The Reckoning - 3 (30 page)

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to go through such an ordeal/' he said, so sincerely that Ellen stared at him in amazement. What was her abductionan act of God?
"I was terrified," she said simply, for it seemed safer to keep to the truth as much as possible.
His grip tightened. "I know, lass. I would to God there had been another way.
But there was not, for Llewelyn ap Gruffydd and youj brother Amaury saw to that."
"Ned, no! Amaury had nothing to do with it. This was my doing not his. I
wanted the marriage!"
In her agitation, she'd reverted without thinking to a childhood intimacy, to
"Ned." But he seemed pleased rather than offended by the familiarity. "Of course you did," he said indulgently. "What lass would not be bedazzled by a crown? You could not be expected, though, to be aware of all the implications of such a union. I do not blame you, Cousin Ellen. There is a debt due, but you owe not a penny of it."
His well-intentioned attempt to reassure her fell far short of the mark, for he had just confirmed all her fears for Amaury. But he had given her the cue she needed. She knew now what role to play for him, and she could only wonder why she had not seen it sooner.
"I am sorry," she said softly, "that my marriage plans have stirred up so much trouble. It was never my intent to offend you, Cousin Ned. But it is already done. Llewelyn and I were wed in Paris by proxy last November."
She saw at once that Thomas the Archdeacon had already broken the news, for he showed no surprise. "Very foresighted of Llewelyn," he said caustically. "But sometimes a man can be too clever by half, as your husband is about to learn."
His smile was mockingly familiar, transporting Ellen back onto the Holy Cross, playing cat and mouse with her cousin's pirate. And she found that she could endure no more of it. No more suspense. No more cryptic threats. No more cruel games. "Your men would tell me nothing. I implore you to be more merciful. For
God's sake, Ned, tell me the truth. If Windsor is to be my Bristol Castle, let me know and know now!"
"Bristol?" he echoed, genuinely puzzled. "You mean . . . Eleanor of Brittany?
Jesus wept, is that what you feared, that I would imprison you for the rest of your days? Ah, Ellen, lass, no! You are my kinswoman and dear to me. Surely you must know that I never bore you or you1 mother any ill will. I argued against your mother's exile, did I not?'
That she knew to be true. He had spoken up on their behalf, had never understood that they could not forgive him.
Reaching out, Edward slid his fingers under her chin, tilted it u"

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that she had to meet his eyes. "I watched you grow up, teased you, brought you trinkets and sweets. And do you think I've forgotten your letters?"
He glanced then toward his wife. "When I was being held at Kenilworth Castle, Ellen wrote to me often, trying to cheer me with Harry's worst jests and daft rhymes, whatever foolishness she thought might take my mind off my troubles."
Turning back to Ellen, he said quietly, compellingly, "I hated your father, I'll not deny it. But I loved Harry- Christ, we were companions from the cradle. I could never hurt his little sister."
But you could let his brother rot at Corfe Castle. Ellen swallowed with difficulty. "What do you mean to do with me, Ned?"
He smiled. "I mean," he said, "to restore you to your husband."
She did not believe him; she dared not. "When?"
"Well . . . that will be up to Llewelyn."
Beckoning a cup bearer into earshot, he ordered wine, waited until they'd all been served before continuing. "I will admit that I was set against this marriage. And I was wroth when I learned that you'd been wed in Paris. But once I thought about it, I began to see the advantages. Llewelyn has been a thorn in my side for some time. It has been eighteen months since I returned from the Holy Land, and he is still balking at doing homage to me. Such a brazen breach of a vassal's duty could not be tolerated, and a day of reckoning was coming. It was just a question of whenand how bloody. But now you've changed the equation, Ellen. Now I have something Llewelyn very much wantsyou."
"I see," she said faintly, for she did, God help her, she saw all too well.
"Ah, lass, do not look so distressed. You'll have your happy ending, you'll see, for I'll hold no grudges. As soon as Llewelyn repents his past folly, formally recognizes me as his sovereign and liege lord, I'll hand you over to him with my blessings." Edward grinned suddenly. "Hellfire, sweetheart, I'll even give you a royal wedding, paid out of my own coffers!"
Ellen could not help herself. As much as it shamed her, she felt dizzy with the intensity of her relief, with the sudden resurgence of h°pe. He was offering her so much more than her freedom. He was offering to give her back her life with Llewelyn. But, Blessed Lady, at what cost?
Making an enormous effort, she smiled at them both, sought to
°°k shy and submissive and grateful, while almost choking on the bile her pent-up rage. But she would not make the mistakes her parents
She would not give in to the compulsive Devil-be-damned candor

