The Shattered Rose (32 page)

As it was, without the king’s absolute protection, London was uncomfortable. The unruly mob had voiced their feelings, which was that King Henry should do away with Ranulph Flambard, and it would be good riddance to bad rubbish.

He did hope they were wrong.

He believed they were wrong, though he did not deceive himself that Henry looked upon him kindly. The king wouldn't dare move against a man of the Church without cause, however, and in time Henry would realize he needed Ranulph Flambard's skills.

Henry, however, was in the early days of his reign. He had not had time yet to assess his brother's successes and failures, or to detect who had been responsible for them. Nor had the king had time to realize just how much he needed the money Ranulph Flambard could obtain for him.

On the other hand, some of Ranulph's means of obtaining that money had been ... unusual. And Henry had promised to uphold the laws.

The bishop reached for the goblet of wine standing close by his right hand. Everything hung in the balance.

A servant slipped into the room and bowed.

"Yes?"

"Raymond of Lowick requests an audience, my lord bishop."

A possible weight in the balance.

"Send him in. And bring more wine and another goblet."

Sir Raymond stalked into the small chamber with a great excess of energy and dignity. He was not in armor, thank heaven, but his sword still threatened various objects as he moved. The servant presented the goblet of wine and was thanked curtly.

It was amazing, thought Flambard, how men of such minuscule importance thought themselves so grand.

"My lord bishop," said Lowick, "Galeran of Heywood and his household are in London."

"Are they indeed? That is hardly surprising."

Lowick stopped his restlessness and fixed a surprisingly knowing look on Ranulph. "Lord William of Brome is not with them. He was taken ill at Waltham."

Ranulph put aside his wine. "Indeed? That
is
interesting. Do we know what kind of illness?"

"No, my lord."

Flambard considered for a moment, then said, "You must ride to Waltham and discover just how ill Lord William is."

"But Jehanne and my child are here, only lightly protected at the house of Hugo the Vintner in Corser Street. Is this not a good time to seize them?"

Ranulph decided he must have been mistaken about that flash of intelligence. "Not at all. I have no jurisdiction here. Knowing where they are is good enough for now. I have already mentioned your case to the king and hope that he will order that my judgment be obeyed. He is not keen to offend the Church at this time. . . ."

With a knock, the servant intruded once again.

"What?"

"Begging your pardon, my lord, but a messenger comes from the king."

"Then send him in, man! Send him in!"

The messenger was a neatly made young clerk of the type Henry seemed to favor. "My lord bishop, I bring greetings from the king, who sends to inform you that tomorrow at terce a case will come before him that could hold interest for you."

"What case?" asked Ranulph, not letting a scrap of interest show, though Lowick, damn him, was flaring and sidling like a stallion scenting a mare.

"A matter raised by Lord Galeran of Heywood to do with his wife and his wife's child. You did mention this matter to his majesty, my lord."

If this young rapscallion was his servant, he'd whip him for impudence. Ranulph sipped his wine. "Ah, yes. I remember. A minor matter, but Lord Galeran was less than cooperative."

"The king invites you to attend the hearing and put forward any aspects of the case as you see fit."

"The king is most kind and just. Sir Raymond here has an interest, too, being the father of the child. Unless I hear to the contrary, I will bring him with me."

"I will report as much." The clerk bowed himself out.

"By Saint Michael, it has come!" declared Lowick, hand on sword hilt.

"And may well go in moments if the king is so minded," Ranulph snapped. "He's a man with a quiver full of bastards, so he may not look upon fornication and adultery seriously."

"You think we could lose, my lord?"

"Just in case, I have prepared another weapon."

"A weapon, my lord?"

"You are Jehanne of Heywood's lawful husband."

"No, I'm not."

Flambard pointed to a document on a side table. Lowick picked it up, but said, "I don't read." He made it a declaration of worthiness.

"Then put it down again," said Flambard with a sigh. "It is your betrothal document, duly signed by a number of witnesses."

"But I was never formally betrothed to Jehanne."

