The Shattered Rose (30 page)

"Don't scowl at me, lad! In the end all that matters in this world is our honor and our soul. I have to think on this."

"I understand, Father."

"Watch out for Flambard. He'll do what he can to break us." Lord William gripped his hand. "I'll be praying for you."

Galeran went to mount his horse, reminding himself that he believed in prayer, and believed in a just but merciful God. He'd rather have had his father by his side, though. No monarch would reject William of Brome's support if offered. A monarch unsure of it, however, just might decide the best course would be to break the family's power entirely.

He could imagine Bishop Flambard urging that.

The road into London teemed with mountebanks, merchants, gentry, and lords, doubtless woven through by all kind of thief. They could have used the horses to force a path, but with women and a babe in their midst that wasn't so easy, so they went with the slow-moving flow, reminding Galeran again of his thoughts about destiny. He was grateful, at least, to have lodging. Raoul had distant kin—wine merchants—living in the city, and had sent a messenger ahead to ask hospitality. They'd just received word that Hugo and Mary would be delighted to house their party, though they warned space would be tight.

Still no opportunity for a peaceful, private, night with his wife, he feared. Galeran found that he wanted his peaceful life at Heywood perhaps more than ever before. It was so close—so nearly in his grasp—yet could be snatched away at the king's whim.

It hardly seemed possible, but within the city walls the crowds were worse. In places, the crush of people clogged up entirely and Galeran had to order his men to use horse and whip to break up the blockage. It took them hours to reach Corser Street. Their hosts apologized for the limited space in their narrow house, but Galeran knew they were fortunate.

While Jehanne and Galeran arranged their party in the two available rooms, with the grooms and men-at-arms left to sleep out in the sheds behind the house, Raoul undertook the task of finding any news.

He returned in an hour with a basket of pies and a net of cherries. "The king's holding open court," he said, dusting off his clothes. "Of course, the point of it is to accept homage from as many people as possible."

"What's the mood out there?" Galeran asked, pouring his friend some of Hugo's wine.

"Favorable to Henry, I'd say. Your old King William wasn't any more popular here than in the north and the general tone seems to be 'good riddance.' Especially with King Henry making that special declaration on his coronation day, reestablishing the old laws."

Jehanne was off with the baby, but Aline was present, struggling to untie the net to liberate the plump cherries. She stopped her work and frowned at them. "I hope he's not
too
keen on law and order."

"Why not?" asked Raoul, strolling over to slash the net with his knife. Galeran noticed that even that simple operation seemed to generate a great deal of tension and colored cheeks. How Aline could think she still wanted a religious life, he didn't know. But perhaps if Raoul would not commit to her . . .

He put such matters out of his mind.

Aline picked up a cherry and moved away from Raoul. "What if the king wants to enforce laws against adultery?"

Raoul speared a cherry on the sharp tip of his knife. "Is that likely?" he asked Galeran, then put the cherry into his mouth. He never took his eyes off Aline.

Cheeks cherry-red, she popped her cherry into her mouth.

"I hope not," said Galeran, wanting to bang their heads together. "No one has ever accused Henry Beauclerk of being tenderhearted in judgment."

"Hah!" Aline spat a cherry pit into her hand and looked at Galeran. "An understatement. He threw a man off the battlements of Rouen with his own hands for opposing him!"

"A clear lesson about opposing the will of princes."

Aline's severe eyebrows settled lower. "You can't really find this funny."

"No, of course I don't. We have to trust to Henry's good sense and his desire to have my father on his side. Raoul, did you find out anything else of interest?"

Raoul sheathed his knife. "Not really. I asked about Raymond of Lowick, but no one knew anything of him. Not surprising, really. I heard news of the Bishop of Durham, though. He arrived here yesterday."

"Flambard's here already?" said Galeran with a chill of unease. "I hoped he'd move more slowly. I'm sure he stands our enemy. Apart from his ambitions in the north, he'll never forgive us for thwarting his plans."

"He may be toothless. It was clear in two words that he's a hated man."

