Tuck

CHAPTER 33

Hereford

Spare me the excuses, Marshal," said King William, cutting off the lengthy beggings of pardon as read out by Guy of Gysburne. Following his eviction from Elfael, his fortunes had risen beyond anything he might have dared to hope. Owing to his intimate knowledge of the Cymry and the lands beyond the March, the young marshal had become an aide-de-camp to William Rufus for the purpose of what the king now referred to as the Harrowing of Wales. "Tell it to me plain-who has come?"

Gysburne allowed his gaze to drop down the parchment roll prepared for him by the court scribes in attendance. "Besides Huntingdon, Buckingham, and Surrey, who marched out with you, there is Belleme of Shrewsbury and de Reviers of Devon. Salisbury arrived a short while ago," he read on. "FitzRobert of Cornwall has sent word ahead and should arrive before nightfall. Earl Hugh of Chester-accompanied by Rhuddlan-will join us tomorrow or the day after. Le Noir of Richmond is on the road; he begs pardon, but the distance is too great and the time too short…"

"Yes, yes," interrupted the king irritably. "Go on."

"There is de Mowbray of Northumberland, who also sends regrets and apologies, albeit he is en route and will join you as soon as travel permits." Guy looked up from the roll. "As for the rest, we must presume they are either on their way, or sending petitions of pardon."

The king nodded. "There is one notable absence."

"Sire?"

"Neufmarche, of course. This is his castle, by the bloody rood! He should be here to receive us. Where is he?"

"I have spoken to his seneschal, Sire, who will say only that the baron is away visiting his lands in Wales. The summons was sent on, but it is not at all certain that it reached him, since the messenger has not yet returned."

"I swear upon my father's grave, if Neufmarche does not appear in two days' time, it would be better for him not to appear at all."

"Sire?"

"The baron is a devious, two-faced schemer, Marshal. I snubbed him once to put him in his place-summoned him to attend me and then kept him wearing out the waiting bench for three days… and this is how he repays the insult. He should have learned humility."

"So one would think, Majesty."

William began pacing, his short, bowed legs making quick steps from one side of the chamber to the other. "On the martyrs' blood, I will not have it. Mark me, Gysburne, the king will not have it! I will make an example of this vexsome baron for once and all. God help me, I will. If Neufmarche does not appear with his men by the time we leave this place, he is banished and his estates in England fall forfeit to the crown. I vow it."

Gysburne nodded. Clearly, there was some deeper grievance between the two that had caused this rift between the baron and his sovereign lord. Whatever it was, Neufmarche was now in very grave danger of losing everything.

"How far away is Mowbray?" asked William, returning to the business at hand.

Guy glanced once more to the parchment roll in his hand. "The messenger indicated that unless he encounters some difficulty Mowbray will reach the March in three days' time. It will be the same with Richmond, I would expect-three or four days."

"The incursion will be over by then," fumed the king. He spun on his heel and started pacing again. "From what you have said, the Welsh have few horses, no knights, and only a handful of archers."

Gysburne nodded.

"Well then. Two days," decided William. "One day of fighting, and one to sluice down the abattoir floor, as it were. Two days at most."

"That is greatly to be hoped, Sire," answered Gysburne, all the while thinking that it was manifestly imprudent to underestimate the amount of havoc that could be wreaked by a single Welsh bowman. No one knew that better than did Guy himself, but he kept his mouth shut before the king.

"Ha!" said William. "I hope Neufmarche misses the battle entirely. Then I can banish him for good and sell all this." He looked around at the interior of the chamber as if considering how much it might bring in the marketplace. "How many men do we have now?"

"With the arrival of Salisbury's sixty-eight we have three hundred ten knights and five hundred forty men-at-arms at present. All are encamped in the fields outside the town." Anticipating the king's next question, Guy added, "Counting those en route should almost double that number, I believe."

"That, friend marshal, is counting eggs, not chickens," cautioned a voice from the doorway.

Both men turned to see a haggard young man in boots and gauntlets, his green cloak and long dark hair grey with dust. The fellow took one step into the room and went down on one knee. "Forgive my tardiness, Sire," he said, "I was on my way to Londein when I received your summons, but came as soon as I could assemble my men."

"All is forgiven now you're here," said the king, smiling for the first time that day. "Rise, Leicester, and let's have a look at you." The king crossed to the young lord and clapped him in a warm embrace. "Heaven bless you, Robert, I am right glad to see you. It has been too long."

The king called over his shoulder to Marshal Guy, "You can go now, Gysburne. But bring me word if anyone else should arrive this evening." Taking the Earl of Leicester by the arm, he steered the young man to a nearby table and drew out a chair. "What news from your brother?"

