Children of Time (The After Cilmeri Series Book Four) (30 page)

“You shouldn’t be walking, my lord,” Carew said.

“It’s not that bad and I have no choice,” David said. “I can’t stay here all day.”

Llywelyn inspected David’s bandage. “Hurts like hell, I imagine.”

“It’s a stupid surface wound,” David said. “I imagine that arrow you took to the gut was far worse.”

“True,” Llywelyn said, “but I wasn’t trying to walk afterwards either.”

“The hip I landed on actually feels worse,” David said.

Llywelyn and I helped him hobble back towards the nave. As we left the sacristy, Peckham and Gravesend stood with their heads together near the chairs where William and Joan had sat earlier. William, absent Joan, leaned against one the pillars with his father beside him, ten feet from us. I had assumed that the cathedral would have emptied in the time we were gone, but if anything, more people filled it now than before.

As the three of us stepped again into the nave, the crowd went from boisterous to hushed in a single second. We hovered in a cleared space between two pillars, and I was conscious of David’s blood on my dress, his torn breeches, and the white bandage around his thigh that was impossible to miss. The rest of our family and friends backed up behind us.

Then Peckham and Gravesend bowed. “My lord.” And they meant David, and only David.

Llywelyn patted David’s back and let go of him. However, David left an arm loosely around my shoulders, more for emotional support than physical. We limped together towards the two churchmen. “I’m sorry the ceremony was interrupted,” David said. “Were you waiting for me to return before you continued it?”

Peckham glanced at Gravesend and then cleared his throat. “Uh … no, my lord. We were simply anxious for your welfare. I am glad to see that your wound was not more severe.”

I looked past the churchmen to the press of people. The noble men and women who’d come for the wedding mingled with their attendants, the elite of London’s merchant class, and even a collection of commoners. More than one local entrepreneur had set up shop selling pies, sweetmeats, and beer to the guests.

“I don’t understand.” David glanced towards his father, who was talking urgently with Clare. Llywelyn lifted his hand but didn’t come over. David turned back to Peckham, who seemed to be warring with himself as to what to say.

Peckham opened his mouth, closed it, hesitated again, but before he could speak, a man in the crowd called out—“Arthur!”

The surprised scoff caught in my throat as other voices took up the call. “Arthur! King Arthur!”

“My lord David,” Peckham said. “They mean you.”

“They have no idea what they’re saying,” David said.

“So you have said, but are you going to mock their faith by telling them so?” Peckham said.

I’d heard him mock plenty in private. David swallowed hard, looked down at his feet, and then up again at the Archbishop. I saw the moment he realized that he couldn’t mock them—no more than he could disappoint the people of Wales. My stomach tightened for him. I’d lived in the Middle Ages—and been misunderstood by medieval people—for too long not to know what he was feeling.

David straightened his shoulders and lifted a hand to the crowd. “Peace, my friends. You honor me with your trust, but we must not speak of this here.” He spoke first in English, and then in French.

These few words didn’t satisfy anyone (least of all David, I was sure), but the shouts tapered off when everyone realized he wasn’t going to say anything more. The people began to talk again among themselves.

Gravesend cleared his throat. “I apologize, my lord, that you were injured in my home.”

“Did your men capture the archer?” I said.

“Not exactly,” Peckham said.

“What does that mean?” I said.

“The archer is dead,” Peckham said. “He attacked the soldier who cornered him. Our man had no choice but to put a sword into his belly, lest he lose his own life.”

“Did he get anything from the archer before he died? Anything at all?” David said.

“No,” Peckham said, “other than that he was an Englishman.”

Huh.
“Are you sure?” I said.

“The man who caught him was one of mine.” Humphrey had been hovering on the edge of our conversation and now stepped forward. He met neither my eyes nor David’s as he spoke, undoubtedly irritated by all the Arthur talk and the news of my fraudulent bloodline. I couldn’t blame him for that, any more than I could prevent people from speaking of it.

“I would like a look at him,” David said.

“Of course, my lord,” Humphrey said. Then he lowered his voice, “Given that he shot an arrow, you rightfully fear that the man was Welsh. Believe me, I share your concern, but it seems he wasn’t.”

