To Defy a King (30 page)

'He's a greedy guts,' Roger piped up. He'd heard some bigger children taunting one of their number in a repetitive sing-song way and had immediately picked up on the words because they sounded well together.

'Greedy guts, greedy guts!'

'Like you then,' Hugh said with a grin.

'I'm not!' Roger's hazel eyes flashed with indignation.

'Your grandsire Marshal was nicknamed that when he was a boy.' Hugh eyed the child with amusement. He was a bundle of energy, never still from dawn to dusk, and it was all Hugh could do to keep up with him. He was exactly like his mother in that respect.

'Hup,' said Ranulf to his own son, a year older than Roger, and heaved him across Pie's back too. Taking the pony's rein, Hugh untied him from the ring in the stable wall and led him on a circuit of the buildings, keeping his eye on the boys to make sure they were not going to fall off.

'At least we are not going to Poitou,' Hugh said to Ranulf, who was pacing beside him, his gaze upon the hired carts that soldiers and servants were piling with provisions and equipment. 'I fully expected I'd be performing my feudal service there.'

Ranulf put a hand to his son's leg to stop him from bouncing up and down.

'You say that as if you think Wales is going to be better,' he said, grimacing.

'It always rains and those forests of theirs are nothing but ambush traps.'

'But we won't be stuck for days on end besieging castles; we are nearer to home, and everyone will be in agreement with a common goal,' Hugh pointed out. 'If Poitou were the destination, everyone would be complaining about having to fight across the sea and protesting that it's not part of their oath to do so.' He gave Ranulf a sidelong look, knowing full well his brother-in-law would be one of those protesters. The insular northern barons harboured hostile feelings on the matter. Ranulf was more moderate than many, but given the choice, Hugh knew he would have stayed home at his castle of Middleham. He performed his feudal duty with punctiliousness, but no enthusiasm. 'Besides,' Hugh added, 'if Llewelyn of Gwynedd didn't want John interfering in his rule, he should not have gone on the offensive.

John's not going to stop this time until he's crushed Llewelyn once and for all. Whether Llewelyn is married to John's daughter or not won't matter -

he's going for the throat.'

'As he did in Ireland?' Ranulf curled his top lip. 'What is going to be left for us and for our sons?'

Hugh was spared from answering as his father arrived and paused, hands on hips, to watch the bustle. His gaze fell on the pony and his grandsons and he shook his head, but he smiled nevertheless. Gathering himself, he limped over to the younger men. His knees were clearly paining him today, but he refused to use a stick. Once reaching them, he directed a groom to take over and lead Pie round the yard.

Hugh watched the boys with a pre-emptive tensing of his shoulders.

'It's not far to the ground if they fall off and they bounce at that age,' Ranulf said pragmatically.

'Would that I could remember being that young.' The Earl's gaze was envious.

'When you do, I believe they call it dotage,' Hugh quipped.

His father gave a snort of amusement. 'Then I am not there just yet, nor have I quite started to dribble like a babe.'

Hugh grinned. The men watched another groom bring Hugh's new warhorse out of the stall in order to check its hooves. It was a strong young beast with a brown-bronze coat and handsome chunky lines. Hugh had commented when selecting it from the available mounts amongst their stock that he was going to call this one Stott and have him slope along at the back of the remounts rather than putting him on show. The name had stuck; thus the destrier ridden by Norfolk's heir bore the name of a common plough horse.

Hugh turned his glance to his father. A messenger had arrived not long ago and Hugh knew the Earl hadn't just come out here to watch his grandsons at their riding lesson. 'I saw the messenger,' he said. 'Are there new instructions?'

His father cast a look around, ensuring no one but Hugh and Ranulf was within earshot. 'Not as such,' he said. 'But Bened at Settrington reports hearing rumours of a plot to kill the King when we ride into Wales.'

Hugh sucked in his breath. 'You think it true?' He looked at Ranulf, whose expression was taut and watchful.

His father fingered the brim of his hat. 'Bened is a shrewd old dog. He knows when to take heed and when not.'

'Where did he hear them?'

'He says from his younger brother who serves in the household of Eustace de Vesci.'

