The Last Arrow RH3 (20 page)

"All this," Richard said grimly, "assuming they still think her to be innocent, virtuous, and beautiful."

"She is all those things and more," Robin insisted, his face flooding with resentment. "She is brave and loyal and spirited. Circumstances may have forced her to live the life of an exile, but by God, she is still the Pearl of Brittany, rightful Queen of England!" Richard raised his hands in a gesture of apology. "I only meant—"

"I know what you meant. You meant that if the barons knew how her uncle had disfigured her, how he had scorched out her eyes to prevent her from ever being a real threat to his throne, they would no more consider making her queen than they would a leper."

"As I recall, it was all you could do at the time to keep Eduard from returning the favor," Alaric said grimly. "Small comfort to know Lackland often wakens screaming at night, clawing at his eyes, swearing someone has stabbed them with red-hot pokers."

"The only comfort would come if I had the pokers in my hand and his eyes at my feet. But we waste time contemplating the fanciful. The message comes to us already three weeks old. If we leave within the hour, it cannot be too soon."

"It is always too soon if you act in haste," Will cautioned. "We have named only two who could have been responsible for Henry's capture; there is a third to consider before we polish our armor and ride off in search of dragons to slay."

The Wolf looked dubious. "An errant huntsman out for the reward? I would credit Henry with more sense than to allow such a thing to happen."

"I was not thinking of a huntsman."

Lord Randwulf frowned and exchanged a glance with Alaric, who was no less forwarned of what his son was about to say. "Go on."

"I am loath to put forth the notion, my lord, but what if the earl marshal himself is behind it? It could be he was worried the outlaws were becoming too bold in the forests and would eventually draw the eye of the king. Or it could be he began to worry Henry might seek out Robert FitzWalter of his own accord and join forces against Lackland. In the last communication Dafydd ap Iowerth brought us, the earl sounded angry enough. And he has already vowed to all who would think of rising against the king that he will stand in defense of the throne, his sword in hand, though he be the only one against ten thousand."

"The old bastard," said Lord Randwulf, not altogether unkindly. "He is well into his eighth decade—must he always stand with his back against the wall?"

The gentle sarcasm won a few smiles from around the table, for William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke, was undisputably the greatest soldier, the most honored knight and respected statesman alive. He had served three kings— Henry II, Richard, and John—and had participated in every major battle and war since earning his spurs over sixty years ago. He was a true legend in the jousting fields, having won over four hundred single-combat matches, a feat few knights could boast of matching by half.

Lord Randwulf was one of those few. He and the Marshal had been friends and friendly rivals for the past forty years.

"I sincerely did not think his tolerance for Softsword's greed would last this long."

"It is not his love for the king speaking with such eloquent passion," Alaric said. "It is his love of honor. He gave his oath to protect the throne—"

"With no thought to whose arse might straddle it," Sparrow injected on a huff of breath.

"It was William Marshal, more than anyone else," Alaric reminded them, barely acknowledging the interruption,

"who swayed the barons in favor of John over Arthur of Brittany all those years ago. To allow those same barons to usurp the king now, regardless of their justifications, regardless if he agrees or disagrees the tyranny must end, would require the breaking of every oath he holds sacred, the casting aside of every shred of honor he ever possessed. This he will not do, and the other barons respect him for it even though they sit and curse his integrity."

"Yes, but would that integrity extend to include killing his own nephew?"

"I believe it would," Alaric answered softly. "With tears streaming down his face, to be sure, but I believe he would order Henry's death if it was necessary to safeguard the throne."

"Before or after he determined the whereabouts of Eleanor of Brittany?"

"He has always been adamant up to now about remaining in ignorance believing, I warrant, that if he did not know where the princess was, he would not have to acknowledge his part in saving her from the executioner's blade eleven years ago. He may need the information now, however," Alaric added quietly, "if only to produce her in front of the world and show why she may never be considered for the role of queen."

"He would not do that!" Robin cried, shocked by the very notion. "He could not!"