Lili slipped her hand into David’s free one. “Shouldn’t we continue the wedding?” And then she added, with that sweet smile that disarmed everyone who encountered it, “The least we can do is put William out of his misery.”

Peckham coughed into his fist. “Joan has taken the attempt on her life … rather hard.”

“I can only imagine,” Lili said. “Where is she?”

Humphrey jerked his head towards the southern transept. “Here she comes now.”

A pathway cleared for Joan as she walked towards us. The girl who approached us at this hour, however, was a very different person from the quiet child she’d appeared to be up until now. She’d removed her veil and her fur-lined cloak, and either she or someone else had torn off the lace that adorned the sleeves and bodice of her wedding dress.

Joan halted in front of William and put a hand to his cheek. Then she removed a ring from her finger. “This, I believe, is yours.” She grasped William’s right hand, turned it palm upwards, and closed his fingers over the ring.

“Joan—” William tried to speak but Joan put a finger to his lips.

“Shh.”

Joan left him and turned towards us. Stopping a few feet away, she said, “I have foresworn this marriage and all marriage, forevermore. I have spoken with the Abbess of Barking Abbey and I will enter her convent as a novice, effective immediately.”

If Joan had said that she was really St. George and planned to head into the wilderness to slay a dragon, she couldn’t have stunned her listeners more.

Humphrey sputtered something that sounded like, “You can’t—you won’t,” but he couldn’t get the words out properly.

Peckham reached out a hand to her, but Joan took a step back so he couldn’t touch her. “My decision is final. I will no longer be a pawn in your game of chess.”

I wanted to tell her that she was magnificent in her indignation and certainty. Very few people could render a roomful of Norman barons speechless. I would have laughed, too, if not for the grave expressions on the faces of everyone within hearing distance. Joan tipped her head to David. “My lord.”

He bowed his head, and for the thousandth time, I was proud of my son for the way he handled himself in an unpredictable situation. “Princess.”

She turned on her heel and marched back across the nave to where a woman in a nun’s habit waited for her.

Even from a distance, I could make out the concern on the woman’s face. When Joan reached her, the woman wrapped a brown blanket around the girl’s shoulders and turned her away, but not before she saw me watching her. The nun nodded her head to me, and then led her charge down the length of the southern transept and out the door into the November rain.

Bohun had recovered from his initial shock and now his face flushed red. He snapped his fingers at William. “Go after her! She’s your bride.”

But William didn’t move. “No, Father. Didn’t you see her? There’s no changing her mind, not by me, anyway.”

Bohun spun towards the crowd and fisted his hand above his head. “We’ll see about that.” He strode after Joan. By the time he entered the southern transept, a dozen of his men had fallen into position around and behind him. He disappeared through the doors too. Joan hadn’t bothered to keep her voice low, so many of those closest to us heard her declaration. The noise level rose again as the news disseminated throughout the nave within a minute.

Peckham turned to David. “What say you now about your claim to the throne, my lord? Or should I say,
King Arthur
?”

Chapter Twenty-Five

21 November 1288

David

T
he barons’ long-existing, underlying dislike of one another had exploded into full blown disagreement and anger. The debacle of William’s wedding had laid bare every slight that any of them had ever inflicted on each other, and every grudge they’d held.

“You!” The gloves had come off for Bohun and he pointed at Valence. “That Joan has joined a convent is
your
doing. You have spent the last three years plotting against me and everything we regents have tried to accomplish for England.”

“Now, now.” Kirby stepped in. “That’s going too far, surely.”

“Shut up, Kirby,” Bohun said. “We may be the only regents in the room, but you deserve the station far less than I. I know what you’ve done!”

“What I’ve done—?”

Roger Mortimer pointed a finger at Bohun. “Bohun, it is
you
who murdered Eleanor. Don’t try to deny that you have plotted and connived—”

“As if you haven’t!” Bohun said.

“—to elevate yourself and your offspring far beyond what might please God—”

“I name Bohun as a murderer!” Valence said. “Let all men of understanding—”

“God’s own truth, Valence,” Edmund Mortimer said, “for you to stand there and accuse someone else of murder when you yourself—”

“Stop!”

