Children of Time (The After Cilmeri Series Book Four) (11 page)

“Or in Parliament?” Edmund added.

“We have no comment,” I said.

“Yes, my lord,” Bevyn said.

It was only after Bevyn eyed me and his lip twitched so that his moustache danced, that I realized that he would see
no comment
as a step up from simply
no.

Chapter Eight

16 November 1288

Lili

W
e rode all day, taking the road that led to Gloucester, and finally reached the castle where we were to spend the night. It had been in the hands of the English crown since the time of William Rufus, and now Thomas de Berkeley was the custodian. Thomas was a contemporary of Bohun and Clare, and like Humphrey de Bohun, had stood by a father who’d fought and lost at Evesham. Like Bohun, too, he’d reconciled with Clare in the intervening years.

Clare had said that he would join our party there. Between Clare and Edmund Mortimer, Dafydd would be traveling with the power of the March personified at his side.

If someone had told me a year ago that any of these men—Bohun, Clare, or Mortimer—would ever ally with Wales again, I never would have believed it. Taking Humphrey de Bohun as an example, Ieuan had spent his life
hating
the Earls of Hereford, and taught me to hate them too. But here we were, riding to William’s wedding.

Then again, perhaps it wasn’t so unlikely as all that. The Marcher barons cared more for their own power than for anything else. Clare’s first wife had been Alice de Lusignan, the niece of our current mutual enemy, William de Valence. One might have thought that the marriage would have been a reason for Clare to have supported Valence in August, and indeed, Valence and Clare had intended for the marriage to bring them closer together.

However, their relations had soured when King Edward had made Alice his mistress. The fact that Edward and Alice were cousins hadn’t seemed to matter to either of them. To appease Clare for the loss of his wife, Edward had promised him a wedding to Edward’s daughter, Joan, but Edward had died before anything formal might be arranged.

And now Joan was marrying William de Bohun. It wasn’t clear to me why Clare chose to support Bohun’s rise to power, since it was a loss for him. Perhaps Clare believed that England wouldn’t accept him as King—that he had too many ghosts in his cupboard—and believed he could consolidate his power under William.

Edmund Mortimer pulled up to allow Dafydd and me to draw abreast. “Clare tells me that Thomas de Berkeley has plans to dine with you tonight. He’s riding in from his estates to the south for that purpose.”

Dafydd shot a look of surprise at Edmund. “Why?”

“He wants to meet you,” Edmund said, but didn’t elaborate.

We’d come a long way for our first day and had long way left to go to reach London. I could feel Dafydd eyeing me. He worried about my welfare all the time, but these last few miles even I could tell that I’d gone pale.

“Are you well?” Dafydd said.

“A little queasy,” I said, unwilling to admit more than that.

“Perhaps it would be better—”

“Don’t even say it,” I said. “It’s been one day. I want to keep going. It’s a simple upset stomach and the need to get off this horse.”

Dafydd nodded to Edmund, who spurred his mount, and soon we reached the gatehouse. Gloucester Castle and its defenses covered almost the entire southwestern portion of the town of Gloucester. The Severn defended it on the west, and the rest of the castle was surrounded by a moat. Though a number of people came into the street to see us pass by, we rode through the town without stopping and arrived at the north-eastern entrance, with its inner and outer gatehouses and drawbridge over the moat.

Dafydd helped me from my horse and by the time I landed on the ground, Clare himself had hastened across the bailey towards us, followed by Lord Thomas de Berkeley. Both were handsome men in their forties with a regal bearing—though Berkeley’s hair was dark brown and Clare’s was red.

“My lord!” Clare stopped three paces from us and bowed. At first glance, this Gilbert de Clare was a very different man from the one we’d found shimmying down a rope outside of Clifford Castle in August, in that his demeanor was precise and his clothing perfect. His red hair still stood on end, however, and his eyes were as clear and glittering as ever.

“Clare,” Dafydd said and tipped his head. I gave him a weak smile. I really didn’t want to lose control of my stomach at the Norman baron’s feet. He might become somewhat less accommodating towards us if I ruined his boots.

“If the steward is prepared, my wife needs a bed,” Dafydd said.

