Chapter Twenty-Three

Only a lifetime of discipline kept William perfectly still, outwardly unperturbed while his king questioned his loyalty.

It had begun easily enough, save for the unmistakable tension in the air. Will ignored this, or pretended to – just as he pretended it was normal to have waited two days for an audience, instead of his more usual immediate greeting. When the king asked why he had been away from court so long, he answered honestly, if vaguely, that he had matters to attend at Ruardean. When that response was plainly unsatisfactory, he detailed the improvements he had overseen, the rents collected, the crops sown and harvested, the errant steward taken to task.

Still Edward looked doubtful, and wasted no time in making his suspicions clear. "Some might say it is easier to plot mischief there, where your king is not underfoot."

Will bit back his immediate response – that in fact plotting against the king would be far easier here , where resentments and ambitions were thick as mud, clinging to everything and everyone. Such an observation would gain him no favor. It was better to stay quiet, the hair on his neck rising, all eyes on him as he fixed Edward in a particular gaze that had often served to make men doubt themselves.

But if Edward doubted himself, he did not show it. Instead there was a flicker of something dangerous, the stirring of his infamous temper. In the face of it, Will did not pause to think. Hesitation is death , his sister had once advised him when he was a boy learning to use a sword. And this was no less deadly than swordplay.

"Does my lord accuse me?" he asked, with only the thinnest sliver of affront.

"Do you claim to know naught of this man from Livonia?"

Will blinked, unable to hide his surprise at this abrupt shift of topic. "The one who calls himself Quinten? I know he is named heretic, and his many teachings abhorred by the Church. What more is there to know of such a man?"

"A great deal." Edward's eyes narrowed, just slightly. "You claim ignorance of his presence in Wales?"

"Wales?" He felt the cool sweat beginning on his palms, the thump of his heart in his throat. His body understood before his mind had fully grasped it. "I have heard only the rumor that he has fled Livonia."

"Aye, and is lately found preaching his heresies in Wales. There his speech has persuaded many to agree that a split with Rome is not unthinkable, that the Welsh church may claim so different a tradition that they might better rule themselves." His simmering fury was ready to boil over at the very suggestion. "They have been greatly heartened to hear he takes his aid from Ruardean."

He looked pointedly at Will, who for a moment was only confused, thinking that some gossip had gotten muddled somewhere on the way to Edward. And then it came to him.

Margaret .

Her name blossomed in his belly, spreading a complicated dread through him. He actually wasted a precious moment in doubting it, in feeling guilty for so instantly suspecting her. It might be an enemy spreading lies, a rival intent on destroying the king's trust in him. But his enemies had enemies of their own; he would have heard of such a plot. Of course it was Margaret. Who else would even think to bring the heretic into Wales, of all the accursed places. Who else would dare? Her precious convictions and her enviable skill – her proven ability to lie to his face. No more will I be false , she had promised so prettily, as they lay naked together.

And he was the lovesick fool who had believed her. He forced himself to swallow down the bitter gall of it. There was no time for that. Now he must shrink the world to this one man before him – this man he had served his whole life, this king who would strike him down without hesitation.

"Quinten of Livonia takes no aid from me, my lord," he said, his voice steady. "Nor can I stop men's tongues from lies fashioned to turn my king against–"

"And what of this new Welsh upstart, this Madoc of Gwynedd, who declares himself the new Prince of Wales?" Edward's voice was rising. "Even now he attacks our keeps all throughout that country."

"I know naught of him, my lord," he protested with a calm insistence. It was fresh news, and alarming, though he had suspected it might happen. "I did warn of such a danger these many months past when a new tax on the Welsh was–"

"Their priests hear from the heretic that they may break with Rome even as this rebel urges the people to make war on England!" He voice rang off the walls. "Am I to name it chance? For it has the stink of a foul plot, authored by a keen mind."

Will waited until the echoes of the shout had stopped before speaking into the expectant hush.

"And so you do accuse me."

It was quiet and cold, and the wrong way to handle Edward. Will knew it well. But he was not as clever as his treacherous wife, nor as skilled. Not in this. He could not swallow insult and pretend humility, even if that was the surest way to avoid disaster.

And this was disaster. The seething silence left no doubt of that. He watched the telltale flare of nostrils, the grinding of the royal teeth, and knew what he must do. Slowly, he lowered himself to one knee. Edward always did prefer to be the tallest man in the room.

