The Reckoning - 3 (37 page)

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Hugh turned, found himself looking into green eyes full of laughter , gOOd-humored mockery. "I ought to thank you," he said reluctantly, d Davydd's brows shot upward.
"But it sticks in your craw. If and when you ever reach Wales, you nd my sainted brother ought to get along right well. He is another one ho's sure he's pure enough to cast the first stone."
There was nothing good-natured about the mockery now; it stung ijjje a whip.
Hugh flushed but stood his ground. "I am uncomfortable with you, I'll not deny it. But it's not because I am judging you. It's because I do not understand you."
"Well, you must know that Scriptures say the heart of kings is unsearchable.
Mayhap that holds true, too, for rebel Welsh princes in English exile."
"You can laugh at me if you will, my lord. I still cannot make the puzzle pieces fit. You betrayed your brother, even plotted his murder." Davydd's smile disappeared, and Hugh said swiftly, "But you also saved Bran de Montforf s life after he was captured at the battle of Northampton. He told me you kept the Earl of Pembroke from killing him."
Davydd shrugged. "I saw a chance to do Pembroke an ill turn. I never could resist an opportunity to muddy the waters."
"The way you did this forenoon, when you came to my aid? If not for you, I'd still be in irons."
"I'd not make too much of that if I were you. I was just curious to see if a skilled puppeteer could pull the King's strings as easily as any other man's."
"If you say so, my lord. I find it strange, though, that you seemed indifferent to a charge of treason, yet felt compelled to defend yourself against two accusations of simple kindness."
Davydd snatched a wine cup from a passing servant's tray. "I am beginning to think I did you no favor. You'll be a lamb to the slaughter at Edward's court."
"I doubt that you belong here, either, my lord. I was watching you whilst the
English King laid out his plans to humble the Welsh. Judging from what I saw, I'd say that you're on the wrong side in this coming war. Whaf s more, I think you know it, too."
"For Christ's sake, Hugh, nothing is as simple as you make it out to be!"
'Some things are, my lord." Hugh insisted, with such infuriating, mgenuous certitude that Davydd drained his wine cup in several deep Callows.
Ere I forget to ask, how did my brother take it when you told him
8 bride had been snatched on the high seas? Did his vaunted control slipeven a little?"

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"I ... I do not know what you mean. What makes you think I sa^v Prince
Llewelyn?"
"Of course you saw him, lad. Where else would you go during those two 'missing months' of yours?" Davydd laughed, turning away before Hugh could muster up a more convincing denial. Hugh watched him saunter across the hall, more disquieted by Davydd's parting shot than he wanted to admit. Mayhap Davydd was right. How was he to f cope at Edward's court, where nothing was as it seemed and men turned
^vords into weapons? What if the King guessed the truth, just as Davydd had done?
"There you are," Sir Gervase said impatiently. "Why were you tarrying with that Welsh knave? Did you not see the King beckoning? You're not getting off to the best of starts, lad!"
Hugh said nothing, followed Sir Gervase toward the dais, where the King awaited him. It did not seem real to him, any of it, and as he knelt before
Edward, he found himself thinking that, of all the unlikely turns his life had taken in the past five years, nothing could be more improbable than this, that he should be pledging his fealty to the King of England himself, and all because on a cold January eve, he'd offered to help Brother Damian carry candles into the sacristy at Evesham Abbey.
16
WORCESTER, ENGLAND
September 1276
1 HE citizens of Worcester turned out in a drenching rain-storm to welcome their King, escorting him through the mudmired streets to the Bishop of
Worcester's palace. But the weather was less hospitable; the rain persisted.
It was three days before Eleanora was able to enjoy the celebrated splendors of the Bishop's lush riverside gardens. Coming in with an armful of autumn roses and Michaelmas

