Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

T he plan had been simple, but it had taken time to get there.

On that dark night when Gaubert and Donnel first discussed the removal of a king, there were many facets to what they wanted to do, but the goal remained the same—Henry's death and the recovery of Donnel's niece and nephew. Plans and discussions, counter-plans and more discussions, that had gone on all night.

It was, therefore, decided that Gaubert should seek the proper man to carry out Henry's death while Donnel went to the king to plead for the return of his niece and nephew. Neither one of them wanted to be seen together, or associated with one another, even though their plans intertwined. Donnel at least wanted to speak to his niece and nephew, so he was determined to know their location, to ensure they were being treated properly. Given that he was a titled lord who had never given the king any trouble, he hoped Henry would take that into consideration. Once he found the children of his sister, he would decide how best to help them escape their captivity. Would Henry suspect him? Of course he would if Andia and Aeron escaped, but he intended to send them to Gaubert's home, where they would be safely hidden.

If Henry searched, he would never find them.

Gaubert, of course, had the more difficult task—slipping an assassin into Henry's chambers. Ambitious? Absolutely. But he was certain that he could because he knew Westminster well. He'd spent many a banquet or gathering there with his cousin, Eleanor, so he was confident in his goals. He was also confident enough in where he could find an assassin, and that was at the most infamous tavern in all of London, an establishment with the unsavory name of The Pox.

But that had been the problem.

The Pox was a gambling hell, and given Gaubert's love of gambling, he'd spent three solid days there eating, drinking, and spreading the word that he had a man to kill and was looking for a hire. On the second day, a beastly man the size of a horse answered the call and Gaubert was relieved to have found himself a man who could do the job. He knew that because he'd forced the man to prove himself, and he had, swiftly and quietly, on one of the seedy patrons who had been half drunk in the rear of the tavern. The man was alive one moment, dead in the alley the next.

Gaubert knew he had his man.

But his assassin didn't seem to like to be alone. Oddly enough, he ended up sticking to Gaubert like the moisture that rose from the river and clung to one's skin. No matter what Gaubert did, he could not get rid of the man, who had even taken up residence in Gaubert and Donnel's rented room. Gaubert resigned himself to his new companion, and as they discussed an appropriate plan when it came to Henry, Donnel spent days trying to obtain an audience with the king.

Unfortunately, he was flatly denied—he couldn't even get his request through the gatehouse—so he'd switched tactics and sent word to the king's chief justiciar. Perhaps if he were to speak to the man who enforced the laws in England, and based his request for audience on judicial grounds, he might make headway in seeing Henry. The fact of the matter was that the king had his family members—unlawfully, as Donnel claimed—and Donnel wanted them back.

Because the siege of Kennington was so recent, Donnel made a good show of acting the irate uncle when he showed up at Westminster. He'd spoken to the guards who, in turn, referred him to one of the chief justiciar's clerics, who listened to Donnel's demands. The cleric, a young man who was a scholar and a clerk, could only write down the complaint and pass it on to another man higher in the chain of command. That didn't gain him an audience with the king as he'd hoped, but it did gain him an audience with Henry's chief justiciar, the Earl of Cheltenham.

That was the audience Donnel was prepared for today.

Dressed in his best, he and Gaubert and Gaubert's assassin, a man who called himself Styx, made their way from the river district to Westminster. It was the first time Donnel had spent any time around Styx, who was quiet and brooding and seemed uninterested in what they were doing. While Donnel went to meet with the chief justiciar, Gaubert and Styx were to find their way into Westminster to reinforce their plan. Because Gaubert knew the layout of the palace well, he was confident they could get in and get out without much notice, but one of Donnel's goals of the day was to see if he could find out where Henry was located. Possibly the chief justiciar would tell him, and that information would be relayed to Gaubert.

A plan with many facets, indeed.

Westminster was not only a palace, but an administrative center. The same cleric that Donnel had spoken to the day before was there to meet him once he entered the main gatehouse. He entered alone, as Gaubert and Styx were off on their own fact-finding mission, so Donnel followed the man into Westminster and through a series of rooms. Big, well-appointed rooms, connected, until they reached a chamber with a vaulted ceiling and walls lined with books.