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that they'd so prided themselves upon, fuel for the fire that had even, tually engulfed their world.
"Cousin Ned, what of Amaury?"
Edward's mouth hardened, almost imperceptibly, and she put a placating hand upon his arm. "I understand why you feel you must hold me as a hostage. But
Amaury had naught to do with my marriage. He was simply acting as any brother would, seeing to my safety on a perilous journey. Ned, you would have done no less for yom own sisters, I know you would! He's done nothing to deserve your hatred, bears no guilt for that killing at Viterbo. I swear it, Ned swear"
"Ellen, there is no need"
"But he is innocent! If you would only talk to him, I know he could make you see that."
"We'll discuss this later," he said, giving her a smile that never reached his eyes, and her hand slid from his arm.
"Will you at least agree to that?" she pleaded, although she already knew the answer. "Will you talk to him?"
"We'll see, lass," he said. "We'll see."
JULIANA'S nerves were shredded by the time Ellen was escorted back to their chamber. She managed to hold her tongue until de Seyton withdrew, but not a moment longer. "Sit here by the fire whilst I fetch some wine. You have no color in your face at all. Was it as bad as that? Were you able to hide your true feelings from him?"
"Yes."
"Ellen, you are frightening me, for you look so ... My God, Ellen, what does he mean to do?"
"He means," Ellen said, "to set me free," and Juliana put the wine flagon down with a thud.
"I do not understand. Is it that. . . that you do not believe him, then?"
"Oh, I do believe him, Juliana. He intends, you see, to use me as bait, luring
Llewelyn into a war he cannot hope to win. Is that not a marvelous marriage portion to bring to my husband?"
Juliana came hastily toward the hearth, thrust a dripping wine cup into
Ellen's hand. "Mayhap it will not come to war. Mayhap they can settle their differences without bloodshed. Drink this, and move closer to the fire; you are trembling."
"I know. I feel so cold, Juliana, so very cold . . ."
"Ellen . . . did you talk to the King about Amaury?"

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"Yes," Ellen said, her voice still sounding flat and far away. But eves had begun to brim with tears. "I pleaded with him. I begged, d Amaury would have hated that. He listened, my cousin the King, he never heard me." Her tears had broken free, were streaking her e but she made no attempt to wipe them away.
When she finally ooke again, her voice was little more than a whisper. "I do not think that he will ever let Amaury go."
14
BRISTOL, ENGLAND
January 1276
/ALTHOUGH the crew of the cog Holy Cross had been dumped, penniless, on the
Bristol docks, their plight was not as bleak as it might seem, for sailors the world over tended to their own. Many of the crewman had formed friendships on past voyages to this busy English port, and up and down the waterfront nouses were opened to them. A few of the men took berths on out-going vessels, but so many ale-houses had extended credit that most of them elected to remain in
Bristol until their cog could be ransomed.
Bristol was a thriving, brawling riverport, so prosperous that its citizens had been able to afford a remarkably ambitious and costly undertaking; they'd diverted the natural flow of the River Frome, dug a new channel to intersect with the River Avon. With so many seagoing snips anchoring at the new quays, ale-houses, inns, and brothels soon sprang up to accommodate them. To sailors like Brian, these river wharves and waterfront alleys were the heart and soul of Bristol, and most of them never even ventured as far as the marketplace, for their every need could be met within sight and sound and smell of the harbor.
At mid-morning on this last Wednesday in January, Brian was sit-
"'g down to an enormous dinner in his favorite riverside tavern, the sty Goat. His trencher was heaped with sausages and poached eggs

