Alinor (58 page)

"Where is Lady Alinor?"

"I do not know, madam. She has left Roselynde— that is all I know."

"Very well. You may go." Ela turned her head toward a maid. "See that he is fed and given a place to rest."

The words were a mechanical mouthing. Lady Ela's mind was essentially busy with how she should present this information to William, who was fortunately at home just now. Her immediate instinct was to accuse John obliquely of engineering whatever treachery had befallen Ian, but she soon thought better of the idea. William was a fool about his brother, but not such a fool that the suspicion would not occur to him on his own in this case. If John was innocent of this—and it was really possible that he was innocent of it because Ian's visit to Clyro seemed to have been totally unplanned—and if Ela implied it was John's doing, doubt might be cast on her future implications against the king.

No, let William come to his own conclusions. The best thing was simply to present the facts and transmit Alinor's plea that the king be warned, so that he would not take amiss her moving a large number of men around the country. She did not wish, Alinor had written, to be accused of treason or of starting a war when all she intended was to have her husband out of Clyro Keep or to punish her own castellan who had broken his oath of fealty. Having made her decision, Ela hurried down to the hall, clutching the letter without even putting the finishing touches to her toilet. She expected a reaction, but not quite as violent a one as she got.

"What did you say has happened to Ian?" Salisbury cried, leaping to his feet.

"He has disappeared. Well, Alinor thinks she knows―"

"From where? When? He is not a child or a maiden to be abducted without a struggle. How―"

"William, do not shout so. You make my head ring. I never said he had been abducted. I said he had disappeared. He spent a night in Powys Castle and told them there he was going on to the keep at Clyro Hill. At Clyro Keep, they said he had not come, but the messenger was not allowed in and Alinor believes―"

"Clyro? Powys? What the hell is Ian doing in Wales? The last I knew he was besieging a stubborn castellan at Kemp."

"I do not know what he was doing in Wales. Alinor did not take time to write the entire history of what happened, poor woman. Who cares for why he is there―"

"Ela, you are not silly, so do not talk silly. Why he is there might well have a bearing upon what happened."

"Well, I am not a witch, and Alinor did not tell me, so how could I know? And if you do not stop shouting at me, you will not only give me a headache but shake loose what few wits I have. Why do you not listen to what I say? Or, better yet, here, read Alinor's letter."

Lady Ela thrust the parchment into her husband's hands, sank limply into the chair he had vacated, and watched his unguarded expression as he read. It was just as well she had not tried to put it on the king, she thought, as she saw the concern mingled with relief painted on his face. William had had his own fears concerning Lord Ian, but obviously they had nothing to do with the keep at Clyro Hill. In another moment, however, Ela raised her hands defensively to her ears.

"What does she mean she is moving men around the country?" William roared. "Does she go with them to war?"

"I must suppose she does," Ela agreed faintly, cowering back in the chair. That aspect of the matter had not occurred to her before.

"That fool! How can Ian indulge her so much that he allows her to bring on his downfall and her own?"

"But William, if Ian is dead or imprisoned, how can he stop her? Be reasonable, do! Oh dear! Alinor is a very strong woman, stronger than you think, but this is out of all reason, I agree."

"That idiot woman!" Salisbury exclaimed, striding up and down. "I do not know whether to ride first to John and discover whether his spies in Wales know aught of this—which is what needs doing—or to ride to Roselynde and see if I can prevent this feminine folly."

"It is too late to ride to Roselynde. Alinor is already gone from there."

"Gone? Where? To Wales already?"

"I do not know. Her man said only that she had left the keep. Perhaps she meant to tell me where she was going, but you see that her letter is ill-writ. She must have been in haste and greatly disordered."

"Of a truth, she must be greatly disordered to conceive of such an idiocy," William growled. "Does she think men grown old in war will obey her? Does she intend to instruct them how to build catapults? How to storm a keep? Does she intend to lead them onto the walls?"

"Oh, not that, William."

"Are you sure?"