"I pray my king remembers my devotion," he said, each word hard and purposeful. "That I was raised in the bosom of his own family, that his brother Lancaster was as a father to me. That I did kneel to you to give my oath many years ago, a vow sworn before God to serve you faithfully and cause no harm to you or your reign." His own voice had risen, and he forced it back into a semblance of calm. "In good faith and with scorn for deceit did I pledge these things. Does my lord require that I do so again?"

But he knew he could swear fealty until his voice was lost, and still there would still be doubt. The king looked at him now and saw not Will, but his mother. All her rumored plotting against his rule, her Welsh blood that flowed in her son's veins. He saw too that Will's truest friend – the only man for whom he had consistently advocated for years, whom he had worked so hard to restore to power – was Gryff, a Welsh prince of the old blood. Such things could not be forgotten. Indeed, if anyone but himself stood here, William would have advised Edward to be mindful of these connections.

Real fear began to creep in. The king loomed over him, his shadow falling on Will like a threat.

"I require a peaceful kingdom, united as one in Christ." Edward stepped even closer, a look of warning in his eye. "Nor will I stand idle while you sow strife among the churchmen, and rouse the Welsh with these notions."

"My lord king, there is no blame to him!"

Henry's voice cut into the room. Will could feel all eyes turn to a spot behind him, where presumably his nephew had appeared. He came forward into the room, standing beside Will, bowing before the king. And though his voice had a hint of the old boyish uncertainty, he was otherwise the very picture of a confident young man.

Fortunately, Edward's curiosity was greater than his displeasure at this interruption.

"What man is this who speaks so bold?" The king looked him over, a comprehensive glance. "You have the look of Ruardean."

"My mother was born of Ruardean, is true," Henry answered. "But I am of Morency, my lord king, and bear my own father's love for you. Nor would I speak false to you, ever, for the sake of that love."

This had the advantage of chasing the darkness almost entirely from Edward's face. "By Mary, it is Ranulf's son! And you are grown almost as tall as he, though I think me your swaddling is scarce abandoned. Come, rise now. Embrace me in fellowship, and tell me of your uncle's certain innocence."

While Henry stepped forward to receive the king's glad welcome, Will took the opportunity to look around the chamber. Edward had assembled only a handful of men – all of whom Will would call allies of habit, if not friends – to witness this confrontation. It gave him hope to see it. An audience sympathetic to Will meant that the king did not have full confidence in his accusation. But in all the faces he could see a wavering indecision, and he knew they would turn on him in a blink if given sufficient motivation.

Just as he thought it, Edward was gesturing at him to rise – impatient, almost irritated. Will stood, glancing over his shoulder to find Stowell behind him. He must have entered with Henry.

"What have you to say of this, lord bishop?" Edward was scowling at Stowell. "You have been long enough at your labor. Have you learned aught of Ruardean that must replace my trust with doubt?"

There was a sour twist to Stowell's lips as he replied. "Nay, my lord." Reluctance was in every syllable. "There is naught I have found that casts doubt on him, not yet, save his connection through marriage to a heretic."

Then the bishop looked to Henry briefly. A familiar look, something shared between them. Will saw it, and felt a coolness descend on him like a veil. It was a familiar detachment, only notable because it had been absent from him for nearly all the months he had been away at Ruardean. But it had served him well, for years and years, and he welcomed its return.

The others kept speaking while Will observed the scene before him: the wary king with sharp eyes, the calculating bishop, and the boy so quickly growing into manhood. He recognized his nephew's eagerness to please, just as he recognized the sly pride of the bishop, and the familiar patterns of alliance and betrayal.

He kept himself still and blank. Let them see nothing of what he thought as Henry recounted their journey into Wales those months ago, and all Will's efforts to prevent the seed of dissent from taking root there. Let them wonder what he felt upon hearing that the churchmen had gathered overwhelming evidence to prove Lady Margaret did not repent of her sin at all, that she only persisted in her heresy. He would not give the bishop the satisfaction of knowing his mind in that moment when they told him, quite casually, that his wife was put under guard at the abbey and would remain so until she was tried.

