The Shattered Rose (42 page)

Henry showed no reaction, and turned to Lowick. "Sir Raymond, by your account you could lay claim to the right to punish the Lady Jehanne for her seduction of you, to the peril of your immortal soul. Would you claim such a right?"

Lowick flushed. "Nay, sire! I have no wish to see Jehanne hurt in any way. When I left Heywood, I begged her to accompany me to a safe haven. I wanted to save her from just such a punishment. I have only ever wanted to protect her and my child."

And that, thought Galeran with surprise, was probably the truth, allowing for the fact that Lowick desperately wanted Heywood too.

Henry turned last to Flambard. "My lord bishop, what is your view of this?"

The bishop's eyes flickered uncertainly for a moment. "I gave judgment, my liege, and the Lady Jehanne deliberately evaded it."

"So you feel she deserves to be whipped for that evasion?"

Again Flambard's eyes searched the room as if seeking missing information. Galeran glanced at FitzRoger, wondering what news he had brought to start this new line of questions.

"Well, my lord bishop?" the king prompted.

"Yes, sire. Apart from her sin of adultery, the lady has demonstrated that she is willful and eaten by pride. She needs physical penance to help her see the error of her ways so that she may find salvation. If she could but be brought to submit herself to it."

Henry smiled. "But she has submitted to correction, and willingly. Hasn't she?"

"Willingly?" Flambard’s alarmed query was drowned by Galeran's "What correction?"

His father threw out an arm to block him, and Raoul clamped a hand on his shoulder, so that with difficulty he was kept in his seat.

"Lord FitzRoger has something to report," said Henry.

The king's champion stepped forward. "By his majesty's orders, the Lady Jehanne, her cousin, her babe, and the babe’s nurse were taken to St. Hilda's convent here in the city. Since the lady and her child were a source of contention, his majesty felt that they would be safer in custody there. In case the lady had any improper intentions, such as fleeing with her lover before judgment could be made, it was ordered that they all be kept in locked quarters until this hearing was over. That was the extent of the king’s orders."

Galeran looked around the room again, seeking what lay beneath all this. He did remember that when he visited her, Jehanne was being kept apart.

Lowick looked puzzled.

Flambard was sweating.

"The mother superior of St. Hilda's is very strict," continued FitzRoger, "and a firm believer in physical chastisement to drive out sin. When she heard the full story of the Lady Jehanne's wrongdoing, and was told that the lady had refused to accept the penance laid on her by a bishop, she needed little encouragement to lay on the rod."

"Dear God . . ." Galeran whispered, again kept on his bench only by his father and Raoul.

"Steady, lad," murmured his father. "Steady."

"The lady has been beaten?" asked the king.

"The lady has been given ten strokes at each of the five canonical hours since she arrived at the convent. I intervened before the fall measure could be. delivered at terce today."

Galeran would not be restrained this time. He surged to his feet. "Who ordered this?"

"Why, Bishop Flambard, of course."

Galeran grabbed the front of the bishop's robe before anyone could stop him. "Then I think the
bishop
should meet my sword"

"Hold, Lord Galeran!" Henry's hand settled over Galeran's fist, which still gripped Flambard's silk robe. The king had left his throne.

"I believe I have a prior claim," said Henry softly, squeezing Galeran's hand with remarkable strength and in clear command. But it was the cold menace in the king's voice that made Galeran release his grip.

Menace directed not at him, but at the bishop.

"Mine is the power," said Henry softly. "Mine is the judgment. By what right, my lord bishop, do you overrule my orders?"

Flambard's now-pasty skin was running with sweat. It was not surprising. He was facing the man who had bare-handedly tossed a man off the battlements of Rouen for opposing him.

"I did not overrule your orders, sire. But I have the right as a prince of the Church to impose penance for sin,"

"What penance would you ordain, then, for the forgery of a betrothal document?"

Flambard actually stepped back until he bumped up against the bench. "If it is a forgery, sire, I had no part of it!"

"Did you not? I think careful inquiries in the north will reveal the truth." The king turned suddenly to Lowick. "Well, Sir Raymond? Speak the truth! Was there a prior betrothal?"