To my surprise, I found myself stepping into the center of the circle of men. Far more nobles than just Valence, the Mortimers, and the Bohuns stood at the far end of Westminster Hall, but most had stood by and watched their leaders implode without interfering. Perhaps they didn’t feel they could. But quite frankly, it had reached the level of ridiculousness, especially when I knew the truth.

I hadn’t revealed to everyone Bronwen’s information about the origins of the poison at Shrewsbury, nor Valence’s perfidy, just as I hadn’t accused Kirby of forging the documents, or Maud of poisoning Eleanor. I had accumulated secrets, not even sure within myself when—and if—I might speak of them.

The hall wasn’t packed—I didn’t think it was possible to pack Westminster Hall, ever—but plenty of people mingled close by, only a few of whom I knew well. Peckham had called the meeting, and even Kirby had come out of hiding for the council. Like Peckham, he was a man of the Church. Two years ago he’d been ordained the Bishop of Ely (in addition to serving as regent to the crown and Lord High Treasurer) despite his pluralist views. A pluralist was someone who believed that a religion other than Christianity might share some of its universal truths. If this was his true feeling, such beliefs would be astounding in a medieval man. I wished Aaron were here to tell me what he thought of him, because I liked him already.

My most vocal supporters spread themselves evenly among the crowd: Carew, Clare, Edmund Mortimer. Dad settled himself close by and I was very glad to have him with me. He and I were two of the tallest men in the room, which I wasn’t sorry about either. For better or for worse, the bigger a man was, the more intimidating he could be. I might need that advantage later.

“How dare you!” Valence pointed at me. “You who murdered Lord Hywel and started this madness—”

“I did not murder Hywel,” I said, keeping my voice mild in contrast to Valence’s high dudgeon. “You know that very well.”

“You ordered it—”

I stepped in close—far closer than was comfortable for either of us—and lowered my voice so only he could hear me. “As you ordered my death? And Joan’s? Is that it?”

“I did no such thing—”

“The arrow, my lord, the arrow,” I said.

Valence snapped his mouth shut. “The arrow disappeared after the wedding,” he said.

“It disappeared into my possession.” I turned to face Peckham. While he had called this meeting, I was disappointed that he hadn’t been able to control it. Bohun and Valence sputtered in the margins while Roger Mortimer’s foot tapped out a staccato on the stone floor. I shot him an annoyed look, and he subsided.

“I would speak,” I said.

Peckham bowed. “Of course, my lord.”

Kirby canted his head. “You honor us with your presence today, my lord. Your bravery in saving William and Joan—”

“I haven’t come here to talk about that.” I seemed to be interrupting everyone, but Peckham had summoned the barons to discuss what to do with the throne of England. Since chucking it in the Thames, which had my vote, seemed to be off the table, we had to do
something
. If we didn’t, whether these barons wanted to admit it or not, civil war loomed.

Bohun and Kirby held the regency now for King Edward’s three remaining daughters: Margaret, Mary, and Elizabeth, ages thirteen, eleven, and six. If Valence had his way, Alfonso would soon be betrothed to one of them, as would William, if Bohun could twist his arm tightly enough behind his back. None of the barons wanted such an event to come to pass. Many would oppose Bohun; they all would oppose Valence. And these were the schemes I could guess at. Did Thomas de Berkeley have a favorite? What about some of the northern barons? Other players danced around the margins and at any moment, one might change the game.

I realized now that William’s betrothal to Joan had been nothing more than a sop, a gesture of appeasement, to Bohun for losing his lands in Wales as a result of our treaty of 1285. Edward’s death, and then Eleanor’s, had pushed the other barons to a state bordering on insanity in their horror that William de Bohun would become the King of England and Humphrey would have a say over them for the rest of their lives.

“I came to London to support my friend, William, at his wedding,” I said. “Instead, I find myself in a council so unruly that every man is at another man’s throat, and no one is left to claim the throne of England.”

 “My lord—” Peckham started to speak, but I cut him off, no longer willing to listen.

“Four events have occurred in the last week to which I would draw your attention.” I pointed my index finger in the air. “One, an attempted ambush of my company; two, the discovery of forged papers detailing my antecedents; three, the death of Princess Eleanor; and four, the attempted murder of Princess Joan.” I had ticked them off on my fingers and now waved a hand to encompass them all.