"Then tell me what he would do," Alaric countered smoothly. "What would he do to remove the potential threat of a legitimate claimant to the throne—kill her?"

Robin cursed under his breath, and it was the Wolf who answered.

"No. Not if he could not stand by and allow it to happen when he came here himself and appealed to Eduard to steal her out of the king's prison."

Alaric agreed with a nod. "He would not kill her, but he might do something that would prompt Eduard to go to her rescue again, knowing that this time she would have no choice but to come home to Brittany."

"He would remove her protector," Richard put forth.

"Just so."

"Our little Pearl," Sparrow grumbled, pacing back and forth in front of the hearth. "Think you she would have played the pawn enough already. I am with Robin. We can leave ere this hour is over, put wings to the horses' feet and be on a ship in under three days time. Fly to Nottingham. Skewer Gisbourne through the heart. Rescue the Pearl and bring her back home where she belongs." He snapped his pudgy fingers in a gesture of finality. "A fortnight for our trouble, no more."

"Skewer Gisbourne?" Alaric inquired mildly.

"He vexes me."

"An adequate enough reason, by any measure," the Wolf murmured. "Yet you do not seem happy with this solution, my old friend. Is there more?"

"You know what I know," Alaric replied, shrugging.

Lord Randwulf's slate-gray eyes did not waver. "Indeed. And you have had twelve extra hours to contemplate our course from every approach. The plight of a kingdom could have been decided in that time."

"You give me too much credit. A small duchy, perhaps."

"Then tell me what has you frowning."

Alaric took a deep breath. "We have the ring, we know who sent it. We have the message, we know who sent that as well. We do not know who has Henry or if he has revealed the whereabouts yet of the princess."

"He would never reveal it," Robin insisted. "They could peel the flesh from his body strip by strip and he would not betray her."

"Pain is a formidable tool."

"So is love, and Lord Henry loves Eleanor. He would not betray her."

"Not intentionally, no. But the very fact he has remained in Nottingham all these years living off the land like a common peasant when he could have come here with his sister and lived a life of comfort and ease ... it would give more than one man pause to ask the question why."

"If they discovered who he was," Robin pointed out. "According to Marienne, he has become so adept at changing his appearance, there are times he comes right up beside her disguised as a beggar or a cripple and she feels enough pity to drop an aim in his cup. I grant you, Guy de Gisbourne might know him if they stood shoulder to shoulder together in a room and Henry was stripped of all subterfuge, but otherelse, he would have no reason to doubt the assassin he sent here ten years ago was anything but successful. Thanks to Dafydd ap Iowerth suffering to take an arrow in his shoulder, both the king and Gisbourne believe Henry de Clare is dead. If this was not the case, if the ruse was discovered, we would have been apprised long before now."

"Which leaves us with FitzWalter and his barons, or the Earl of Pembroke," the Wolf mused.

Alaric pursed his lips. "If FitzWalter had Lord Henry, either as a guest or a prisoner, he would not be able to keep it secret for long."

"And the earl?"

"If it is William Marshal's doing, he is putting you in a more unconscionable position than I would have thought him capable, regardless of his own vows and oaths."

"Explain."

"You have pledged your sword to Philip of France. If you—or any of your sons—are seen now to rush to the aid of a claimant to the English throne, you risk not only a charge of treason, but the loss of your lands, your titles, your wealth ... even your life." "I have risked all before."

"I know you have. And so does he. That is why I do not think he would deliberately press you again. Moreover, there is Marienne. She may be base-born, but she is his daughter and I do not believe he would cast her to the devil, regardless of his vows."

Sparrow splayed his fingers in a gesture of disgust. "You argue against yourself! Not this one but that one, not that one but this one. My head aches with all this hither thither. Which one is it?"

Alaric did not answer the mercurial seneschal at once, but turned and walked to the fireplace. He stood bathed in the yellow glare for a full minute before sharing his thoughts aloud. "If it is not the earl, then he will be as concerned as we are, for his part in concealing her all these years would be sure to come out if she was taken. At the same time, his web of spies is nearly as broad and sticky as the king's; if he does not have Henry, he might well know who does.