Hugh made a face. The relationship between de Vesci and John was one of hatred and distrust. There was a rumour circulating that John had dishonoured de Vesci's wife, but there was also a matter of money that de Vesci owed the Crown.

'Bened's brother sent him what could either be taken as a warning to beware, or a call to arms, depending how you read it.' The Earl gave Hugh and Ranulf a meaningful look. 'Bened believes John de Lacey and John FitzRobert are involved too.'

Hugh felt as if he had swallowed a lump of ice.

His father gave Ranulf a hard look. 'Did you know anything of this?'

Ranulf recoiled with indignation. 'I would not be party to such a thing! I do not keep company with these men. Grant me more sense!'

Hugh exchanged glances with his father. Ranulf had side-stepped the question. Not being a party to something was not the same thing as not knowing about it. He suspected Ranulf had heard a rumour but was feigning deafness. What really worried Hugh was that Will Marshal
did
keep company with the likes of de Lacey and FitzRobert.

'I have to know where everyone in this family stands,' his father said in a steely voice. 'Because the deeds of the one affect the security of us all.'

Ranulf gave a curt nod. 'You have nothing to fear of loyalty from me.'

'I am glad to hear you say so.'

'What of Will Marshal?' Hugh barely dared to enquire. 'Is he named?'

His father shook his head. 'Bened did not mention the younger Marshal, for which mercy we should thank God, but it wouldn't surprise me if he were implicated.' His expression tightened. 'Fortunately your wife has been in confinement of late and too busy to be drawn in, but I would not put it past her brother and his accomplices to embroil family members.'

'Mahelt is no longer that naive,' Hugh said with quiet assertion.

The Earl fiddled with his hat brim. 'That may or may not be to our advantage.'

Ranulf was looking slightly startled. Hugh shook his head, indicating that he should not ask. 'How are they planning to do it?'

'Who knows?' Roger shrugged. 'Abandon him on a mountainside and hope the Welsh take care of matters, I suspect. That way the Welsh get landed with the blame.'

'What do we do? Tell the King, or pretend what we have heard is no more than common rumour and await the consequences?'

His father frowned. 'That needs some thought. We won't be the only ones to whom this news has been leaked and every man will be looking to use it for his own survival.' He cast a glance at Ranulf, who flushed.

'And if we are approached with a view to implementing the deed?'

Ranulf choked.

Roger was suddenly decisive. 'We keep our distance whatever happens, because then we can stand back and decide what to do without endangering ourselves. There will be scapegoats from this, mark my words, and they will not bear the name of Bigod. I shall burn Bened's letter and any more that come our way. Ranulf, I expect you to do the same, and not to go fraternising in private with your neighbours, especially not de Vesci. Can I trust you?'

Ranulf nodded. 'You do not have to ask that.'

'Yes I do.' Roger fixed a hard grey gaze on the two younger men. 'You must tell no one of this. Not even other family members, and that includes your wives. This goes no further than ourselves because the fewer who know, the easier it will be to control. Understood?'

Ranulf nodded again. So did Hugh, feeling slightly resentful. He didn't need to be lectured; he knew what was at stake.

His father sighed and his shoulders slumped. 'I swore allegiance to John at his coronation. I have served him faithfully and held to my oath. I have sent him troops when he has asked and performed my military service in person.

I have travelled on the judicial circuit for him and given him my counsel. I would gladly work within the letter of the law to make him accountable.'

His expression was bleak. 'But he has done things that are for God to judge because they are beyond judgement by man. I say let matters work as they will. I shall take no active part either way. Caution is all.'

25

Nottingham Castle, August 1212

Hugh sat in an embrasure seat with Jean D'Earley, senior knight in his father-in-law's household. Jean was presently under house arrest at Nottingham as one of the hostages for William Marshal's good faith.

Jean had been playing merels with another hostage, a freckle-faced Welsh lad of about seven years old. 'Sharp as an awl, this one,' Jean said with a wink at the child. 'Barely speaks a word outside of the Welsh but he understands the rules of the game very well, doesn't he, Richard?' He glanced over at his lord's second son, who had been given into his keeping while they both dwelt at the King's pleasure.

The mischievous sparkle in the child's dark eyes reminded Hugh of his own son, although of course, this boy was older. All told there were twenty-eight Welsh youths being held hostage here in Nottingham, each one either kin to Prince Llewelyn or the son of an important lord.