It smelled of smoke and leather. There was something cold about it with its dark walls and dusty hearth. There were a few people in the enormous chamber and the cleric went over to a large table, strewn with tapers, where a man with a full head of white hair was sitting. There were a couple of other men lingering nearby, both of them with vellum in their hands, and the cleric waved Donnel over.

Quickly, he went.

"Lord Dudwell, this is the Earl of Cheltenham, Roi de Lohr," the cleric said by way of introduction. "He is willing to hear your petition."

As the cleric scampered away, the earl extended a hand to the nearest chair. "Sit, Lord Dudwell," he said. "Know that under usual circumstances, I would not be hearing your case, but you mentioned Kennington Castle."

"Aye, my lord?"

"You heard that it was recently sacked."

"That is why I am here, my lord."

"Then speak."

Donnel sat down in a hard oak chair. "Indeed, my lord," he said. "Kennington Castle is the home of my sister, her husband, and their children."

Cheltenham's gaze lingered on him for a moment. "Your sister was the Countess of Ashford?" he finally said.

Donnel nodded. "My dear sister, Edeline, passed away after the birth of my nephew," he said. "Anselm raised the children. He never remarried. But Henry has sacked the castle, and I understand Anselm was killed in the battle. Where are my niece and nephew?"

Cheltenham sat back in his chair, regarding Donnel to the point where the man was feeling scrutinized. He knew that Roi de Lohr was part of the enormous and powerful House of de Lohr, son of the greatest knight of his generation, Christopher de Lohr, but Donnel had never met the man until this moment. He was Henry's highest-ranking law advisor, a man who wielded a great deal of power in his own right. But the man had eyes that could see through him, unnerving Donnel until he felt almost naked and vulnerable.

"I was not at the battle," Cheltenham finally said. "Your brother-in-law was punished for his support of Simon de Montfort. It is as simple as that."

Donnel was trying to keep his frustration at bay. "I realize that," he said. "But why was he not allowed to pay a fine as some warlords did?"

"That was Henry's decision."

" Where are my niece and nephew?"

"They are unharmed if that is the answer you seek," Cheltenham said. "In fact, they are being well taken care of. I would not worry."

Donnel frowned. "But I do worry," he said. "Those children are all that is left of my sister. I demand they be returned to me. They should be with their family, my lord. Can you not understand that? Think of the tragedy they have suffered through because of Henry's rage."

Cheltenham seemed unmoved. "I assure you, they are in good hands," he said. "Truly, you needn't worry."

Donnel's frustration was growing. "May I at least speak with them?" he said. "If you say that they are being well cared for, I will trust you, but may I at least speak with them? May I ask if they require anything?"

"They will be provided with anything they require."

"But I am their only family," Donnel insisted. "Would you truly deny them the chance to speak with their only living uncle?"

Cheltenham hesitated a moment before finally shrugging. "I do not see the harm in your speaking to them," he said. "I understand that the situation at Kennington has been a shock to your family, and I am not unsympathetic."

"Then you can return them to me?"

Cheltenham shook his head. "I will not return them to you," he said. "They are the king's hostages and it is his pleasure that they shall remain that way."

Donnel sighed sharply, averting his gaze for a moment because the justiciar seemed resolute. Begging wasn't going to see Andia and Aeron given over to him.

Perhaps sympathy would.

"I promised my sister that I would watch over her children should anything happen to her," he muttered. "Her husband tended the children when she died, but that did not mean I was not interested in their welfare. Now that their father is gone, I have a pledge to fulfill. I swear to you that I will take them back to my home and keep them there. I shall ensure they are loyal to Henry, as I am. I do not understand why they cannot be remanded to me."

Fortunately, Cheltenham wasn't heartless. Donnel made a good show of being truly heartbroken about the situation, and he hoped it would have the desired effect.