"I had word this morning, Sire. Henry is well and has raised two hundred. He hopes to join us tomorrow."

"Two hundred! Splendid! Here, have some wine. You must be parched," said the king. He picked up the jar, but the younger man took it from him.

"Allow me, Majesty," he said, pouring out the wine. He handed the cup to his king. "It would not do for anyone to think that the king served a lowly earl by his own hand."

"Hang what they think," said William recklessly. He took the cup and raised it. "Let us drink to a swift campaign," he said.

"And successful," said the earl.

"Swift and successful!" echoed the king. "This time next week, we shall be on our way to France."

"To be sure," affirmed Leicester lightly. "God willing."

"The Almighty has nothing to do with it," declared William, his nose in his cup. He swallowed down a bolt, then said, "This uprising will be crushed in the egg. We need not invoke heaven's help to apprehend a few scofflaw rogues and rebels."

Why this agonie? I do not see that you have any choice, mon cher," said Lady Agnes Neufmarche. "You must go. You must attend the king."

"I know! I know!" snapped the baron. "But this king will be the ruin of us all. He is an idiot. What is more, he is an idiot with a stick and a hornet's nest."

"Perhaps it will not be as bad as you fear," counselled his wife. "And if you were there, mon cour, you could see that our interests were well defended."

Bernard was not listening. "He has no idea of the hell he is about to loose on the land. No idea at all."

"You could warn him," suggested Agnes.

"Too late for that," the baron replied. "I know William. He's just like his father. Once he has his sword drawn, he will not see reason-only blood." The baron shook his head gravely. "There will be plenty of blood… on both sides."

"All the more reason to go and see what can be done to prevent it."

Bernard shook his head again and looked at the scrap of parchment on the table. He had received many royal summonses over the years and had always responded-to do anything else invited royal wrath at the very least or, at worst, banishment or hanging. There was no way around it; this summons had come at a most inopportune time: just when the baron was winning over the devotion of his Welsh vassals and preparing to expand his interests in the region, the king declared war. Neufmarche stood to lose years of patient work and hard-won goodwill to the unthinking ire of a flighty king who would tramp around the hills and valleys for a few days and then beetle off back to Londein or Normandie, as the whim took him.

Pretending he had not received the king's summons had bought him enough time to assemble his men and flee Hereford before the king arrived; not the wisest course, he would be the first to agree, but in his mind the only one open to him just now.

"There is something else," Agnes said.

Her tone made him abandon his ruminations on the problems posed by the king's untimely summons. He glanced at his wife to see the pucker of concern between her brows. "And that is?"

"Merian," she said simply.

"Merian," he repeated. His heart quickened at the name, but he stifled any sign of recognition. "What of her?"

"She is here," said the baroness.

"Alive-you mean…"

"Yes, alive and well-and here in this castle. She returned a few weeks ago-escaped from her captors, it seems. Although she does not admit to being held so. She-"

"Merian… here," said the baron, as if trying to understand a complex calculation.

"Oh, yes," said Agnes. "And the curious thing about it is that Garran has locked her in her chamber-for her own safety, of course. Given the chance, there is no doubt she would run straight back to the brigands who took her captive in the first place."

"How extraordinary," mused the baron.

"You should know, husband," continued Agnes, "that she has been saying some very disturbing things about you."

"About me?"

"Yes, mon cher, about you. It seems that through her ordeal she has come to believe that you tried to kill her. And this is why she fled her home and family for the forest."

"Mon Dieu," breathed Bernard. Recalling his bungled attack on Bran that day, his heart beat faster still. "She thinks I tried to kill her? Has the poor girl lost all reason then?"

"Oh, no," his wife assured him quickly, "she seems as sane as anyone. But she does cling to this absurd belief-perhaps it was a way for her to keep her sanity while captive. I only tell you about this so that when you see her you will not be taken by surprise at anything she says."

"I see, yes." Bernard nodded thoughtfully, considering the implications of what he had just been told. "I will speak to her, of course, but not just yet, I think. Perhaps when I have decided what to do about the king's summons."

"Well, do see her before you leave," advised the baroness. "If we were able to make her understand just how ridiculous is this notion of hers, then perhaps she might be trusted to obey and we could release her." Lady Agnes smiled. "It is a very cruelty to keep her captive in her own home after the torment she has endured, wouldn't you agree?"

"Oh, indeed," replied the baron, his mind racing to how this meeting might be put off. He was not of a mood to deal with angry, contrary, and likely vengeful women just now, and perhaps not for a very long time. "A very cruelty, as you say."