A profound desire to hit Lowick over the head with something astonished Flambard. The current tension must be rotting his brain. "It was Lord Fulk's intent, you say, and I have made that intent real. The document, Sir Raymond, changes everything. It means
you
can challenge Lord Galeran."

Lowick contemplated that. "But if I issue a wrongful challenge, God will not be on my side."

Flambard closed his eyes briefly. "You must look to the truth, not just what happened. Truly, you were promised Jehanne as your bride, weren't you?"

"Yes, but . . ."

"Does not that promise invalidate her later betrothal to Galeran?"

"Does it?"

"Yes," Flambard lied.

"Oh. So if their marriage is invalid . . . she is mine!"

"Quite. Now, we will not produce this document unless we need to, but it means we cannot lose. One way or another you will fight him and kill him, yes? For your lady and your child."

Lowick stood tall. "For my lady and my child!"

The volume of his declaration almost made Flambard's head ache, but he smiled. "However, it would be useful to know exactly what William of Brome is up to, and it's no great distance to Waltham. Get you there, sir, and discover what you can. If Lord William is malingering, that's another pennyweight on our side."

Once the knight had left, the bishop drained his goblet of wine, then sent Lucas to check on the house of Hugo the Vintner in Corser Street.

When the man returned, he had very interesting news.

Chapter 16

Galeran and Raoul collected their horses and worked their way back to Hugo's house, which took longer because they were moving against the flow of traffic. They stopped partway along at a tavern to eat and wash down the city dust.

It was a relief to arrive back at Corser Street, until Mary ran out, wringing her hands, her veil and circlet all askew. "Lord Galeran! They have all been carried off!"

"My wife? The babe? By whom? Lowick? Flambard?" He grabbed his horse's reins back from the man who was leading the animal away.

"It was the king's men!" Mary gasped. "They came with full authorization. There was nothing we could do!"

"The
king!"
Galeran's mind spun madly. Henry had heard Flambard's story the day before. Did this mean he was on the bishop's side? Was it time to flee?

"Where have they taken her?" he asked, gripping his sword hilt.

"St. Hilda’s, convent. It's off Aldersgate Street, not far from here." Mary gave quick instructions and Galeran's fears eased a little. A convent was a suitable place, as long as they didn't want to lock Jehanne up there forever.

He turned to leave the house, and Raoul stopped him. "Shall I come?"

"No. You'd better stay here."

"Take some men, at least. Don't forget the original plan."

Galeran turned back. "What?"

"The last time someone tried to seize Jehanne and the baby, your murder was part of it."

"But this time it's the king's men."

"But the game could be complex. Flambard might still know about this convent—the king may even have told him. He could still plan an ambush."

"In the middle of the city? I doubt it." Galeran's mind was on another track. "As soon as Henry knew I was at Westminster, he sent men to take Jehanne into custody. I don't like it. He's probably already decided what his judgment will be, God rot him."

Raoul gripped his arm. "Cool your tongue before you go in public, Galeran, and look to your own safety. Jehanne is not in any direct harm, but she needs you alive and well to defend her."

"She's in custody." Galeran twisted free. "What happens if Henry and the Church decide she should be punished?"

"You could never have stopped them."

"I'd have found a way. I might still." With that Galeran swept out into the street, judging that a man on foot would make better speed than a horse. Any escort could follow or not as they pleased.

* * * * *

St. Hilda's was a solid establishment covering many acres and surrounded by high wooden walls. An excellent prison, Galeran thought, but not impregnable. He was already considering ways to liberate his wife.

Behind the walls, Galeran could see the tops of some thatched roofs and a stone bell tower, presumably part of the convent's chapel. Nothing about the place was militant or defensive.

Of course, a religious house was protected by God and man, and anyone who invaded it would suffer dearly.

He tugged on the bell rope that hung by the heavy oak door, and a small peep door slid back.

"I am Galeran of Heywood, come to see my wife."

The little door slid closed and the large one immediately opened. Galeran's fears began to subside. The thin portress said, "You must speak to our mother superior, my lord," and led the way across a pleasant cloister garden full of herbs and flowers.