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and hot bread, for there were less than three weeks until Lent, and Briar, was set upon indulging his appetite while he still could. Every now and then he tossed a scrap of sausage to the huge grey cat curled up at his feet. It would not deign to beg, but accepted his offerings as loftily as any lord, at the same time keeping a daunting eye upon the tavern keeper's shaggy mongrel dog.
"Brian!" A hand slammed into his shoulder in so boisterous a greet. ing that
Brian nearly choked on a mouthful of sausage. But the face ' grinning down at him was a familiar one, and he swallowed his irritation with the sausage.
"Where did you come from, Abel? I heard you were in Spain!"
"I was. We dropped off a boatload of seasick pilgrims at Santiago de
Compostela, then caught a fair wind for home. I got back yesterday, had heard the whole story by duskfall. Thomas the Archdeacon is a Bristol lad, so it's no surprise his latest outrage made such grist for our gossip mills. Hellfire, I'd not even kissed my own wife ere she was telling me about the Holy Cross!"
Pulling a bench toward the table, he stopped at sight of the grey cat. "You even ransomed Hotspur?"
"Why not? He's the best mouser we've ever had!" Brian flipped a crust of bread into the floor rushes, laughing at the cat's disdainful disappointment. "In truth, Abel, there was no ransom at all for the crew. Your local lad, the
Archdeacon, did not need to bother collecting crumbs, not when he'd come away with the whole blessed bake-house. Rumor has it that he'll get two hundred marks for de Montfort's daughter!"
Abel whistled soundlessly, and Brian nodded. "I suspect it is true, too, for
I've seen him swaggering about the wharves with a whore on each arm, as bold as you please, looking like a man who could buy and sell sheriffs by the baker's dozen. And most likely he could, for in addition to his royal reward, he has the cargo we were going to unload in Ireland. Not to mention the ransom for the cog itself. The snip's master sailed last week for Rouen, bearing the bad tidings for the owner. He'll curse and fume and fret, but he'll come up with the money; what choice has he? I'd wager we'll be under sail again by
Easter, and in the meantime, there are worse places to be stranded than
Bristol."
"God's Bones, yes! Remember Tenby?" They both laughed, and Abel helped himself to one of the sausages. "Well, you'd best come home with me. We'll fix you a bed near the hearth, and my Agneta s cooking will taste like Heaven's own fare after all this ale-house slop!'
"I'd like that, Abel. But... well, there's a lad I've taken under my wing."
"Bring him along, then," Abel said expansively. "If you vouch f°r him, that is good enough for me."