When is Dafydd due back in Normandy?"

"He was just here, not a sennight ago," Robin said. "He will not return for another three weeks, at least."

"If the earl knows something, he will send someone we trust; he will send the information back with Dafydd ap Iowerth."

Robin looked aghast at his father. "Surely you are not going to suggest we wait three more weeks!"

"I doubt you will have to wait three more days," Alaric said, turning his head. "The Marshal knows you will be attending the tournament at Gaillard. If he has information, he will arrange to pass it to you their."

"You think"—Robin nearly choked on the idea—"I would attend a tournament when then- we lives in danger?"

"I think you have no choice," Will said quietly. "Half of Christendom will be attending, including half the spies in the employ of both the French and English kings. The other half will be doing what they normally do, watching the ports and noting who crosses from one side of the Channel to the other, watching certain lords and nobles to see where they go, who they meet, which way their loyalties might call them if and when Philip decides to invade England in force."

Alaric applauded his son's insight. "Should the vaunted champion from Amboise not show up at Gaillard to defend his title, should the Wardieu brothers not participate in a melee that has been the talk of two provinces for several months, and should the lot of them be seen boarding a ship bound for England ...?"

"We would have more leeches on our heels than leaves on a tree," Sparrow predicted glumly.

"There is, ah, one other small thing," Will ventured hesitantly. "Assuming we still attend the tourney, I do not think Robin should participate in anything other than the melee."

"Not participate?" Robin whirled around. "What further madness is this?"

"Normally, it would not warrant caution, for few are foolish enough to offer up a challenge anyway, but ... if there is the smallest possibility of injury, I think it must be avoided at all costs."

"I have never declined a challenge yet out of fear of injury and am not about to do so now," Robin declared.

"Furthermore, in my present mood, I would gladly take all comers and turn them into kindling!"

"What if that same mood blinds you and you make an inadvertent slip? What if there is someone present at Gaillard who could match you through twenty-three courses and be determined to oust you on the twenty-fourth?"

"Griffyn Renaud." Dag whistled softly under his breath. "With the timing of the devil himself."

"Did you not just argue that I must attend the tourney to waylay suspicions?" Robin reminded them all icily. "Now you want me to play the coward?"

"You can claim a legitimate injury," Will said softly. "You can claim the broken ribs and let a surgeon examine you beforehand if there is any question of courage."

"Ribs?" Sparrow's ears perked. "What broken ribs?"

"Yesterday in the forest," Will explained over Robin's curses. "When the boar cornered him—"

Sparrow was by Robin's side before Will finished speaking, unfastening belts and lifting tunic hems before he could be stopped. The ribs were bound in strips of cloth but they fell by the wayside and when the entire midsection was exposed in all its black-and-blue splendor, the little man gave out a cry and clutched a fist to his heart.

"When were you planning to own to this?" he demanded. "When the bone pierced through the skin?"

"The ribs are not broken," Robin argued. "Merely bruised. I scarcely feel it now and, in a sennight, will likely not even remember the mark is there."

Sparrow glared and, without warning, jabbed a finger into the bluest part of the bruise. Robin yelped and doubled over with the pain, the color draining from his face for the few seconds it took to recover and shove Sparrow's hands away.

"A single blow from a lance, aimed true," said Will, "would not only finish the job the boar began, but end all possibility of your being any use to the princess and Marienne."

"Perhaps we could appeal to Renaud," Dag suggested. "He seems a likable enough fellow."

"When you are dicing over whores, perhaps," Will agreed. "But he has not come all the way from Burgundy to simply sit in the bowers and watch the spectacle. And even if we could get him to agree, there is the other, the rumor we have heard that the Prince of Darkness has been invited to attend as Prince Louis's champion."

"Perhaps the two will challenge each other and solve the problem for us," Richard mused, still prickly over the business with Tansy.

"We cannot count on anyone outside of this room solving any of our problems," the Wolf stated flatly. "I agree with Will, Robin. You will have to restrict yourself to the melee, where there will be others there to watch your back."