Richard Marshal looked wry. 'He's an expert,' he agreed. 'He knows more French than he's letting on. Don't let that innocent expression fool you for a minute.' His green-grey eyes were bright with good humour. 'He's Welsh and we are his enemy. He might smile like an angel, but he'll always be on the lookout for ways to stick a knife in us, just like his father.' He offered the child a sip from his cup. The boy took it and drew a strong gulp. Then he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and wanted to play-fight. Richard obliged with the gentle strength of an indolent young lion. 'I'm used to it with smaller brothers and sisters,' he explained tolerantly to Hugh. 'After Mahelt, this one is easy meat. My sister was a real fighter.'

Hugh chuckled as he watched Richard fend off the Welsh lad's assault with one arm. 'She still is; I have the scars to prove it.'

'Hah, if scars are all, you are fortunate.' He taunted his charge, calling him a scrawny rapscallion and the lad responded with a string of what were plainly rude words in his native language. Richard promptly pinned him down and tickled him until he shrieked.

Hugh glanced out of the open shutters at the close pack of tents and banners in the castle bailey. The entire feudal host was here at John's summons. A white August sun burned down on spears and armour. Cartloads of supplies were rolling in through the castle gates in a steady stream, hauled by oxen, horses and men. The noise, the dust and the smell mingled to form a miasma. He rubbed the back of his neck with unease as he watched the activity and thought about the letter his father had consigned to the brazier at Framlingham. The words of treason had turned to flakes of ash, but that didn't mean they had never existed. All the fire did was change them into something else, and their residue remained.

A group of Welsh youths were playing camp ball and their shouts rang out as they chased each other about the ward, all tussling for possession of the ball of fleece-stuffed leather. The sport was a combination of speed, skill and all-out brawl. Hugh's gut surged as he contemplated joining them. As a youth he had excelled at the sport - still did, in fact, because he was fast and had kept his lithe physique, even if he was broader across the shoulders these days, although broader shoulders meant greater burdens than fighting over a ball.

Sitting with Jean and Ranulf in the packed great hall, Hugh dipped his spoon into the rich marrow and barley broth. It was spiced with pepper and, for those who enjoyed the sensation, the heat in the mouth was pleasant.

Richard was serving the high table in his capacity of royal squire as well as hostage and was going about his duties with serious aplomb, although the ever-present mischievous twinkle remained in his eyes. All the talk was of the coming campaign against the Welsh. The discussion of tactics was loud and jocular. The older, experienced soldiers were exchanging tales of previous campaigns in that country and how no Welshman would stand and fight. Their ploy was to melt away into their hills and the inevitable mist and rain and then strike out from behind, picking men off one by one.

Barons looked at each other and then away, as if holding eye contact for too long would reveal some dangerous knowledge or intention. Everyone knew what no one was saying. Hugh glanced at the King. John wore a smile on his face, but it was fixed and resembled more the start of a snarl. His stares were fixed and intense, as if trying to prise thoughts out of men's heads. Hugh paid studious attention to his dinner and hoped he did not look as guilty as he felt. Ranulf was doing the same. Jean D'Earley too concentrated on his food, and the only conversation between the men was of practical matters concerned with horsemanship.

John was holding out his hands for his dapifer to pour water over them, when a messenger arrived and was conducted up the hall by an usher. A letter was produced and John wiped his knife on a piece of bread and broke the seal. As he read the contents his lips compressed. He beckoned to Longespee and his mercenary captains, and abruptly abandoned his meal and left the room.

There was silence after they had gone and then someone gave an uneasy laugh and conversation began again, but it was ragged around the edges.

Hugh's appetite vanished and he pushed his bowl away. Richard came over carrying a flagon of wine and leaned to replenish their cups. 'The seal is of the King of Scots,' he told Hugh, Ranulf and Jean. 'Make of it what you will.'

Jean picked up his cup and turned it in his hand. 'It could mean a great deal, or it could mean nothing, but since he took Marc and D'Athee and my lord of Salisbury away with him, and didn't stay to finish his dinner, I would say that the news is important and he's not immediately keen to share it.'