Juliana Garnett (33 page)

“I think we bored him.”

“No doubt.” Annice snared Rolf’s attention by the simple expedient of turning his face toward her with a finger against his jaw. His eyes registered faint surprise, and she smiled. “Milord, if I displease you in some manner, tell me. But do not think I will scurry to do your bidding as if a common serf. I am your wife. I belong to you, but so also do you belong to me. I am respected here because I am your wife, and because I command respect. I am not an enchantress, nor a sorceress, nor a witch. I am a woman. I have but simple means to gain my ends.” She paused to take a deep breath, then said, “All I do, I do because of you. I share my burdens with you, and I expect you to share yours with me. I want to help you retrieve your son. If I can do even a little, you should allow me that much. Would you not battle for me and my interests?”

“Yea.” Rolf’s smile was crooked. “I would have gone to battle for your lands before now, if not for the king’s denial. It would be treason if I were to—”

“Rolf, oh, sweet lord, I did not mean …” Annice faltered to a halt and stared at him helplessly. He had missed the point of her words, but without saying it plainly, she could not make him understand that she was willing to share the burden of his son’s loss. How did she tell him that she had suffered such losses also, and that he was no less of a man if he eased his pain by talking to her of it? Her dower lands meant much less to her than his son did to him, though in truth, she did want to regain what was rightfully hers. But they were of far less worth than one small boy, and she would never equate the two.

When Rolf pulled her to him, arms folding around her, she rested her face against his broad chest. His heartbeat was strong and steady beneath her cheek. She closed her eyes, consumed with fear for him. He would not oppose John, not even for that which he most desired. Yet if he would not defy the king, she had no hesitation about doing
so. She had sworn no oath. There were ways to accomplish her ends that had nothing to do with treason. Or with sorcery. She smiled against his velvet tunic. Yea, she knew a method that might regain all and confound Thurston of Seabrook and King John at the same time. But it would take infinite planning and all her courage to manage it.

O
ctober winds blew strong around Dragonwyck’s turrets. An uneasy peace lay on the land, after a summer of strife. When the days grew shorter, easing into the chill winds of autumn, corn and wheat were gathered and meat salted for the approaching winter. Now that John was back in England, all waited uneasily for his next move.

In July, John had suffered humiliation and a setback in his struggle to defeat King Philip. Though John’s siege of La Roche-au-Moine was on the verge of success, Philip’s son Louis advanced from Chinon to relieve the garrison. With English troops swollen in number by mercenaries and newly conquered barons from Poitou and Anjou, John was poised and ready to fall upon Louis. The prince issued a public challenge, which John eagerly accepted, having the greater number of forces. Then treachery fell upon the English in the form of the Poiteven barons, who refused to fight against their overlord’s son.

Instead of attempting to reason with the Poiteven barons, John burst into an insulting tirade, and the barons deserted.
The king was forced into retreat, fearing Prince Louis on one side, risking defeat if he lingered in Anjou. From La Rochelle a week later, John wrote to England and asked that all who had not accompanied him over the sea come to his aid, unless their presence at home was especially required by his representatives in government. He added the inducement with all its sinister undertones, “And if any one of you should think that we have been displeased with him, his surest way to set that matter right is by coming at our call.”

Even Rolf could not ignore that underlying threat. He prepared to rejoin the king, calling vassals and knights still in England to arms. Yet before he could complete the muster of his men, word came that the king’s forces had been completely routed at the bridge of Bouvines on Sunday, July 27. John’s plans were shattered in a single stroke. To the consternation of his loyal barons, John refused to admit total defeat. Ever eager to defeat Philip, the king ordered three hundred Welshmen to join him over the sea before the end of August.

Then the pope interceded with a plea for peace between the warring kings, threatening ecclesiastical censures. Rolf delayed his departure, certain that John would now retreat. In mid-September, a truce was signed by Philip and John, proposed to last for five years from the following Easter, of 1215. In mid-October, John returned to England, smarting from defeat.