“At once.” Clare gestured towards the entrance to the great hall. It was built in stone, as most castles were these days. The need for defense, and the protection stone offered, proved of greater merit than the desire for less draft and cold. We’d begun the day under sunshine, but the wind had picked up over the last hour and the clouds to the west spoke of rain.

Sir Thomas himself showed us to our rooms. “My lady,” he said, with a smile and a bow. “I hope you find your accommodations to your liking.”

Our rooms turned out to be adjacent to his own and as richly appointed. While it made Dafydd uncomfortable, I knew this kind of reverence was no less than he deserved. Dafydd pulled the curtains back from the big four-poster bed, revealing a soft mattress and down pillows. A fire burned in the grate. The chimney appeared to work well, too, since the room wasn’t full of smoke. Dafydd turned to me. “A bed fit for a princess,” he said.

“I don’t care what it looks like, as long as I can lie down on it.” I moaned as I sank into the bed and tucked a pillow under my head. Dafydd found a second pillow to put between my knees and stroked the hair off my face.

“Thank you, Lord Thomas,” Dafydd said. “Would it be possible for broth and bread to be brought here? I doubt my wife will want to join us for dinner.”

Sir Thomas nodded. “At once. As to yourself, please come to the hall at your leisure.” He left.

My maid, Branwen, hovered in the doorway. “I’ll see to your food, my lady.”

“Thank you.” I smiled. She’d see to the food, and those moments in the kitchen would supply me with all the relevant gossip in the castle. In her late forties, having lost her husband some years ago, she was far more fluent in English and French than I, and had one of those personalities that invited confidences. I didn’t know how she did it, but she hadn’t failed me yet.

In her absence, Dafydd untied both my boots and dropped them to the floor. “Thank you, Dafydd, now go away,” I said.

He slid his hand over mine. “Are you sure? I can stay if you need me.”

I waved my other hand at him. “People want to talk to you. I’m going to lie here and drink some soup. I’ll feel better if you’re not watching.”

I didn’t play games with him and usually meant what I said. If I told him to go away, it wasn’t a cry for attention but my genuine wish. So, he said, “Okay.”

“You should dress in your finery first,” I said.

He stopped, halfway to the door, and turned back. “I’m sure that’s not necessary, Lili—”

“They’ll expect it.”

Dafydd sighed, but he knew I was right. We’d planned for it, even. Seamstresses had spent a hurried few days sewing new articles of clothing for both Dafydd and me, so that we would look like the prince and princess we were. Anna had consulted Maud de Bohun as to what was fashionable in London right now, so I would fit in. Dafydd would be out of place in an English castle no matter what he wore, but had bowed to their greater fashion sense.

“My lord?” Dafydd’s manservant held a cloak in one hand and a brush for his boots in the other.

“Make it quick, Jeeves.”

Though the man’s real name was Rhun, Dafydd had started calling him Jeeves, with Rhun’s permission, the day after I’d hired him. It was a jest, one that only he understood (though he’d tried to explain it to both of us). What I did understand was that even after six years, Dafydd was uncomfortable with having a personal servant. I hadn’t had my own dedicated maid before either, not until I’d married Dafydd. But I had to agree that life was easier with someone to assist me.

Dafydd’s first manservant had been Hywel, Anna’s companion from Castell y Bere. After the fiasco at Lancaster, Dafydd had sent him to Math at Dinas Bran and there he’d stayed. Three years on, he was a retainer at the castle, married and expecting a child of his own.

Jeeves would have made a good captain of Dafydd’s guard, but weak eyes had made warfare impossible for him as a youth, and by the time Dafydd returned from the Land of Madoc—or Avalon, as I’d found myself calling it of late—with directions for crafting eye glasses, it was too late for him to change professions.

Dafydd sat and stuck out both feet while Jeeves quickly brushed the dirt off his boots and then whipped out a rag to polish them. Dafydd then changed his tunic and shrugged into the cloak I wanted him to wear—one that was a deep blue and a perfect match for his eyes. It also wasn’t travel-stained like the one he’d worn all day.

“Don’t eat anything that another hasn’t already tried,” Dafydd said.

“I won’t.” Neither of us had forgotten about the poisons from Shrewsbury. Dafydd gave me a last kiss and a long look, and then departed.

I sighed.

“He means well, my lady,” Jeeves said.

“Of course, he does,” I said. “But I am his wife and carrying his first child so he worries about everything.”

