Children of Time (The After Cilmeri Series Book Four) (27 page)

I blinked. Eleanor had hardly been a rival. In fact, I’d given her as little thought as possible, thinking her a fluttery, spoiled noblewoman, like most of her kind.

The Archbishop himself interceded. “Valence. This is unseemly.”

But it was honest. At long last, the real Valence was revealed, and he was angry and ambitious. “Get out of my way!” Valence brushed at his handlers’ hands. He pointed at me and shook his finger. “You—” If he could have seen himself, with his usually coifed hair standing on end and his color high, he would have subsided immediately. His carefully managed image had been undone in thirty seconds of uncontrolled anger.

I stood steady, watching him, and maybe he saw something in my expression that gave him pause, because between one instant and the next, he calmed himself. He straightened his tunic with a jerk, swung around, and strode off the dais, heading down the hall without a backwards look at Alfonso, his distraught ally. Alfonso, unlike everyone else who’d forgotten about Eleanor in favor of gawking at Valence, knelt at her feet. Joan sobbed quietly beside him, clasping her sister’s dead hand.

I looked toward Bohun, who also gazed down at the body. He lifted his head and met my eyes. That same mistrust from earlier was in his face, coupled with something else, something I couldn’t put my finger on—surprise?

“Not you, too,” I said. “I had nothing to do with this.”

Bohun’s shoulders sagged. “I know it. Once Valence calms down, it is I he will accuse. You understand that, don’t you? You would do well to distance yourself from me from this moment.”

“Did you cause Eleanor’s death?” I said.

Pause
. “No. But you can understand why people will think I did. Why I could have.”

Clare came up behind Bohun and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Get your son and his bride out of here. This wedding tomorrow can’t come soon enough.”

Bohun jerked his head at William, who went to Joan and gently pulled her away from the body. She was sixteen, not thirteen like William. Nobody had asked her what she thought about marrying a boy who was not yet a man, but she responded to him well enough. If history had gone the way it had in my old world, William would have married not Joan but Elizabeth, Edward’s youngest daughter, born in 1282. She was only six, however, and Humphrey de Bohun was angling for the throne of England.

Humphrey’s wife, Maud, wrapped an arm around Joan’s shoulders and the girl left the dais with the Bohuns without protest. I hadn’t heard Joan open her mouth once so far. She seemed a little mouse and looked it, with her pointed face and lifeless brown hair that she’d styled as plainly as possible. Her looks had presented a sharp contrast to the blond Eleanor, who stood out in any company of women, no matter how beautiful.

A servant covered Eleanor’s body with a tablecloth, and then two guardsmen carried her from the hall, with Archbishop Peckham in attendance at her side. The hall remained full of diners, all gossiping among themselves about what they had just witnessed. Alfonso staggered off, still in a stupor, leaving Clare, Carew, Edmund Mortimer, and me on the dais. Valence and his allies were by now long gone.

Edmund’s wife had not come to the wedding—like Roger’s wife, she was pregnant again. Clare lifted a hand to him, and he came over. “We have much to discuss,” I said as Edmund planted himself in front of us.

“How is that?” Edmund said.

Clare gave a tsk of disgust. “Edmund—”

Edmund lifted his hand to me. “I apologize, my lord Prince. I am still in shock that Eleanor is dead.”

I glanced down at the place the body had lain. Traces of white foam remained on the floorboards. I looked up at my three companions. “Do we all agree that she died of poison?”

Clare pursed his lips. “How can we doubt it, given what we witnessed? Do you think it was in her wine? Is that why you sent Bevyn and Evan away with the goblets?”

“That is for the castle herbalist to determine,” I said. “I know nothing of poisons.”

I was turning away when a man appeared from a side door in the hall. I hesitated, feeling that I knew him, and then at his raised hand, recognized Huw and waved him to me. As he approached the dais, he took in the chaos in one glance and then bowed to me. “I have good news, my lord.”

“It would be a relief to hear some,” I said.

“Your parents are at Windsor,” Huw said.

My breath whuffed out of me.
Thank God!
And then I laughed, even though it was completely inappropriate under the circumstances.

“I have bad news, too,” Huw said. “Bronwen sent me.”