"Oh, yes, he is that But hatred hasn't stopped him yet. He seems almost magically able to slither out of trouble."

"You choose interesting enemies," said Raoul with a grimace. "And no one I spoke to was sure his day was over. His appeal seems to be a rare skill at obtaining money. What king can ignore that?"

"Henry won't dare support someone so unpopular," said Galeran, but again he was merely concealing his fears. Ranulph Flambard was a very clever man, and as Raoul said, kings had a fondness for men who could provide them with money.

Raoul shrugged. "I assume you'll attend the court tomorrow and seek an audience. We'll get better information then."

Jehanne came in on those words, carrying a contented baby. Her pale face became even more drawn. "Tomorrow? So soon?"

Galeran went to put an arm around her. "We didn't come haring down here to sit twiddling our thumbs, love."

"Oh, I know," she said, bouncing the baby nervously. "But I can't help but worry. I wish I could come with you. . . ."

"I don't really think that would help."

She grimaced at him. "I know, I know. I just feel so
helpless.
Can I at least talk strategy with you?"

It would clearly soothe her, so Galeran agreed. Raoul spread out his pies and cherries, and the four of them sat to eat and discuss plans for the morrow, though there weren't really any choices. Galeran would dress his finest, take gifts—including items from the Holy Land—and hope. If the king gave him a private audience, he'd lay the situation before him.

Unless he gained the impression that someone had been before him and laid traps. But he didn't say that, for he had no strategy for that situation other than his wits.

As he and Raoul went to share the chamber set aside for them, Galeran asked, "Do you want to come tomorrow?" "It might be better if I stay behind to guard the women." "I think the farther you stay away
from
the women, the better." Raoul contemplated his bed as if it were a mystery. "I asked her to marry me."

"And she said no?" Galeran didn't know which surprised him most.

"She doesn't want to leave her home."

"That's foolishness. I'm sure you can persuade her."

"I wish I were as certain. So," he added more briskly,

"you want me to accompany you?"

"Why not? Lowick will hardly try to snatch the baby from this busy household, and Flambard has no jurisdiction here. I'd value your opinion of Henry Beauclerk."

* * * * *

That night, Raymond of Lowick rapped at the door of the Bishop of Durham's sumptuous house near Westminster. An armed guard opened it, doubtless necessary for such an unpopular person. Since coming to London, Raymond had realized just how unpopular Flambard was. He wished he didn't have to deal with such a man, but who else could support him against William of Brome?

It was for Jehanne, he reminded himself. Beautiful Jehanne, who had been forced into her marriage even though she was as good as betrothed to himself. After all, old Fulk had mentioned it a time or two.

And now she was in danger. Galeran was surely only biding his time. He'd shown his true feelings when he'd struck Jehanne down. Raymond cursed the fact that he'd left her behind to face such violence.

And what of the child? Raymond was genuinely fond of the babe, or as fond as any man could be of such a tiny creature. She was his first child as far as he knew, and he felt honor bound to protect her. Galeran was a good man, but no man could forget the origins of such an infant. At his most merciful, he'd give her to some peasant to raise.

Raymond wished it need not come to death, but feared there was no other way. He knew of no other way to protect Jehanne and Donata.

And to have Heywood. That was a less noble goal, he knew, but it burned in him all the same.

Just as King Henry had thought England his from birth, Raymond had thought Heywood his from the moment Fulk's last son had died. He was Fulk's favorite. He was acknowledged to be one of the finest young warriors in the north. Who else deserved to marry Jehanne?

When Fulk's interest had turned to Brome, Raymond had fanned his friend Eustace's faint interest in the holy war against the Moors. It had been easy enough, and had left the coast clear.

Or so he'd thought.

To see Heywood and Jehanne presented to that scrawny runt Galeran had almost made him choke on his bile. It wasn't right. It couldn't be right. God had showed that by denying Galeran a son until the crusade, and then by taking that son to give Raymond his chance.

As Raymond was ushered into the presence of the bishop, he was firm once more in his belief. It was God's will that he have Heywood, Jehanne, and Donata. Even at the cost of Galeran of Heywood's life.

