his place in the world.”

“I fear ’twill not be enough.”

“Tell me, can you do aught to change his circumstances?”

“
Non.
I pray daily for a safe place where Thomas may grow into the kind, good man I know he can be. But, of myself, I have nothing to offer him.”

“Then leave be and turn your mind to your own future.”

“That too is out of my hands.”

Chapter Eleven

Gennie held her weary head up and stumbled through the crowded hallways of the royal castle at Chester. She could do aught else, since de Sessions had her by the arm and paced at full stride past wide-eyed stares and hand-shielded whispers. Days of hurried travel had taken their toll on the only clothing she owned. Despite the modest, but new, clothes she had been given, she knew the stares and whispers focused on her, for she had heard snippets of “traitor…killed her husband…temptress”, even “witch”.

Haven slowed as he approached the anterooms to the king’s chambers. Genvieve recalled that she had more serious problems than castle gossip and bleary eyes to worry about. de Sessions knocked, and the door opened. Gennie found herself in a room lined with benches, and those benches filled with men.

Few of the men dressed in the fine linens and furs of nobles. The long, nubby wool coats of clerks attired the majority. Others wore the distinctive habits of monks and ordained priests. Beneath the only window, a clutch of drab, ragged, mendicant friars frowned at their more richly appointed brothers from abbey and church. Many of the men used small traveling desks. Their quills hummed a scratchy descant to the chorus of murmurs from the various groups.

A quiet buzz followed Gennie’s progress behind Haven to the opposite side of the room. The murmurs gradually ceased. The quills halted. By the time she reached the opposite door full silence reigned, and Gennie found herself the object of curious clerical study.

Haven’s knock echoed around the large antechamber. Gennie watched him peruse the room, noting that he seemed to take no pleasure in the company of clerks. He frowned at the group of friars, who stared openly at Gennie. Many people disliked the traveling clerics, whose vows of poverty and humility served as visible chastisement to noble and industrious commoner alike. Gennie did not mind the friars, for they brought news along with their begging. She simply wished that some of them bathed more often.

“What? Have you not seen a gentlewoman before this day?”

Haven’s reproach boomed into Gennie’s thoughts, and she jumped as she felt his hand slide from her arm to her shoulder.

The men stopped staring.

She turned her gaze to where Haven’s touch burned her, and from there to his face.

“Do not let them concern you. They are only intrigued. Edward rarely summons women to his council chamber.”

If de Sessions meant to reassure, he failed. She did not blame the clerks for their curiosity. It was the audience with Edward that dried her mouth with dread. “I am fine.”

“Good,” he grunted. The door opened behind him, and he pushed her onto a bench. “Sit here. I will be back to get you soon.”

He disappeared into the next room. Gennie twisted her fingers into a tight clasp and watched the door as if her life depended upon the wooden portal with its leather bindings.
And indeed
,
my life does
hang
upon that door and what goes on behind it.
A corner of her mouth twisted at the gruesome humor of her own thoughts.

Determined not to brood over what she could not change, she turned to observe the room and found herself staring into the blazing eyes of a friar from the group beneath the window. What was
he
doing here?

The door closed behind Haven. He stood, waiting for Edward to call him forward. A wine-laden table stood in the near corner of the large room. The king bent over a second, bigger table in the center of the room. His councilors too focused on what Haven took to be a map. The conversation murmured on for several minutes. Despite the sense of urgency that pervaded the chamber, Haven could tell that Edward was pleased. The smallest of smiles quirked one corner of the wide royal mouth, and Edward’s eyes sparkled in a way that told those closest to him, he was about to spring a trap.

The conversation ended, and with much head nodding, the councilors moved en masse toward the wine. Edward reached for a goblet near his left hand and drank. He drained the cup, then wiped his mouth and bent to study the map once more.

Has he forgotten I am here?
To keep from worrying about his audience with the king, Haven studied the room. There was not much to look at. The fireplace was cold. The walls were bare. Even the cushions had been removed in preparation for the king’s departure. Haven looked for patterns in the rushes on the floor, anything to ignore the sweat that had begun to trickle down his back.

“You are late.” Edward’s voice boomed into the chilly silence.

Chuckles came from the council’s corner.

Haven suppressed the startled urge to jump in response. Instead, he bowed his head and went down on one knee to honor his king. “Aye.”

“I’ve lost half a day waiting for you and Dreyford’s widow.”

Haven raised his head. “The widow’s party slowed us down, so I left my men with them and brought her here posthaste. But you need not have stayed. We would have caught up with you.”

For a moment, the king studied Haven. “Aye, you would. Get up then. I delayed to share news with you, and privacy is difficult for a king to find.”

Haven watched the councilors turn their backs and crowd closer around the wine table. Then he rose and approached Edward. “Does this news concern your plans for the Welsh and Llewellyn ap Gryffudd?”

“Aye.” Edward turned toward the map. Haven turned with him. “We believe that Gryffudd is at his seat in Gwynedd, here.” The king pointed to a flag painted onto the middle of the mountains of northern Wales. “I’ve ordered the Cinque Port fleet to deliver half my army here, on the upper west coast, then to blockade the Welsh ports. The fleet will also assist in maintaining the bridge of boats that supply us from Anglesey. I do not want Llewellyn getting supplies from Anglesey or anywhere else. The Marcher Earls will secure the mountain passes to the east and then press westward. My brother Edmund will lead a loyal force from the south. The main army will leave from Chester.

“I will pin Llewellyn inside Gwynedd and strip him of everything. When I am done with him, his title as Prince of Wales will be all he has left.” Edward’s fist smacked down onto the painted flag. “Five years ago, I was much too generous. I will crush this viper and all the Welsh as a lesson to any other vassals who would break their vows and betray England.”