“Talk to me as we walk,” I said. “We have much to do.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

19 November 1288

Lili

“
I
t could have been Alfonso as easily as Eleanor who died tonight,” I said. Dafydd had stormed into the room with Huw and Carew and poured the story out in a long, uninterrupted stream, almost before Huw had a chance to close the door. Fortunately, I’d been dozing by the fire instead of in bed. “They shared a cup. Maybe the poison was meant for him and not Eleanor.”

“In that case, do you think the incident with the olive was a true accident?” Huw said.

“I say it was opportunity,” Carew said.

“How so?” Dafydd said.

“While you were busy saving Alfonso’s life, and all attention was on the two of you, someone poisoned the wine,” I said. “How else would it have poisoned only Eleanor? Wine is poured from a communal jug, which the food taster sampled before it was served. Only Eleanor died.”

Dafydd rested a forearm on the mantle and leaned into it. “You’re right.”

I didn’t add that I was always right and my husband should know it by now.
Instead, I nodded. “This was a cold act of a desperate man—or men.”

Dafydd shook his head. “I can understand that someone might murder Alfonso, but Eleanor? A woman?”

I reached out to Dafydd and he gave me his hand. He saw the best in people; he couldn’t help it, but that made it hard for him to comprehend evil. “With Eleanor’s death, Joan is the next princess in line for the crown. The murder of Alfonso would have merely delayed Eleanor’s ascension until another candidate for her hand was found.”

“Your lord husband told me about the poisons from Shrewsbury, my lady,” Huw said. “With them so freely available, anyone could be responsible.”

“I checked with the herbalist earlier today. He knew nothing about the shipment from Shrewsbury and never took them into his possession,” I said.

“They are in the wind,” Dafydd said.

Before he’d come to see me, Dafydd had disposed of the goblets of wine. It wasn’t his task to find Eleanor’s killer, but because Dafydd had seen no signs of anyone else taking charge, he’d set the wheels of discovery in motion. He’d left the bulk of his men at Baynard’s Castle, as had Clare, but Clare had sent his constable to ask questions of the kitchen and to interview the servers and the wine steward. Bevyn and Evan were interviewing guests.

Dafydd hadn’t let me near any of the goblets. Instead, Edmund had woken the castle herbalist who had sniffed the offending liquid and postulated that the juice of belladonna berries had been added to the drink.

“Valence was very angry.” Dafydd fell into the chair opposite me and held out his hands to the fire. “I’m sorry I cannot blame him for the night’s events.”

“You said Bohun denied having anything to do with Eleanor’s death. Do you believe him?” I said. “I wish I could have been there to read his face.”

“I’m glad you weren’t,” Dafydd said. “You didn’t need to see that.”

My husband was protecting me again, but I supposed I was glad, too, that I hadn’t seen Eleanor die.

“He’s an obvious candidate,” Carew said. “As Lili said, the death of Eleanor clears the way for William to ascend the throne, even if he is only thirteen.” Carew shrugged. “It also makes Bohun the least likely candidate to commit murder because he’s the most obvious one.”

“I can attest that he was nowhere near that goblet.” Dafydd sighed and scrubbed at his hair again. “You and Huw might as well know, too, that the Archbishop expressed concern to me today about Valence and his motives.”

“Did he?” Huw said.

“He felt that Valence didn’t have the best interests of England at heart,” Dafydd said. “Peckham said he would be sorry to see a Spaniard on the throne.”

“Are you saying that the
Archbishop
might have murdered Eleanor?” I said.

“He was sitting right next to Alfonso,” Dafydd said. “He has motive and opportunity. And Bronwen did say that a threat would come to me from a churchman.”

Carew’s chin firmed. “I hadn’t considered that.”

“What are Peckham’s ambitions?” I said.

“He’s the Archbishop of Canterbury,” Dafydd said. “He can’t rise any higher in the Church and remain in England. He doesn’t appear to want the throne for himself.”

“Then what does he want?” I said, and then answered my own question because I should have known the answer without having to ask. “Power—and the ability to wield it.”

“Humphrey de Bohun isn’t on good terms with Peckham,” Dafydd said. “We know that.”

“Peckham
is
fond of William,” Carew said. “The Order reports that in the last week, he has asked for several audiences with William and Joan.”

“To counsel them on their marriage?” Dafydd said.

“So we would assume,” Carew said.

“Why else would he meet with them?” I said. “William isn’t involved in affairs of state.”