I closed my eyes and managed a short nap before Branwen returned with soup and bread. “I tasted it first,” she said. “It’s good and salty.” She helped me to sit with my back to the headboard and fluffed the pillows behind me.

“So,” I said, after taking a sip of the hot broth. “What have you heard?”

Branwen gave a slight cough. “My lady, I don’t listen at keyholes—”

“We’ve been here for nearly an hour, Branwen. That’s more than enough time. Please tell me what you’ve heard.”

Branwen gave up the pretense of misunderstanding. “Nothing unusual, my lady. Bohun and Kirby aren’t speaking to each other but aren’t actively at each other’s throats either; the wedding plans progress; and it is said that the Bishop of London himself will marry William and Joan.” She looked away, a smile playing around her lips.

“What?”

“As the wine steward tells it, Joan is a reluctant bride,” Branwen said. “Before King Edward’s death, her heart was set on the Church.”

“She wanted to be a nun?” I laughed. “Don’t tell that to Humphrey de Bohun. He wants a grandson to be King of England after William, not a cold bed for William to come home to.”

“Oh—and Lord Roger Mortimer has been released from the Tower of London.”

I nodded. I already knew that, thanks to the Order of the Pendragon, but didn’t mention it since I didn’t want to discourage Branwen’s quest for information. “Thank you,” I said.

Branwen handed me a cup of water. “They have a deep well here.” She didn’t understand why I had to abstain from wine, but Dafydd had explained quite clearly why the ban was important and when Anna, Bronwen, and Meg had supported what he’d said, she’d backed down.

She had protested similarly when we’d ridden to Chepstow from Rhuddlan after I discovered my pregnancy. Once we arrived, Meg had assured her that riding was no more harmful than walking, particularly in the first trimester. As with the wine, Branwen didn’t necessarily believe I’d made the right decision, but I was her mistress and she was nothing if not loyal. I’d even heard her chastising one of the kitchen staff back at Chepstow who’d questioned my decision to ride into England with Dafydd.

For my part, I accepted what Dafydd told me, as I had to accept so much of what was unusual abut him. I loved him, and I trusted him, and if wine was bad and riding good, I believed him. So often it was I who understood the politics or attitudes of this time and place more than he, and had to explain it to him so he could accept it. It was only fair that I listened to him sometimes and accepted what he said, even when I didn’t understand the reasoning behind what he believed.

I took a sip of the water and sighed. “I should get up. It’s Dafydd’s birthday and I’m missing it.”

“The kitchen already knew of it,” Branwen said. “Lord Clare has everything arranged, just as you hoped.”

“You’re too good to me, Branwen,” I said.

“Nonsense,” Branwen said. And then she hesitated such that I looked into her face.

“You have something more to add?” I said.

“I have heard that your father will be at Westminster,” she said.

I swallowed hard at this not-unexpected news and nodded, trying to get a grip on my emotions.
So be it.
I was a grown woman, a married woman, and a princess of Wales. What could my father say to me that could hurt me more than he already had?

I was glad I had been able to rest and felt better as Branwen helped me into my gown and fixed my hair. Because nobody was expecting me to attend the dinner, I made my own way to the hall. I peered through the doorway, just as Sir Thomas snapped his fingers and stood, with Clare rising beside him. Clare held his hands behind his back and wore a disconcerting smirk on his face, as if life couldn’t have pleased him more.

“Now!” Thomas rapped the handle of his belt knife on the edge of the table, calling for quiet, which he got nearly instantly. “Today is a celebration!” He spread his arms wide. “Not only has Prince David of Wales honored us with his presence, but today is also the day of his birth!”

Dafydd gaped at Thomas, and then looked down the table at his companions. He thought one of them had talked. Later, I’d tell him that I was the culprit and he’d be forgiving.

Clare leaned into Dafydd. “If you could say a few words, my lord?”

Dafydd stood and lifted a hand to the crowd, to applause he richly deserved. He was so
good
at this, even if he refused to admit it.

“Thank you very much for your hospitality and your birthday wishes,” he said, speaking first in English, and then in French. “Your land is rich and lovely, your people are just and loyal—” he broke off as he spied me in the doorway. He smiled, and then finished his speech without stumbling: “I am honored to be with you tonight.”