"Now William, you are allowing yourself to go too far. I do not really approve of what Alinor is doing, but there is some reason to it. Her chief vassal is John of Mersea, and he is little more than a score of years old. She does not really have a trustworthy man to control her men. You know what comes of that. What one suggests, the other says is too dangerous or not daring enough. Each wishes to be chief, and nothing but ill will ensues. Meanwhile, the real business lies languishing. I am sure Alinor goes to keep the peace, not to storm the walls."

The anger faded out of Salisbury's face, to be replaced by a kind of pitying concern. "Yes, it is true, and Pembroke, to whom she would have gone, is in Ireland. But why did she not come to me?" he cried.

"Because she did not wish to bring trouble upon you, William. John does not love Ian or Lady Alinor. She would never ask you to do what the king would disapprove."

Salisbury stood for a little while staring past his wife, pounding a fist into his open palm. Finally, he looked directly at Ela. "He saved my life, Ela, and—and I owe him a great debt for—for other favors."

The color had bleached from her husband's face suddenly. Ela had no time to be hurt by the oblique reference to the fact that Ian had taken Geoffrey after she refused him. She was struck at the same time with the realization that Geoffrey was with Ian and would doubtless suffer, or had suffered, the same fate as his master. She got slowly to her feet, clinging to the chair.

"Geoffrey is with him," she whispered. "Go! You must go at once, William. Oh God, if harm has befallen the child, I will never forgive myself, never. You will never be able to curse me worse than I will curse myself."

Two strides took Salisbury to his wife, and he gathered her into his arms. "Do not be a fool, Ela. Geoffrey would be in service now even if—if things had been different in the beginning. Whatever has happened, it is no fault of yours. And I could never curse you for any reason. Do not make yourself ill over this."

"Thank you, beloved," Ela whispered, "but go now. Go. And send me word; as soon as you have any news about any of them, send me word."

Fortunately, the king was at Oxford rather than London, and Salisbury was in John's bedchamber by an hour after compline, catching him just before he got into bed.

"Where is Ian de Vipont?" Salisbury asked his brother, with no greeting and no introduction.

"In hell, I hope," John responded spitefully, and then seeing his brother's ghastly pallor, he frowned. "But if he is, it is not with my assistance. What ails you, William, to burst in on me and cry out for de Vipont without a word of greeting or explanation. I am not Ian's keeper."

"My son is with Ian. Where is he, John? Where?"

"How do I know? I swear to you, William, that the last I heard, de Vipont was besieging a castellan near Kemp. If he is gone from there— But I know the siege is being prosecuted with vigor. I heard— You mean he disappeared from the camp? When?"

"I am sure of nothing except that he was
not
in Sussex. Between Powys Castle, where he spent the night, and his wife's property at Clyro Hill, where they say he did not arrive, he disappeared. Have your people in Wales heard nothing?"

John stared right through his brother, slowly shaking his head. "Not a word of de Vipont, but I have no really recent news from Wales. All is quiet there. I am ready to swear on whatever you desire, William, that I have no part in de Vipont's trouble in Wales, whatever it is—I will go so far as to swear on the unborn fruit of my wife's womb, if that will content you."

Salisbury put an unsteady hand to his head. "Then what Lady Alinor believes must be true. It is the castellan at Clyro Hill that has taken Ian for some private reason. John, she is gathering men to take the keep. I am going to lead them for her."

"William―"

"Do not forbid me, brother. I beg you. My son is there. If Ian dies, Geoffrey dies."

"I was not going to forbid you," John said untruthfully.

He realized in time that forbidding William to go to his son's rescue would be useless. He would not obey— and there was little John could do, because he really loved his half-brother. William of Salisbury was the one man in the world John did not doubt or fear and could not hurt. This was an unfortunate complication to a clear and beautiful idea that had leaped into John's mind. He needed time, a little time alone, to work around William's presence.

"All I was going to say," John continued, "was that you should go to bed. Have you eaten anything this day? No? I thought not. No! I do forbid you to ride out again tonight. You will ride headlong for Wales, arriving before the lady or her troops. If you give me a little time to think, perhaps there is some help I can offer you—and you need not look at me that way. I would not lift a finger to assist Ian de Vipont. In fact, I will tell you plain that nothing could please me better than to hear of his death. However, Geoffrey is another matter entirely."