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"It is not that simple." Brian hesitated, then leaned across the table, wering his v°ice- "This can go no further. Not even Agneta can know, f , jf word gets out, Hugh is likely to end up clapped in irons. The truth
. f^oel, that Hugh is one of the Lady Eleanor's knights. But he is a
' j iad for all that, and so ... when those whoreson pirates came down into the hold to get the knights and the Welsh, I heard myself claiming that Hugh was a member of our crew."
Abel grinned. "You've not changed a whit. As hard-baked on the outside as a rye tort, inside as soft as raw dough! So be it; we'll tell Agneta he's the
Holy Cross boatswain. Now . . . where is this young lordling of yours?"
He was peering about at the men sitting in the shadows, and Brian shook his head. "He is not here. Likely as not, he's lurking outside the castle, for that is where he's been for the past week, keeping a hopeless vigil for his lady." Brian sighed, speared a sausage with his knife. "I tried to tell him he's but wasting his time, for all the good it did me. He even began to frequent one of the Wine Street taverns because he'd heard the castle grooms drink there. He had this idea, you see, that the stablemen would be the first to know if they meant to move the lady from the castle."
Brian paused to eat another sausage. "It sounded like a weak reed to me, but damned if he did not find a groom who pitied the Lady Eleanor's plight!"
"You Bretons think history begins and ends on your side of the Channel. As often as you've been in port here, you did not know that Bristol held fast for
Simon de Montfort?"
Brian shook his head, and Abel snorted good-naturedly. "Hellfire, Brian, we took his reforms so to heart that we even rioted on his behalf, drove no less a lord than Edward himself to seek shelter within the castle! And when Edward burned the bridges across the Severn, trapping Earl Simon in Wales, we sent a fleet of flatboats to ferry his army across the Bristol Channel. But we were ambushed by Edward's galleys ere we could enter Newport harbor. Eleven ships we lost that day, and after Evesham, Edward bled us white, levied a thousand marks' fine upon °ur citizens. Memories like that do not fade, Brian, not in ten years' ftne. You were surprised Hugh found a friendly groom? I'd have been surprised if he had not. Half the men in this town would gladly turn a blind eye to help the Earl's lass."
I'll confess, your English affairs always seem so murky to me that never even try to make sense of Ah, Hugh, there you are!"
From the outset, Brian had been impressed by Hugh's good man-
ers' for experience had taught him that the wellborn rarely squandered c°urtesy upon people like him. Hugh had been different, though, and

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it was that difference that had prompted him to speak out on Hugh' behalf in that dark, foul-smelling hold. When Hugh now acknowledged the introductions with a distracted nod, Abel put it down to the usUaj high-handed rudeness of the gentry and began to regret offering hj. hospitality so readily. But Brian knew better.
"You can speak freely in front of Abel, lad. Tell us what is wrong Has some evil befallen your lady?"
Hugh nodded, hesitated, then blurted out his bad news in one breathless wretched rush. "She is gone, Brian, they are both gone!"
"HUGH, you've not thought this through. Only a fool would try to cross those
Welsh mountain passes in the dead of winter!"
"I did it once beforewith Lord Brancan do it again," Hugh said stubbornly, and
Brian and Abel exchanged frustrated glances, for they'd been laboring in vain for nigh on an hour now to talk some sense into the lad. Catching that look, Hugh strove for patience. "I have to get to Wales, Brian. Prince Llewelyn is the only man who might be able to help my lady. He has to know!"
"I agree with you, just do not see why you must be the one to take such a risk. But if you're bound and determined to do this, we'd best start laying plans. Abel, know you any good-hearted Samaritans willing to lend Hugh a horse?"
Abel looked as pained as if he'd been asked to produce an elephant. "Jesii, I
do not know anyone who even owns a horse! I'm a sailor, Brian, have never so much as been astride one. There are two stables in town that rent mounts, but not for a winter trek into Wales. You'd have to buy the nag outright. How much does a horse cost, Hugh?"
"A decent one, good enough to get me into Wales and back ... not likely less than ten marks," Hugh said reluctantly, knowing the sum would shock them. "And
I'd need a saddle and bridle; also a sword. Supplies, too, for I doubt if there is an inn to be found in all of North Wales. So ... somehow I have to come up with at least fifteen marks."
"Fifteen marks! You might as well ask for the keys to the King's Exchequer."
Abel shook his head slowly. "Hugh, I'm sorry, I truly am/ for I'd like to help you, and I'd like to help the Earl's daughter. But I do not know a soul who has that much money to spare."
"I know one," Hugh said grimly. "Thomas the Archdeacon."
"Do not talk crazy," Brian said hastily. "Your life is worth a lot more than fifteen marks, lad. Just give me a moment to think. ... DO you not have Jews in Bristol, Abel? Mayhap Hugh could borrow from a money-lender?"