Archangel (42 page)

Chapter Twenty Four

  “Bastards!” Julian screamed. “There is no doubt in my mind that de Lohr took my wife. There could be no other explanation!”

The Sheriff of Ealing, Lord Bardwell, stood just inside the door of Julian’s lavish apartments at the Tower of London.  He had come to deliver the news that several of Baron Buckland’s men had been massacred out on Ealing Road, the main drive from Oxford to London.  They had found eight men in total, all with their throat’s slit, men bearing the insignia of Baron Buckland. 

So they had come to London to seek Buckland because one of the sheriff’s men had heard that Buckland was staying at the tower.  The man was a fixture around London and a known companion of the queen, so the sheriff and his men had proceeded to the Tower to let the baron know of his misfortune.  The baron, a wily man with a bad smell about him, had exploded.

“My lord, I saw nothing that would indicate the de Lohrs had anything to do with the murder of your men,” the sheriff explained.  “Your men were set upon by bandits.  Their money and anything else of value was missing and the horses gone.”

Julian went mad. He began kicking over chairs and trying to wrest legs off tables.  The sheriff stood back, well out of the way, as Julian began hurling things towards the hearth.  Things were shattering everywhere.

“Where is my wife?” Julian howled.

“We found no trace of a woman, my lord.”

Julian roared. “But she was with them,” he screamed, staggering to a table near the door and pulling a small piece of vellum off the surface.  “This is the missive they sent to me telling me that they had found my wife and were bringing her to London.”

The sheriff remained stoic in the face of the vellum being shaken under his nose. “As I said, my lord, there was no trace of any woman. If she was with them, the bandits must have carried her off.”

Julian didn’t agree with that assessment. He waved the vellum in the man’s face a few more times before letting it fall to the ground. “One of my men arrived earlier today with this missive. It clearly says that my wife was at Trelystan and that my men are bringing her to London. And now you tell me that the entire escort has been murdered and there is no sign of my wife?”

“Nay, my lord.”

Julian exploded again, kicking over a table that held a lit taper on it.  As it fell to the floor and ignited the rushes that were nearby, the sheriff watched the fire gain steam with some concern as Julian continued to rant.  Finally, the sheriff moved to the rushes and stamped out the fire, thinking perhaps that it was time for him to leave. He had delivered his message, apparently to a madman, and was eager to be gone.

“He has taken her,” Julian seethed. “There is a conspiracy with de Lohr and de Lara to keep my wife from me. I will not have it, do you hear? I will not have it!”

The sheriff was inching back towards the door, silently motioning for his men to quit the chamber.  He was very near the door as he spoke.

“Perhaps you should ask the Earl of Hereford personally,” he suggested. “The man came through Ealing earlier tonight and brought an entire army with him.  Perhaps he took her.”

Julian froze mid-rant. “He is here with an army?”

The sheriff nodded.  “I saw him myself, my lord.”

Julian stared at the man a moment before resuming his madness full-bore.  He screamed and fell to his knees, shaking his fists at the sky.

“That is
my
army,” he howled. “It is the army for Isabella, for her lands in France.  Now he will not give me the manpower I requested because of his stupid brother and…
arrrrrrrggggggggg
!”

He was off on a serious tangent, tearing in to the fine cushions that lined an oak bench and ripping them apart with his bare hands.  The sheriff watched him for a few moments before quitting the room.  The man was quite mad and he did not want to fall victim to his violence.

Unaware the sheriff had left until he had ripped all of the pillows to shreds, Julian eventually noticed he was alone in the sumptuous chamber.  Panting, exhausted, he began to think of all of the things that had gone wrong for him, starting when he had met with Baron Thornden at Dunster those months ago.  The day that Gart Forbes had arrived, everything had gone awry.

It was still going awry.  Isabella no longer favored him and he knew it was only a matter of time before he was kicked out of his Tower apartments and out of favor completely.  His alliance with the de Lohr brothers had collapsed thanks to Gart Forbes’ interference.  Although he could not link Gart to his wife’s presence at Trelystan Castle, he was sure that Forbes had something to do with it as well.  The man had invaded his life and stolen his wife, picking away at the very fabric of his existence piece by piece.   Julian had to do something before it was gone completely. He had to do something before Forbes destroyed him.

Going to Bellham had not accomplished anything. In fact, it had only made things worse.  Now the Earl of Hereford was here, no doubt, being fed lies by his brother and Forbes.  Julian knew he could no longer count on the Earl’s support.  But the fact that Julian had promised Isabella manpower for her war in France was nil.  If he was out of favor, there were others to provide armies and money to her.  She didn’t need him any longer.

Gasping, sick, Julian staggered over to the pitcher of wine against the far wall, a lovely pitcher in a pewter container, and drank heavily from the pitcher’s rim.  Red wine poured down his neck and he sloppily wiped it away.  He had to think and think hard on how to retrieve his wife from the de Lohrs and how to beat them at their own game.

That was the trouble – the de Lohrs were one of the most powerful families in England. No one was stronger than they were, except for the king, but he knew that John would never come to his aid. Since Julian had been sleeping with the man’s wife, the king had no great love or loyalty towards him. So the matter was in finding someone stronger than the de Lohrs, someone who could force them to turn over Emberley.  The strongest man, or strongest army, in all of England would be needed to convince them.