Now, to add to already overburdened tax collectors, John added new fines to pay the cost of the war. Loyal and rebel barons alike groaned under this new burden. Men spoke openly of rebellion, and the realm seethed with civil unrest.

“If not for those treacherous Poitevens,” Sir Guy muttered to Rolf as they lingered in the hall after the evening meal, “western France would now belong to John. Instead, our troops came home beaten by the French. And to what reward? A new scutage.”

“Yea, though ’tis true he is owed the fees.” Rolf frowned into the fire. “Three marks is a lot to pay—he must be maddened by his defeat to risk open rebellion.”

Guy sat forward, his gaze fixed on Rolf. “Do you think there will be open war now?”

After a moments delay Rolf said slowly, “Not yet. Most have grown too wary, and to that end I credit Stephen Langton’s fine hand. Now the archbishop has called a meeting of the barons.” He lifted his gaze to meet Guy’s stare. “ ’Tis to be held the first week of next month at St. Edmunds abbey. The pretext is to discuss this new scutage. And to pray.”

The fire popped and crackled, an ember flying out to land at Guy’s feet. Idly, he pushed it back toward the hearth with the toe of his boot. “And the real reason? What other things will be discussed, do you think?”

“Of that, Guy,” Rolf said heavily, “I mean to find out.”

“Do you go, milord?”

“Yea.” Rolf dragged a hand over his beard. “I like what I have heard about this charter Langton has dredged up from old kings. It might be the saving of the realm if John should be persuaded to sign this charter.”

“And if he does not?”

“I dread to think.” Rolf turned to look into the leaping flames. “All of England will be consumed by the conflagration that will be inevitable.…”

Leaving Annice in the capable hands of Gareth of Kesteven as temporary castellan of Dragonwyck, Rolf also left behind most of his men as a deterrent should Thurston learn of his absence. He took Sir Guy and a small body of men-at-arms with him to Bury St. Edmunds. He was greeted there enthusiastically by open rebels hoping to draw him to their cause, but none publicly questioned which side he would choose. There were many others there like him, cautious and curious. Even his brother Geoffrey was present, having traveled from his lands in Cheshire to the meeting. They met gravely, under the circumstances both wary of the other’s intent. All listened attentively to the archbishop’s plan, then left quietly and separately to consider what they’d heard.

On the forty-mile journey back to Dragonwyck, Rolf
pondered aloud his brothers presence there, discussing it with Guy as they sat close by the campfire that night.

“ ’Tis said that some of Geoffrey’s lands have been deseisened of late by the king. He protested but recovered only partially.”

“Why were they taken?” Guy asked. He’d met Geoffrey of Hawkhurst before, and liked him. He was open and brash, more prone to levity than his younger brother, but with the same leonine look about him.

“Most like,” Rolf said dryly, “because Geoffrey did not stop to think before he spoke out against the sheriff. He is quick of temper and action, only later suffering the outcome with regret.”

Guy grinned. “It must be a family trait.”

Snorting, Rolf muttered, “At least I do not have cause to regret losing my lands because my tongue was too quick. If anything, I have been much too temperate of late. I should have done as Geoffrey would have done and razed Stoneham to the ground when first Thurston took my son from me.”

Guy was quiet for a moment, pondering the truth in that statement. Then he sought to change the subject, seeking to draw Rolf’s mind from his own problems to the one facing all of them.

“Do you think the king will seriously consider the charter?” he asked as he huddled deep into his mantle and held his hands out to the blaze. Wind howled like demons in the trees surrounding them, making the fire dance and the men-at-arms shift uneasily.

Rolf stared into the yellow-and-orange flames as if they held the answer, then shrugged. “If the barons present the charter to the king calmly, he will at least read it without tearing it to shreds first.”

“That is no answer,” Guy complained with a sigh.