"As I said, I do not see the harm in your speaking to them," Cheltenham said. "Although I cannot divulge where they are, I will send word to their guardian and have them bring them to Westminster, where you can speak with them. Will that suffice?"

Donnel sighed heavily. "I suppose it will have to, for now," he said. "Are they near London, then?"

"They are in London."

Donnel perked up. "Then may I go to them? Please?"

Cheltenham shook his head. "Nay," he said. "It would be better if you saw them here. But I will send word immediately. Return in a couple of days and you can speak to them."

Donnel knew that was the best he was going to get, at least at the moment. If he could speak to Andia and Aeron, then perhaps he could get their agreement to escape wherever they were being held. Or, at the very least, let Donnel know where they were, and possibly he could pay a servant to turn the other way as he spirited them out. In any case, he would have to be satisfied with an audience.

For now.

"Thank you, my lord," he said, standing up. "I am grateful for your mercy."

Cheltenham nodded vaguely. "You are welcome."

"And you'll send the missive right away?"

"I'll send for a clerk now."

Donnel began to back away, heading for the door. "Thank you, my lord," he said again. "I will be back in two days."

"Where are you staying in case I need to send word to you?"

"Near the riverfront," Donnel said. "The Black Swan."

"If there is a change in the situation, I will send word."

Donnel nodded his thanks and backed out of the chamber, met at the door by the cleric, who pointed down the corridor as the direction to exit. Donnel pretended to leave, but he came to a halt about halfway down the corridor when the cleric went back into the chamber. Silently, Donnel made his way back to the chamber and peered around the door to see that Cheltenham was, indeed, sending for a messenger. But he ducked into the shadows when he heard someone in the corridor, who turned out to be a royal guard, and when the guard went away, he quickly made his way out of the building.

But he didn't leave the grounds.

Westminster was fairly open because of the business that was conducted on the grounds. People came and went and the security, at least at the gatehouse, was fairly lax. The entire palace of Westminster was a complex of buildings, and Donnel found a corner of a building to hide in, tucked back in the shadows, watching the building he'd just come from.

And he waited.

Nearly an hour later, the very cleric who had been his guide appeared and headed in the direction of the stables, which were off to the west. Cheltenham had said he was going to send for a messenger, and that was clearly what was happening because the cleric had something clutched in his hand.

A missive.

Donnel went in pursuit.

The area where the stables of Westminster were located was only heavily traveled if one was in the stables, or departing from the western gate, but it wasn't particularly crowded between the hall and the stable. There were trees, and to the south sat old buildings that were part of the armory. He found a corner of the stables to hide against, peering into the stable yard to see the cleric talking to a man with a horse.

A messenger!

There was another man standing there, a man with a leather apron, and he was speaking to the cleric, gesturing off to the east, as the missive was put into the messenger's hands. When the conversation ended, the messenger mounted his leggy steed and trotted out of the western gate.

The man with the leather apron wandered away.

Donnel was so caught up in watching which direction the messenger might take that he was nearly seen by the cleric, who was heading back to the administrative complex. But he managed to duck back in time, watching the cleric as the man moved out of sight.

That brought Donnel out of his hiding place.

He had an idea.

Hurrying into the stable yard, he gave the appearance of a frantic man. There were people milling around, horses being watered and brushed, and he scurried up to the man wearing a leather apron as he spoke to a servant with a blanket in his hands.

"You!" Donnel said, catching the man's attention. "You, there! Did that messenger just leave with Cheltenham's missive?"

The man, with dark hair that was poorly cut, eyed Donnel curiously. "Aye," he said. "What about it?"

Donnel made a good show of being upset. "Because Cheltenham has something else for him," he said. "Where is he going? I'll send someone to catch up with him."

The man in the leather apron gestured toward the east. "He's taking it across the river," he said. "East of Southwark."

"To a home?"

"Aye," the man said. "Lockwood."

"Thank you."

With that, Donnel rushed out from the western gate, silently congratulating himself on being so very clever. The missive was headed to the very place his niece and nephew were being held.

Lockwood.

He had to find Gaubert.