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daisies/ she forgot all about the flowers at sight of the man sharing a ^e flagon with Edward.
Davydd rose politely to greet her, but Eleanora was not mollified hv his good manners, for Davydd's courtesy always seemed as suspect s njs motives. It irritated her enormously now to find him in their private chamber, utterly at ease, laughing and jesting with her husband as if *hev were boon companions, equals. Why did Eduardo find his insolence so amusing?
"Davydd has brought me welcome tidings, sweetheart. Another of the lords of
Upper Powys has agreed to forswear his allegiance to Llewelyn ap Gruffydd.
Good work, Davydd! By the time we take the field against him, your brother will stand alone, bereft of allies and hope."
Edward smiled, but his eyes were focused intently upon Davydd's face, probing for a reaction. Davydd was not about to give him one, though. "Yes," he said evenly, "that is quite likely."
"I will authorize you to receive our new convert and his men into the King's
Peace," Edward promised, and Davydd nodded, but his attention was straying from Edward to his Queen. Eleanora was bustling about the chamber, fetching a cushion for her husband's chair, then a bowl of shelled almonds, shifting the oil lamp so that he was closer to the light. Davydd was intrigued; was this the same woman who'd summon a servant to pour wine even if the flagon was right at her elbow? He'd occasionally wondered why their marriage was such an obvious success. Eleanora's ten pregnancies were irrefutable proof of the pleasure Edward found in his wife's bed, but Davydd had been blind to her appeal out of beduntil now. Good God, he thought, fighting back a grin, she dotes on him the way a mother might!
Davydd was so caught up in these unseemly speculations about Edward and
Eleanora's bedsport that Edward was able to take him by surprise. "As it happens, Davydd, I have good news for you, too. I've found you a wife."
Davydd splashed wine onto his wrist. Setting the cup down, he said cautiously, "I was not aware that I'd lost one."
"I ought not to have said 'wife.' I ought to have said 'jewel,' for she is that, in truth. She is young, about eighteen, and very highborn. Not only is she an Earl's daughter, she is my own cousin."
"And you'd bestow this prize upon a Welsh rebel? Why ... is she a kper, by chance? A half-wit?"
Eleanora stiffened indignantly; Edward just grinned. "Jesu, but you Welsh are a suspicious lot! All right, mayhap I did omit a few minor acts about your bride's background. There is a taint of treason in the «mily, but that ought not to bother you all that much, should it? Her

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father was ever one for hunting with the hounds and running with the hares, and eventually his double-dealing caught up with him. He "
But he needed to say no more. "Derby/' Davydd said, and Edward nodded.
"None other. Now I'll grant you that some men might balk at taking Judas as their kinsman. But do not forget that the girl is my kinswoman too. Her mother was a de Lusignan, my father's niece."
Davydd was well acquainted with the Earl of Derby's chequered
* past. Robert de Ferrers had the dubious distinction of being the first
English nobleman to have been imprisoned for a non-political offense. During the civil war between King Henry and his barons, Derby had taken advantage of the unrest to rob and plunder his Derbyshire neighbors, and Simon de Montfort had shattered tradition by casting him into the Tower of London. He'd been freed after Evesham, and had then been foolhardy enough to rebel again.
Edward's response was swift, his anger understandable, but his justice less than scrupulous. Under the terms of the Dictum of Kenilworth, Derby's estates could not be confiscated outright. So Derby had been forced by buy his freedom for the exorbitant sum of fifty thousand pounds, a sum he could never hope to raise, and his lands and earldom were then forfeit to Edward's brother, Edmund. And there could be no better evidence of Derby's ability to make enemies that so blatant an extortion stirred up no sympathy among his fellow barons, who usually closed ranks against any abuse of royal power.
Davydd shared the prevailing view that Derby deserved the raw deal he'd gotten. His concern now was not with Derby's fall from grace, but rather with the consequences of that fall. Leaning back in his chair, he drawled, "My people have a saying, 'Diwedd y gan yw y geiniog.' Roughly translated, 'The end of every song is money.' And I doubt that Derby has any, not after you and
Edmund plucked him cleaner than a Michaelmas goose."
"You ought to learn to be more forthright, Davydd, to speak your mind instead of hemming and hawing like this." Edward was still smiling, but his sarcasm had a sudden sting to it, for he had not been amused by the Michaelmas-goose gibe. "Derby is not destitute, still holds the manor of Chartley. I'll squeeze a marriage portion out of him. The lass has more to rely upon, though, than crumbs from Derby's table. She was wed as a child to William Marshal, a de
Montfort supporter who died before Evesham, and she has dower rights in his manors at Cherleton, Norton, and Witlebury. So far she has not had much luck in asserting those rights, for Marshal had a son by an earlier marriage, and he has been resisting her claims. Of course, with a husband to support those claims ..."