"I will eat, if you desire, but I cannot sleep," William protested.

"Oh yes you can," John insisted. He signaled to one of the squires of the body. "Go with him, William, and have a little sense. Eat and sleep, and tomorrow I will have something for you to make matters better. I cannot send troops with you. Royal troops in Wales can only mean trouble, but I will think of something."

Hardly had his brother left the room when another squire was running to bid a royal courier make ready to ride at once. John sat down and bit his fingers. If the castellan had taken his overlord prisoner, it must be to gain the estate for himself. There could be no other reason for such an act. If de Vipont had spent a night at Powys and intended to be at Clyro the next night, the estate must abut Gwenwynwyn's land. Probably the castellan and Gwenwynwyn were friendly enough, but if they were not it would make no difference. If both had the same enemy—de Vipont—that should ensure cooperation for long enough to suit John's purposes.

Another wave of the fingers brought a table, quills, parchment, and ink to the chair in which John sat. He began to write quickly, glancing up once to say that a second courier should be told to ready himself. One letter was very brief. It was addressed to a mercenary captain in a besieged castle in Sussex, and the words themselves were quite innocent. They announced the safe delivery of a son named Victor to the man's woman. The fact that the action that would be induced by those words would be a breach of faith that would open the keep to its enemies did not trouble John and would not trouble the captain. Wax flowed to hold the parchment roll closed, but no seal was pressed to it, and it was a woman's name that the king scrawled across the edges. A second letter, headed with the same name, bid the captain march his troops with all the speed he could get from them to Gloucester and wait there in the royal castle for further instruction. The messenger would not, of course, deliver both letters to the captain to whom they were addressed. Only the first would go to him. Once he received instructions to abandon the siege, the captain would know where to go to find his new orders.

John's eyes narrowed as he considered the time element and the chance that Alinor's troops, with William at their head, would arrive first. He chuckled softly. William doubtless would arrive, but it was very unlikely indeed that the troops would. She would need to argue and plead with her men, probably, and they would make one excuse after another. Very likely William would have to go and gather them after the woman had failed. By then—John drew a third sheet of parchment toward him and addressed it with rather fulsome compliments to Lord Gwenwynwyn, Prince of Wales.

"It has come to our ears," the king wrote, "that a man who wrongfully seized our servant, Lady Alinor of Roselynde, and married her against our will is seeking to make trouble for you, our well-beloved and obedient subject. Ian de Vipont has conspired with his clan brother, Lord Llewelyn, to seize the castle of Clyro Hill from his own wife's castellan and pass it into hands that will make it a lance pointed into the heart of your domain. We would not wish to have any quarrel erupt between you and our son-by-marriage, Lord Llewelyn, although in this case we will absolve you of any guilt in the matter if you must defend yourself against attack. Thus, it would be well to remove this troublemaker, de Vipont, before he accomplishes his purpose. If he should die by the hand of this outraged castellan, there would be no reason why the castellan should not become your vassal. We assure you that Lady Alinor, or her next husband, would cede the keep and lands to you, especially if they are already in your hands. We would have no objections to this. We would, in fact, urge that so just a reward for your effort to keep the peace be made."

John looked off into space for a few minutes, a faint frown creasing his brows. Then a beatific smile lit his whole face, and he bent forward to write again, the quill sputtering a little in his eagerness. He had remembered something quite wonderful.

"We must warn you that no harm should come to de Vipont's squires. The one is my own half-brother's bastard, and the other is a bastard cub of Lord Llewelyn's. If the castellan should slay or have slain the boys, no mercy may be shown him.
He must die!
In that case, of course, it would be only reasonable that you appoint such a man to hold the keep at Clyro Hill as would best suit your purposes. Because we fear some harm may come to our kin, Geoffrey FitzWilliam, we are sending Sir Fulk de Breaute with four hundred men to Gloucester Castle. You may call upon them to assist you in any way you see fit—either to aid you in rescuing my brother's and my son's sons or to aid you in revenging their deaths. Sir Fulk should be at Gloucester in a week's time, after you receive this letter, or perhaps it will be a few days later."