The fact of it, the sound of her name in her enemy's mouth, threatened to pierce the icy shield around him. But he would not show it. They would have no new weapons from him. Especially not now, when he could see that this tide was turning in his favor.

Edward was smiling, pleased. Henry's assurances and Stowell's words had placated him.

"My liege," Will said at an opportune moment. "I beg leave to return to Ruardean, from whence I will send my knights and longbowmen to join your soldiers in ending this fresh revolt against your rule in Wales." He made it a statement, not a plea, because Edward looked as though he might say no. "Henry is squire to me. I would have him learn of these matters from my own instruction, else I would not quit your company so soon."

Edward came to him, and put a hand to Will's cheek, all his previous temper replaced with a fond look. "Was ever there so trusted a servant as Ruardean? Forget you my moment's doubt, as I will, and go now to your duty. We will take comfort to know you return to us when it is done."

And so he was given leave to quit this suffocating room, with Henry at his side. And not a moment too soon.

It was only minutes later, in the chambers he had long ago ensured were safe from eavesdrop, that heat began to seep into him again. Painful pinpricks through the numbness, blood returning to his extremities, roaring through his ears when he looked at his sister's son.

"You have made a friend of Stowell," was all Will said, and watched the happy flush bloom over Henry's face.

"In faith, I am glad to find favor with him, though I seek only to please God." He ducked his head, a boyish and bashful movement, before he moved to the baggage. He began arranging things, packing in preparation for the journey. "Was a foul thing, that the king was made to doubt your loyalty when you knew naught of her willful intent to defy the Church and God."

"Willful intent to defy," he echoed. "How easily you repeat the words they give you. But then you have ever been a diligent student. And what prize was promised you, if you did give proof of her heresy?"

Henry's head came up at that, a questioning look that congealed into bewildered affront to see Will's anger. Now he almost seemed a child again, accused of some mischief he must defend.

"I want no prize but that you are not tainted by her sin! And for myself, I can only want the reward that awaits me in heaven."

God save, that his nephew had grown into such a sanctimonious prig. But even as he watched, a consciousness crept into Henry's face, the telltale guilt behind the innocent eyes, the sign that there was more – obviously more – that he was promised.

"Lie to yourself, you little fool, but never lie to me. The ambition in you is too blatant, as the bishop and his men did plainly see." He made himself step back, knotting his hands into fists so that he would not give in to the temptation to shake the boy until his teeth rattled. "What a gift you are to my enemies."

"There is no sin in the truth, uncle, only in the hiding of it!" Henry took a breath and squared his shoulders, the very picture of martyrdom. "It was not for my own pride or ambition, but for the ease of my conscience and my duty to you. No less could induce me–"

"Your duty! Well then let it burden you no more. I will not have a serpent as squire. Will I send you to your father, that you may explain to him how right is your conduct?"

"My father! But…but uncle, I–" Henry fumbled, rightly alarmed at the idea of facing his father's judgment. "I have acted in good conscience and sound reason, Uncle Will, do not send me home only for–"

"Ah no, you have the right of it. Not home. I will send you to your grandmother. What think you she will say when she learns you have sided with a Mortimer and invited ruin on us all?"

All color drained from Henry's face. Will could almost pity him. He looked as if he might be ill, which was not only assurance that this was the right course, but evidence that the fool understood full well what he had done.

Still, he shook his head in denial, as though he could somehow avoid the reckoning. "Nay, Uncle Will, please–"

"Do not play at the games of men if you have only the defenses of a child. And do not search for pity in my mother, for you will find naught but winter cold." He pulled Henry's cloak from the wall, tossing it at him. "Go you now and tell the men we make haste to depart. I will want a messenger bound for Dinwen, and another to take swift word to the marshal of Ruardean. But first send a clerk to me."

Henry stood unmoving, stunned with this turn. It only made Will impatient. What else could the boy possibly have expected?

"Go," he said, the contempt choking him. "Get you gone from my sight."

Henry nodded silently, clutching his cloak to his chest. Patches of red had appeared on his face amid the pallor. He looked painfully like Gwenllian did, in her moments of distress.

Will turned away. He did not want to see it. There were matters to attend to. People he must see now, in the hours before he left. Letters to be written, funds to be arranged. What little time there was must be used wisely, not wasted on treacherous nephews and faithless wives.