Raymond, equally white, dropped to his knees under the blast of the king's rage. "No, sire! There was talk of it. But Jehanne's brothers died before it was arranged."

"But you loved the lady and thought her yours by right?" Henry was speaking more calmly now. "You thought, perhaps, that you were betrothed in spirit. . . ?" The king was clearly offering Lowick escape if he had wit to take it.

He had.

He bowed his head. "Yes, sire. And when the Lady Jehanne bore me a child, I sought only to secure their safety with me. I most humbly beg your mercy."

Henry went so far as to raise Lowick with his own hands, smiling, though his color was still high. "And it was Bishop Flambard who devised the plan of pretending that the betrothal had really taken place?"

"Yes, sire."

"And it was he who provided the document?"

"Yes, sire."

Having obtained the testimony he needed, Henry turned from Lowick to look at Flambard. "What was the bishop's purpose, I wonder? Can we believe that he was so stirred by your lovelorn state, by the danger to your leman and her child, that he felt obliged to risk his position, his very life, to assist you?"

Again, stillness settled on the room, for they had come to the crux of it, and Flambard's terror was stamped on his face.

"Well, Sir Raymond?" asked the king almost sweetly, never taking his eyes off Flambard. "Tell us what explanation the bishop gave for helping you try to gain control of Heywood Castle."

Lowick stared around, and Galeran felt genuinely sorry for him. He was teetering on the edge of treasonous matters, and knew it.

"Sire, the bishop resented the power of William of Brome and his family. He thought that if he had a supporter in Heywood, he could wield greater power in the north."

"With a Church principality that stretched from coast to coast, he was concerned about one small castle?"

"Sir William opposed him, sire."

"But did the bishop show such interest in your affairs from the very beginning? When you first went to him after Lord Galeran returned home, what was his demeanor?"

Lowick frowned over that. "He listened to my petitions for help, sire, but—"

"But did little. When did that change?"

Lowick was now sweating like the bishop, but he answered clearly, "After news of your brother's death, sire."

"Ah," said the king, moving away a few steps. "After his greatest supporter was gone, and he faced my patronage. Or lack of it. Total control of Northumbria would be a useful weapon, wouldn't it? But to be used in whose cause?"

Flambard had regained some control, and was ready to argue for his life. "I merely sought proper order in the north, sire. It was why your brother appointed me there."

"Was it? But then why did your interest in Sir Raymond's case grow after my brother's tragic death?"

"I merely took time to consider his case, sire. As you have seen here today, it is not a simple one."

"And I suppose the forged document was merely an attempt to simplify it. As was," added the king, "the attempt on Lord Galeran's life."

Flambard licked his lips. "Attempt . . . ?"

"Lord FitzRoger took a man of yours into custody this morning, my lord bishop. He has already been most informative. The crossbow is a devilish weapon. Even the Pope agrees that it should only be used against the heathen."

In the midst of a deadly silence, Henry turned and resumed his throne, looking ominously content.

Lowick turned on the bishop.
"You?
You were behind that attack?"

"Ranulph Flambard," said Henry, overriding Lowick, "I find you to be under suspicion of attempted murder, of forgery, and of a great overstepping of your clerical authority."

"With all due respect, sire," stated Flambard, his glance flickering between Henry and the Bishop of London, "you have no jurisdiction over a prince of the Church."

"Have I not?" Henry turned slightly, "My lord Bishop of London, perhaps you wish me to see to the secure custody of this dubious churchman while full inquiry is made into these matters."

Flambard was universally disliked, and the bishop almost smiled. "The Church would be grateful for your assistance, sire."

"Then I consign him to the Tower until such time as the truth is known." Before Flambard could form any argument, the king continued. "And it seems to me that the Bishop of Durham is willful and eaten by pride. Perhaps he needs penance to help him see the error of his ways so that he may find salvation."

"A plain diet of bread and water might be salutary, sire," said the Bishop of London.

"Indeed," murmured Henry. "And yet, just a short time ago the bishop himself advocated physical penance to break the sin of pride. . . ."

"Ah." An almost gleeful light shone in the elderly bishop Is eyes. "Ten strokes at each canonical hour, sire?"