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Davydd did a few mental calculations. "You left out something, I think- The little widow is still a virgin . . . no?"
Edward did some quick arithmetic of his own, then nodded. "You're right, by
God. The marriage was never consummated for certes; she as Only seven or eight when she was widowed. And I expect that Derby keeps her on a tight lead. So unless she's been creeping into the stables to meet one of her father's grooms, I think we can safely say that you'll be her first."
Edward and Eleanora were both looking at him expectantly. Davydd knew they were waiting for him to express his gratitude, his eagerness to wed Derby's daughter. Instead, he reached for his wine cup, saying, "Tell me what she is like."
"What else do you need to know?" Edward sounded bemused. "I've already told you what matters. In all honesty, I do not know her very well. The few times that she has been at court, she seemed a bit on the sullen side . . . though to be fair, living with Derby would be enough to sour a saint!"
"I very much doubt that she was ever a saint, Eduardo," Eleanora said, so sourly that Davydd gave her a speculative look, thinking that if Eleanora disapproved of his bride-to-be, the lass might have promise.
"Eleanora is right," Edward conceded. "She does have a temper. But then you'd tire right quickly of a docile, biddable bride. Now . . . what else? She is a tiny little lass, looks light enough to float on a feather." Edward at once regretted his candor; his own sexual tastes ran to statuesque, big-breasted women like his voluptuous wife. "She is pretty, though," he added hastily, lest Davydd be put off, "with fair coloring. You could do a lot worse, Davydd.
Do you not realize how many men would leap at the very chance to wed the
King's cousin?"
Davydd hid a smile. "Indeed," he agreed, "what Welsh prince would not consider himself blessed to be able to claim kinship to the King of England?" But he saw that Edward's patience was fast running out. "I am curious about one more thing," he said and grinned. "What is my bride's name?"
Edward grinned, too, good humor restored once he saw that he was to have his way. This marriage mattered to him, for he thought that offering Derby's daughter to Davydd was a master stroke, satisfying Davydd's demands for money at the girl's expense, whilst humiliating that whoreson Derby anew, denying him any say whatsoever in the marital negotiations. "Elizabeth. Her name is
Elizabeth. Now if you want to satisfy your curiosity further, I suggest that you keep close to the priory, for she arrives tonight."
"I can see that you were awaiting my answer with bated breath!" But Edward had unwittingly planted a seed. Davydd began to look about

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the chamber with new interest. "As large as this room is, a man could sit over there in that window-seat and never be noticedprovided it was dark enough.
What does Your matchmaking Grace think?"
Edward at once caught his drift, entered enthusiastically into the conspiracy.
"We need only place a solitary candle here on the table, and everything beyond the flame will be utter blackness."
Eleanora looked from one man to the other in disbelief. "Surely you £ are not planning what I think you are? You'd actually spy on the lass?" I Edward looked a little sheepish, but Davydd nodded. "Yes," he confessed cheerfully, "that is exactly what we have in mind."
Eleanora had never liked Elizabeth de Ferrers. But now she felt a surge of sympathy for the girl. The poor child, was it not penance enough that she must share her life and her bed with this brazen Welsh rakehell? Men and their foolish games!
She did her best to dissuade them, but soon realized that she was wasting her time. Conceding defeat, she made a dignified departure from the chamber, marred somewhat by the slamming door.
Davydd pretended to flinch. "I do not think we are in your lady's good graces at this moment."
"Oh, you never are," Edward said with a grin. "I'm sure that comes as no surprise, though, for Eleanora's not one for hiding her feelings. She is a wonderful woman, but bless her, she is so very serious about everything! Not long ago, I ended up making this lunatic wager with my laundress. I told her that if she could ride my roan destrier, I'd give him to her. What could be a safer wager than that? But would you believe she did it? She hiked up her skirts, scrambled into the saddle, and away they went! I had to buy him back from her. It was worth it, though, for that is a sight I'll never forget. I
laughed so hard I damned near ruptured myself. But Eleanora . . . she never so much as smiled, said it was not seemly to make wagers with servants. You know, Davydd, there are times when I wonder if the Almighty forgot to give women a sense of humor."
Davydd had begun to laugh. "That's passing strange, for the Welsh have long suspected the same about you English!"
ALTHOUGH nothing in her past justified it, Elizabeth de Ferrers was an optimist. She could think of only two reasons why her cousin the King should have summoned her so abruptly to Worcester. Either he had found her a husband or he had finally secured her dower rights in her late husband's lands. And because she so very much wanted to believe it, Elizabeth soon convinced herself that the latter was true.