Outside, the church bells rang, signaling the onset of Matins, or pre-dawn prayers.  Julian heard the bells, turning in the direction of the sound as a thought came over him.  Perhaps he didn’t need the strongest man or strongest army to overcome the de Lohrs. Perhaps all he needed was a single man with the army of God behind him, someone who could envoke the holy law of the Church, the law that all men bowed to.  Even the de Lohrs would have to obey.

As the bells continued to ring, Julian smiled.  Finally, he had his answer.

***

Jonas couldn’t decide if he was perturbed or exhausted. Perhaps a little of both.  He drank heavily of the wine that was given to him, wiping his mouth on his rough woolen sleeve.

The low-ceilinged solar was dark but for the fire in the hearth, a forboding place at the moment. David stood a few feet from Jonas, arms folded over his chest and a concerned expression on his face. He hadn’t said a word since taking the priest into the solar and producing a hefty quantity of wine for the man. It seemed as if he needed the fortification. As he stood there and watched him, Christopher entered the solar and quietly shut the door.

“Forbes will be here directly,” he told them both.   Then he looked at the priest. “What is this about?”

Jonas gazed up at the earl, a man who was well-known throughout England.  He was something of a legend, even at his young age.  After a moment, the priest sighed heavily and set his chalice of wine on the table.

“I would presume you know what your brother and Gart asked of me,” he said.

Christopher cocked an eyebrow. “I do,” he crossed his arms, passing a glance at David.  The priest’s role in Forbes’ situation has brought the most heat from Christopher. “I cannot say that I agree with what was asked of you. They were wrong to manipulate you into such a position.”

Jonas waved him off. “My lord, surely there have been times in your life when you have bent the rules to your own satisfaction or done something that perhaps you should not have simply because it was the right thing to do.” He took another drink of wine. “This is one of those times.”

Christopher pursed his lips and shook his head, hanging it in deep thought as he stared at the ground.  He wasn’t sure what more he could say to that, mostly because he had, in fact, done things in his life that he should not have done simply because he believed they were the right things to do. He didn’t want to get into a lengthy discussion about it.

As he stood there in contemplative silence, the door to the solar opened again and Gart appeared.  The knight looked rather anxious, unusual for the normally calm man, as he stepped inside and closed the door.  He faced the priest expectantly.

“I was told you wanted to speak with me,” he said quietly.

Jonas looked at the knight, suddenly feeling a great deal of sorrow for the man.  He finally grunted and ran his fingers through his dark hair, feeling the stubble on the bald spot at the top of his scalp.  He did not delay in what he had to tell him.

“The Queen came to confession today,” he said, lowering his voice. “I knew she would come because it is the ending of a holy holiday and she always comes immediately after the cessation of a holiday. It would seem she always has a great deal to confess.  I sat in the confessionals for six hours waiting for her to come and when she finally did, she… well, suffice it to say that she did mention a man she had relations with.  When I asked his name, she did not say Julian de Moyon.  It would seem that our queen has a new lover.”

He stopped abruptly and Gart lifted his eyebrows, bading the man to continue. “And? What happened? Did you not speak of de Moyon at all?”

Jonas shook his head. “That is what I am trying to tell you,” he said. “I cannot tell her to convince Buckland to divorce his wife in penance for their affair because she is apparently no longer giving her affections to the man. To bring up his name on my own would have appeared suspicious. I was unable to make the suggestion at all.”

Gart stared at him. “But you said that Buckland comes to you for confession also. You can suggest it to him directly.”

Jonas waved him off, weary and disheartened. “He only comes with Isabella and he was not with her today. I doubt he will come on his own. He never has before.”

Gart could see that the priest felt they were at an impasse on their plan.  He struggled not to become agitated, knowing that would only cause problems. These people were trying to help him and he knew it. After a moment of staring blankly at the priest, he simply turned away and paced into the dark shadows of the room.

“There must be some way to speak with him,” he finally said, looking like a phantom in the darkened corner of the room. “He must go to confession somewhere. “

“I would not ask of a fellow priest what you have asked of me,” Jonas said in a low voice. “Buckland must come to me or this plan will not come to fruition. I will not pull anyone else down into this quagmire of deceit and manipulation you are breeding.”

It was a struggle for Gart not to snap at the man, but he did stiffen, a precursor to the
sach
rage that often filled him.  As he turned away, laboring for words that would not sound aggressive or angry, there was a knock at the solar door.  Christopher was standing the closest and he opened the panel.

Emberley stood in the dim light of the hall, dressed in a ravishing scarlet surcoat that Emilie had loaned her.  Her luscious blond hair was plaited into a lovely braid that draped over one shoulder and, in truth, she looked radiant and beautiful, even in the dead of night.  She smiled timidly at the Christopher when their eyes met.

“Gart asked me to come, my lord,” she said softly. “I hope I am not interrupting.”

Gart was already moving for the door when he heard her voice as Christopher opened the panel wider to invite her in.

“Not at all, my lady,” Christopher said. “We welcome your company.”