"How wise. How judicious." Henry glanced at FitzRoger. "See to it, my friend."

"With pleasure, sire." And FitzRoger supervised the removal of the protesting cleric.

"You'll regret this!" Flambard screamed as the guards forced him toward the door. ""You'll find you need me, as your brother did!"

Henry merely smiled. "Go peacefully, Flambard, or I'll double the strokes."

In the moments it took for the bishop and his servants to be cleared from the room, Galeran considered the possibility that all of this—barring a few surprises thrown into the pot—had been planned. Henry perhaps knew Flambard could be useful to him, but only as a humble, broken servant, not as a man with power enough to challenge the Crown. Henry perhaps had seized an excuse to break him.

Henry Beauclerk was an interesting man," but Galeran hoped to live out his life far from his eagle eye.

When the door cut off the bishop's threats and pleas, the king turned his attention to those who were left—Galeran, Raoul, Lord William, and Lowick. The recording clerk, Warwick, and the Bishop of London were now only observers.

"Sire," said Galeran. "I must go to my wife—"

"In a moment, my lord. I assure you she is safe, and resting under the best possible care." He turned to Lowick. "Now, Sir Raymond . . ."

To Galeran’s surprise, Raoul, not Lowick, stepped forward to sink to one knee before the king. "If I might be permitted to speak, your majesty."

"Sir? I did not think you had any part in this."

Typically, Raoul grinned up at Henry. "I wish I didn't, sire, but the Lady Jehanne asked me to speak for her here."

"The Lady Jehanne, if you will note it"—and there was a warning edge in the words—"is no longer in any jeopardy. Most of her guilt has been explained away, and if she deserved any punishment, she has received it."

"But she is concerned for Raymond of Lowick, sire."

His words caused the thunderous silence of astonishment, broken only when Galeran hissed in a breath. At this point ... At this point was he to be betrayed?

for land. If your mercy still stands, sire, I will happily fight for Christ."

"So be it," said Henry impatiently, and waved him out of the room.

The king then sat on his throne, taking off his crown and placing it on a table by his side. "That man is just the type of noble fool who wreaks havoc without any bad intent at all. Are you content now, Lord Galeran?"

"Completely, sire, if I have my wife and her child safe, and can return home."

Henry raised a brow. "I detect a little something in your voice, my lord. Perhaps you are tempted to beat your wife after all for this business. She had no choice but to be whipped."

"Had she not, sire?" The king was right. Relief was beginning to make room for sharp irritation. "The reason Raoul de Jouray became involved is that my wife's cousin escaped from the convent, seeking his help. But my wife sent no message about her punishment, for she knew I would put a stop to it. If I do not want to beat my wife, I do not want her beaten."

Henry snapped his fingers, and a page hurried forward with a goblet of wine. "I heard of it all from Lord FitzRoger. As you doubtless guess, your wife accepted her punishment to prevent you from having to deliver it—which I might well have ordered despite your fierce stare. Order must be preserved. As it is, we can let it be known that she has been suitably chastised. There is no need to explain the circumstances."

Galeran could find nothing civil to say to this.

"Apparently," continued Henry, "she also accepted the punishment because she saw that in ordering it, Flambard was overstepping himself. A clever and resolute lady."

"Yes, sire."

"Whose neck you would dearly like to wring. That is up to you." The king turned abruptly to Lord William. "I have served your family today, my lord. I hope you will serve mine."

Lord William must also suspect that the king had served mainly himself, finally finding a way to confine Flambard with the blessing of the Church, and tie William of Brome to his cause. But he bowed. "You have my oath, my liege."

Henry could doubtless hear the reservations behind it, but it was good enough to bind a man like the Lord of Brome. "Then you and yours will have my favor always. And you do not need to fear Flambard or any Bishop of Durham again. I intend to break the power of that bishopric once and for all."

Henry sipped his wine, glancing at Galeran. Suddenly he laughed, showing his strong white teeth. "Whether to kiss her or throttle her, you are itching to see to your wife, are you not? Go, my lord. This lad will take you to her. But don't murder her here, please. And serve me well in the north."