Galeran's heart eased even more. St. Hilda's was not a dungeon or a place of terror. Doubtless the king had felt it safer to have the cause of contention kept out of sight Perhaps it had even been an attempt to protect Jehanne and the baby from the Church.

Though she could be said to be in the hands of the Church . . .

The mother superior's office was stark—plain whitewashed walls, plain benches and tables, and for ornament, just one ivory crucifix. It spoke of virtue of the more severe kind. The mother superior was equally plain, with sallow skin and a mighty nose, but like the room, her plainness gave her a kind of majesty.

"Lord Galeran," she said, gesturing toward a bench.

He didn't sit. "I wish to speak to my wife."

She folded her hands neatly on her desk. "For what purpose?"

"To ensure that she is well, and content to be here."

"And if she isn't?"

"Then to remove her."

The woman's bushy brows rose, pushing up her pristine veil. "Against the king's orders, my lord? I am ordered to hold the Lady Jehanne here until all matters concerning her and her child are settled."

"Are you ordered to prevent me speaking to her?"

The woman considered him a moment. "No," she said at last. "Wait here a moment, my lord, and I will see if she wishes to receive you."

If she wishes . . .

Galeran stared at the closed door, wondering for the first time whether Jehanne was pleased to be here, away from all the stress of their tangled situation. He put his hands to his head. Old suspicions of her feelings for Lowick still hid in his brain, waiting to ambush him at the slightest provocation.

He couldn't think straight about any of this anymore, but he had to. Tomorrow he had to convince the king that it was right to let matters be, to leave Jehanne untouched and to leave Donata in their care.

The mother superior returned. "She will see you. By our rule, Lord Galeran, you may not touch each other."

I
understand." He followed her along one side of the roofed cloister-walk to a door, which she opened to let him into a tiny room. A small high window let in little light, and it took him a moment to see a narrow bed, a bench, and a prie-dieu before a wooden cross.

This was no guest room. This was a nun's cell. Jehanne stood there alone. Where were Aline and the baby?

"Are you all right?" he asked, silently cursing the fact that the mother superior had entered the room with him. If not for that, he would have held her, rule or not.

"Yes, of course. It was a bit of a shock. . . ."

"I'm sure it was. The king is to hear our matter tomorrow morning, so this shouldn't be for long."

"This is an excellent place to pray about it."

"I suppose it is." Something was wrong. This wooden calm was very unlike Jehanne. "Where are Donata and Aline?"

"In another room. They bring the baby for feeding. There's no problem, Galeran. Privacy gives me a chance to meditate and pray."

He didn't believe her, and yet he could see no problem other than the fact that she was a prisoner, and that would only be for another day.

Unless the king ordered her kept here for life.

Galeran would burn the place down before he'd permit that.

He put on a smile. "Don't worry. We can probably be on our way home tomorrow."

And she smiled back, a smile that traveled into her eyes. "Have pity! Having come so far, perhaps we can stay a day or two and enjoy the celebrations."

"If you wish, then we will." Galeran blew her a kiss and turned to leave, but she spoke again.

"When is the case to be heard?"

"At terce."

"Will I be able to attend?"

"What do you have to say that I cannot?"

"There might be something. . . ."

Galeran knew his Jehanne. She was keeping something from him. But he also knew she couldn't easily be made to tell it, especially with the nun as witness. He rather feared that Jehanne's new resolution to be a good, quiet woman and let the men handle things was proving hard to hold by. That could be disastrous. Galeran hoped to convince Henry that Jehanne had sinned out of weakness, overwhelmed by her loss.

"Jehanne," he said with heavy meaning, "leave this in my hands. I won't let harm come to you or the child. I promise it."

She frowned, almost as if in pain. "Of course I trust you, but ... Oh, I know you will do what is right."

"Just pray, Jehanne," he said, "and wait patiently until tomorrow."

When he left, the mother superior turned a heavy key in the lock.

"That hardly seems necessary, Mother."

"I am following my orders, Lord Galeran. You cannot deny that your wife has sinned. Such little pains as she is now suffering will help save her soul, perhaps help save you all."