Rolf smiled slightly. “Nay, but ’tis the only reply I can give at this moment.”

“Do you not have your own opinion?”

“Yea,” he said after a moment, “but it may not be what you wish to hear.”

Guy shivered, and not from the cold. His leg ached from
the raw weather they endured, throbbing where he had been wounded. He shifted his position, easing his still tender leg to a more comfortable posture while he studied Rolf.

“Tell me,” he persisted.

Rolf’s gaze shifted from his contemplation of the fire to his knight, and Guy had the uneasy feeling that his lord still regarded him with mistrust. There was constraint between them now, where once there had been none.

“I think there were barons present at this meeting who
want
rebellion and strife—those who hope the king will not calmly regard this charter but fly into one of his Angevin rages and provoke the few faithful barons he has left.”

Guy lapsed into thoughtful silence. He feared there was much truth in what Rolf said. He stared beyond his liege to the shadows in the night, the huge gnarled oaks with winter-bare branches thrust starkly into the sky. His breath formed frost clouds. Rain was in the air. By morn it would be upon them, flooding the roads and slowing their return home. It would be a miserable ride.

But at the end of their journey would be Dragonwyck, with its steep stone towers and battlements gnashing like dragon teeth against the sky, promising sanctuary and welcome to weary men. Lady Annice would greet them in the bailey upon their return, her beautiful face concerned for their safety, eyes lighting when she saw Rolf.

Did Rolf even know what a rare treasure he held in his grasp? Never had Guy seen his lord betray by word or gesture any love toward his lady, though there were moments when his gaze rested upon her with obvious desire, and he did not mistreat her.

Thinking to remark in some fashion upon the lady, but not wishing to arouse Rolf’s suspicions about his feelings for Annice, Guy said casually after a moment, “Has the king replied to your petition to him against Seabrook?”

“Nay.” Rolf tossed another stick into the fire, scowling. “Nor has he replied to my appeal for the transferral of Annice’s lands to me, as set out in the marriage contract. Thurston refuses to open the gates to any of her keeps, and I am constrained against assault until John gives permission.” Another stick landed in the fire, this one thrown with
enough force to send up a shower of sparks. Rolf looked up at Guy. “My last petition stated my intention to lay siege and take possession, as is my right.”

Guy stared at him. The fire cast light and shadow over his face in wavering patterns. “And did the king respond to that?” he asked when Rolf said nothing else.

“Yea. He forbid it.” Rolf rose to his feet, staring into the dark shadows beyond the fire. “But I intend to ride upon Chesterton.”

“Chesterton … milord, that is the strongest of the Beauchamp fortresses.”

“Yea, and sworn by law and king to my lady. Once Chesterton falls, the others will hear of our strength and yield more easily.”

Aghast at the implications, Guy floundered for words. To ride against a keep the king had expressly forbidden his sworn baron to assault—’twould be almost open treason. Did Rolf not realize that? Or was he so wearied of waiting for John to act that he did not care?

Guy opened his mouth to attempt to reason with his lord. Then he realized that Rolf was studying him closely from the folds of the hood, his face shielded.

“You do not approve of my decision, Sir Guy? Or do you have a better plan, mayhap, that will retrieve my son and heir and my lady’s dower lands? If so, speak. I would hear it. I welcome any words of wisdom that might accomplish what I have not.”

There was, of course, nothing Guy could suggest. Everything that could be conceived of had already been tried. Gentle persuasion, official petitions, even bribes.

Guy shook his head slowly. “Nay, lord. I know of nothing you can do.”

Annice gave her escort an impatient glance. “Do you think we ride for pleasure?” she snapped. “Must you tarry?”

Rain misted the air and dampened his cloak as Gowain gave a mournful shake of his head. “Nay, milady. I know well this is no pleasure ride. I shall lose my head for this,”
he added in a gloomy mumble. “The Dragon will ne’er believe I did not want to go.”