“It is my guess that he is actively attempting to woo the couple towards his way of thinking and away from Humphrey’s,” Dafydd said. “That is Peckham’s way.”

“It’s ironic, then, isn’t it, that Valence wooed Peckham so successfully before?” I said. “Because of Peckham, Valence wasn’t imprisoned in Tower of London after the debacle in the Estuary.”

“Perhaps Peckham regrets that now.” Dafydd leaned forward. “Has the Order learned anything about Kirby, the other regent? He’s a
churchman
too.”

Before Carew could answer, a knock came at the door. After a glance at Dafydd, who nodded, Huw strode to the door and opened it. Bevyn stood in the doorway and Dafydd waved him inside. “You might as well come in. Huw’s been a delightful fount of information, but either he or Carew would have immediately turned around and told you everything anyway.”

“I have learned something, too, my lord,” Bevyn said.

Dafydd nodded. “You first.”

“I know who murdered Eleanor, though I can’t see how I could prove it, short of a confession.” Bevyn came to a halt in front of Dafydd. “It wasn’t Bohun.”

“It was Peckham?” Huw said.

Bevyn glanced at him, his brow furrowed, “No, no, why would you think that?” He let out a sharp breath. “It was Maud.”

“Maud de Bohun?” I covered my mouth with my hand in my surprise. “You’re sure?”

“As I said, I have no specific proof,” Bevyn said. “Although nobody saw her take possession of the herbs, Maud was the one who asked to be sent word when the cart from Shrewsbury arrived. More importantly, one of the guests noticed her reaching across the table towards Peckham while Alfonso was choking. Her hand passed right over Alfonso’s goblet.”

“That’s awfully specific,” Dafydd said. “Why would anyone notice her actions in particular?”

Bevyn cleared his throat. “Apparently the man to whom I spoke finds her beautiful. He watched her every move all evening.”

I blinked. Maud was attractive, certainly, but with grown children, I’d not considered her the object of chivalric attention.

Dafydd let out a sharp breath and leaned back in his chair. “I can’t go to any of the barons and suggest that Maud de Bohun poisoned Eleanor. It’s just not possible.”

“Does it make it better if my guess is wrong and she meant to kill Alfonso?” I said.

“I don’t think so.” Dafydd rubbed at his forehead with his fingers. “This has gotten way out of hand.”

“Why did Huw think Peckham was responsible?” Bevyn said.

“Because of some things he said to me today,” Dafydd said.

Bevyn tapped a finger on his lips. “Other members of the Order would be very interested to hear of your conversation.”

“I’m sure they would,” Dafydd said, which is why he hadn’t told Bevyn anything about it earlier. To do so would be to convey the information instantly to a hundred others. But now that three members of the Order were present, Dafydd gave way. “He said that he found the documents supporting my mother’s birth credible.”

“What did you say to him?” Huw said.

“I told him flat out that the whole thing was absurd.”

Bevyn eased out a sigh.

“What?” Dafydd said. “It’s true.”

“And what was his reply?” Carew said.

I could tell that Dafydd didn’t want to answer. As the silence stretched out, I put a hand on his arm and said, “Peckham laughed and said that he’d been told that Dafydd would deny any claim to the throne of England, because Dafydd has never sought to place himself above others, even if he deserves the acclaim. Peckham said that a time would come, however, when Dafydd would consider the needs of his people greater than his own.”

When I had asked Dafydd how he’d replied to Peckham, he’d shrugged and turned away. The truth was that he had no reply to make. He’d spent the last six years striving to deserve the trust that the people of Wales—and his father—had placed in him. He knew exactly what Peckham was saying but resented that Peckham meant the
English
people were somehow his to care for as well.

Carew had once accused Dafydd of caring so little about his own power that he doubted he was even a prince. It wasn’t that nothing had changed since then. Dafydd was used to
being
a prince and it would be hard to go back to not being one, but he’d never asked for it—neither for it nor for the acclaim, as Peckham put it.

“Tell me now if you or your Order had anything to do with these documents,” Dafydd said. “I need to know.”

“We didn’t,” Carew and Bevyn said together, without hesitation.

From the look on Dafydd’s face, I wasn’t sure that Dafydd believed them. Still, he clasped my hand and said to me, “Don’t worry. The papers don’t matter. I would not take the throne on false premises, no matter who swore to the truth of these documents or supported me because of them.”