"Uncle Will, I…" Henry was at the door, pausing there, looking back but not quite able to meet Will's eye. Suddenly he was that earnest little boy again, the one who used to fling himself into his uncle's arms. "I would not have done it, had I not believed Lady Margaret meant harm to you and Ruardean."

Will looked at the dejected slump of shoulders, broad enough to fill the doorway, and found little pity for the boy.

"Then you should have spoke your suspicions to me and not a Mortimer." He looked away, to the half-filled baggage and scattered letters that awaited him at the tiny desk. There was much to do, if he was to avoid ruin. "But you have made your choices, and now you will live with them. As must I. Be gone."

Without another word, Henry left. Will could only stare, numb, at the emptiness left behind.

Now that he was alone, the urgency to act was gone, all plans wiped from his mind. The world felt too heavy, as though it pressed him down until finally he must sit and lean against the bed post.

He thought of Ruardean, how it had looked when he visited as a boy, approaching from the eastern road. How it stretched across the horizon like a great beast forbidding entry, and how his sister would run out of it, smiling to welcome him home. He tried to imagine telling her it was lost, or even that he had come this close to ruin, and found his imagination failed him.

He only looked up when he sensed the shuffling at the door was more than just a passing servant. He waited, listening, until he felt sure enough to say, "Come, Hugh. Enter."

Hugh de Vere closed the door behind him and cast a curious eye around the room. "I passed your squire as I came. He flies through the hall as swiftly as the rumors."

It would be better to consider well and quickly, what to show and what to hide of himself with Hugh. But Will found he could do little more than sit and silently wait to hear more. This inveterate gossip, this untrustworthy opportunist – this was who came to him.

"Will you hear what Edmund Mortimer has said?" Hugh asked. "I vow to tell you no lies."

Hugh shared a bed with Mortimer's cousin, and news from that source usually came with a sly grin. There was no suppressed glee in him now, which told Will everything.

"How much has he paid you to put it in my ear?" Will asked, and waved away the expected protest. He had no time for it. "Do not play at affront, Hugh, only name me your price."

He watched the change in expression, from wounded pride to dawning surprise, to shrewd assessment. Hugh was no fool, and there could be no denying that in this circumstance Will was far more motivated than Mortimer, which was entirely to Hugh's advantage. Now the bartering would begin.

"Something greater than his property in Cherwell?" Hugh asked.

A property. So it was not just a bit of gossip that Mortimer had bought, but a full alliance. Will stood and began gathering things to add to his baggage.

"I will match it and more. Much more, if you will add your silence to the bargain, and never let them know you are mine."

A smile instantly brightened Hugh's face.

"Well for you that I like you far more than any Mortimer." He crossed to the bed and sat, making himself comfortable while Will worked. "He wants to use you to bring your Welsh friend under suspicion too, that Gruffydd fellow, in hopes of winning the Aderinyth lands away from him. So be wary of that," he shrugged. "Shall I tell you the evidence they have gathered against your lady wife? The trial will not be swift and private, as the last one was."

"Tell me."

He kept his eyes on the papers before him, shuffling them into order as Hugh informed him that the bishop was sending to Livonia for witnesses, to Rome for guidance, to various corners of England for any who would speak against Margaret. It would take many weeks to prepare the case. Months, even. It would be as public and humiliating as they could make it.

"Nor will you find it easy to reach her," Hugh warned. "She will be kept with the sisters, and the abbey is under guard. Stowell's great fear is that you will lend her your wit, and find her a defense he has not prepared against. I would wager the guards can be bought, though, or a sister persuaded to–"

"I go to Wales with my archers." Will slipped the papers into a leather wallet, one by one. Lend her his wit. As if she did not have too much of her own, enough to cause this disaster. "My only concern is Mortimer now, to outwit and appease him, and so save myself. Will you aid me in it?"

He withstood the burning silence, the little pause while Hugh absorbed the knowledge that Will spared no thought for his wife.

"Is no small thing to thwart a Mortimer," he finally replied.

"Name your price. Two manors in Scotland to choose from," Will offered. "The land in Devon, or any of my French holdings – only Ruardean itself you may not have."

Hugh's brows lifted. "How strange you should say it." His wry smile said plainly that it was not strange at all. "Ruardean alone you will not part with, and Ruardean alone will appease Mortimer."