"My lord bishop, welcome back to London. . . ."

* * * * *

It took Galeran and Raoul half the next morning to progress out of the walled city and along the long curve of the Thames to Westminster Hall, where the king kept his household and held court. The churned-up road was thick with lordly trains, hopeful merchants, and the merely curious. The congestion was worsened by unauthorized stalls lining every road, and by a small army of beggars.

The river might be an alternate route, except that it, too, was crowded with all manner of vessel, and thus much more hazardous.

Troops of soldiers regularly forced through the crowds to knock down the stalls and chase off the beggars, but as soon as the guards moved on, the hawkers and mendicants popped back, crying out to the passing lords so the noise seemed a physical presence.

It was like swimming through mud, thought Galeran dazedly, tossing some coins to a cripple who looked genuine— surely those scarred stubs where her legs had been couldn't be fake.

Eventually, however, they emerged into the open space around the great Westminster Hall and its sister building, King Edward's noble abbey. Here, too, people gathered in huge numbers, but the space could accommodate them and their noise.

Where did so many hawkers come from? Galeran wondered as a man thrust horse bells at him, extolling their quality. Create a crowd, and the people who catered to crowds popped up as if sprouting from dragon's teeth.

There was a kind of organization here, though. A number of well-disciplined men-at-arms patrolled the area, and temporary stables had been set up to one side for the lordly visitors' mounts. The merely curious and the more unruly sellers were regularly driven back out of this enclave into the jammed streets.

With space to breathe, Galeran began to find all this interesting. He'd been to London only once—to join the crusade. This time, however, the atmosphere seemed different. The mood was lighter, and under the chaos lay a sense of limits or even order. It could reflect already the nature of the new king, and he had to consider whether it promised good or ill. A lighter mood was surely good, but as they'd discussed the day before, a very strong inclination toward law and order might not be the best thing for his cause.

He led his party over to the stables, and they gave their horses into the care of the grooms there.

Then a cleric came forward, bearing wax tablets. "Your names, kind sirs?"

Galeran's nerves twitched, but he replied calmly. "Galeran of Heywood in Northumbria, and Raoul de Jouray from the Guyenne."

The man noted their names without expression. "His majesty King Henry is most gratified that so many wish to pay homage to him and congratulate him on his accession. The sheer numbers, however, make it impossible for him to give private audience to everyone at this time. If you will enter the hall, my lords, the king passes through from time to time."

He moved on to greet the next party.

"Very interesting," said Raoul as they walked toward the huge wooden building, which was finely carved and painted and hung with banners. "Your Henry seems to like organization."

"And be good at it, which is more to the point. If his hall were fall of people all chivvying for a chance at a moment alone with the king, feelings would be much sourer. This way, those not given audiences won't feel too disgruntled."

Raoul grinned. "You think as I do. The names are sent to the king and he chooses whom to see. Well, let's go in and see if you are chosen."

"Probably not. My father would be, but I do not have his power."

"You're his son."

"If anyone knows that. I might have made a point of it, but I doubt there's any chance today to have a private audience. We may have to wait weeks, and that might not be a bad thing."

"Or perhaps you just want to put off the moment. If need be, I could give you refuge in Guyenne."

It was the first time lighthearted Raoul had mentioned such a thing, and Galeran's throat seized up. What did Raoul sense here that led him to make the offer?

Having returned safe to England, he had no wish to leave her shores again, but if it were that or Jehanne at the stake, of course he would flee into exile. Given the chance.

They joined the stream of handsomely dressed lords passing through the open great doors of the hall, and found the main chamber full but not oppressively so. It was a huge space and could handle the crowd and even the noise of many voices.

"What's the betting," Raoul murmured, "that when the crush reaches its limits, the king comes out to appease everyone and send them on their way?"

"I'm sure you're right, but at least the waiting is to be civilized."

Musicians played in one corner, tables were laid with food, and servants passed around with cups of wine. Galeran and Raoul took one each, tasted, and raised their brows at each other. It was good.