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Pleased with the success of his idea, Gloucester sent a
servant for his clerk and dictated then and there the permissions to travel and
visit Sir William and his request to Giffard to receive Alphonse and Barbara as
guests. The letter to Giffard went out in the morning, but it was the beginning
of the second week in October before Alphonse and Barbara left Tonbridge.

They bade farewell to Gloucester—who was himself leaving to
meet Leicester at Dover—at the town gate. The two men hugged each other roughly
with a faint screech of metal links grinding against metal links. Barbara,
still mounted, first kissed the hand the earl held out to her and then leaned
perilously from her mare to pull his head closer and kiss his lips. And while
he was still looking bemused but pleased, she touched his cheek and begged him
to take good care of himself.

“Did you have some reason for giving Gloucester that
warning?” Alphonse asked some time later as they were traveling west along the
Medway toward the old road that ran due north and south from Lewes to London.

“Warning!” Barbara repeated, startled. “I did not mean—” She
shook her head. “I do not know what I meant, just that I felt uneasy in parting
from him.” She smiled tentatively at Alphonse. “It was very good of you to help
me calm him over and over, since I suppose Prince Edward’s purpose would be
better served if Gloucester became angry enough at Leicester to withdraw his
support.”

“I do not know that any prince’s purpose is best served by
having his country torn apart by war, especially a war he cannot control,”
Alphonse replied. “Edward is learning some salutary lessons. And Leicester does
not deserve to lose his friends because he is harassed on all sides and does
not have time to think up soothing ways to address a man thirty years younger
than himself.”

Barbara burst out laughing. “True enough, but you are
working on a wrong premise. It is not because he is rushed and harried that
Leicester speaks his mind plainly. He never had any tact. I can remember my
father’s fury over his bluntness. He always said it goaded King Henry into
mistakes rather than saving him from them.” Then she frowned. “I suppose I
should not have warned Gilbert to take care, only he is so young, so brave, and
so proud. I am afraid for him.”

“And for us?”

“What is there to fear for us?” Barbara looked and felt
startled.

Alphonse laughed and shook his head as if he had been
jesting. Her surprise made him recall that Gloucester had been careful to speak
of the continued unrest in the country only in Barbe’s absence. Alphonse had
not previously realized that Gloucester had excluded Barbe deliberately. He
would not have done so himself, but it seemed foolish to begin telling her
horror stories now when they were already on the road.

The battle of Lewes had ended most organized resistance in
King Henry’s favor, however, it had also made outlaws of the Royalists who had
escaped the battle and no longer had homes or lands and had wakened hopes in
the unscrupulous that law and order was a thing of the past too. Both the
starving and the greedy attacked travelers and their neighbors, the greedy
using the excuse that the neighbors were of Royalist inclination. Gloucester
thought that the news of the defeat of the lords Marcher in Wales might curb
the lawlessness of the greedy. The outlaws, however, were a problem that could
not be addressed until a peace was settled on. Then amnesty and methods of
redemption of estates could be arranged. Meanwhile, the best Gloucester could
do was to offer Alphonse a strong troop as escort. After due consideration
Alphonse had refused, saying that more men might reduce the chance of attack by
outlaws but would increase their appeal to local lordlings.

Alphonse never discovered whether good luck or good judgment
was the stronger factor in protecting them. The result was the same and totally
satisfactory. They arrived safely in London before evening. From Alys’s letter,
Alphonse knew that Marlowe Keep was on the Thames, west of London, very near
the Abbey of Hurley. Directions to Hurley were easy to obtain, and they came to
the abbey the following evening, also without having been in danger at any
time. After some cautious fencing with the abbot, Alphonse was convinced that
the man truly held Sir William in high esteem and stated his purpose clearly.

The abbot had good news for them. The furniture and
valuables of Marlowe Keep were in the abbey’s storehouses. The keep itself was
shut tight, being held by a handful of retainers. So far no attempt had been
made to take it because the place was so strong. Smiling thinly, the abbot said
he had done his best to discourage any offense and, with more warmth, added
that his task had been made easier by the fact that Sir William was liked and
respected by his neighbors, many of whom owed him favors.

John of Hurley’s keep was safe because it was beholden to
the abbey, and the abbot had put his own troop into the place when John warned
him that he intended to follow Hugh Bigod into the king’s army. The Marlowe
ladies, who were Alphonse’s first concern, were also safe. As soon as word of
the defeat at Lewes had come, Harold of Herron, who probably owed Aubery of
Ilmer his life and certainly owed him the prosperity of his estate, had taken
Sir William’s wife, Lady Elizabeth, and her daughter-by-marriage, Lady Fenice,
and the children into his keeping.

The next day a lay brother was sent off to discover whether
Harold of Herron would be willing to receive Alphonse. He returned that
afternoon with a letter from Marlowe’s daughter-by-marriage, Lady Fenice,
saying that Harold was away from Herron but begging Alphonse to come anyway.
Barbara was rather surprised to see that Alphonse was less than overjoyed by
the rapid and enthusiastic response. In private, in the visitors’ garden of the
abbey, he confessed that he was torn between wishing to see Lady Elizabeth and
Fenice himself and being somewhat fearful of Fenice’s reaction to her husband’s
imprisonment. Fenice was so timid and fearful a creature, he said, that he
expected to be drowned in her floods of tears and begged to accomplish the
impossible and free her husband, Aubery.

Barbara thus was braced for an unpleasant day or two
providing hope and comfort to a pair of lachrymose ladies. Instead, when she
and Alphonse arrived in Herron, they were greeted by a glowing beauty of about
her own age and an elderly lady, Marlowe’s second wife, Elizabeth—who seemed
perfectly self-possessed and smiled at her with singular sweetness. In the
light of what Alphonse had told her, Barbara was puzzled by the apparent happiness
of both women. She felt she should be repelled by such selfishness, but she
could not resist the older lady whose hair, like her own, constantly escaped
her crespine and curled wildly in all directions.

As soon as he had assured Lady Elizabeth of her son John of
Hurley’s safety, Alphonse produced Alys’s letter, with its offer of a haven in
Aix. Barbara was not at all surprised when it was instantly refused, although
she should have been if Fenice and Lady Elizabeth were as selfish as their
carefree manner implied. One part of the puzzle was soon solved. Lady Elizabeth
made no secret of her conviction that Richard of Cornwall would be able to
arrange for his own liberation and that the arrangement would include her
husband. Whether that meant the return of their lands or going with Richard to
Germany, Lady Elizabeth did not care. She would be ready and where she would
cause no doubt or delay as soon as her husband was released.

Despite the warm welcome she and Alphonse had received,
Barbara detected a certain uneasiness in the ladies. She did not seek to probe
it, assuming it was because she was Norfolk’s daughter. Since it was apparent
that Fenice and Lady Elizabeth were safe and well, Barbara expected to leave
the next day. Instead, Alphonse made a mysterious excursion from which he did
not return until the evening of October 17. And when she asked where he had
been, Alphonse looked her hard in the eyes and announced he had felt the need
of exercise and had gone hunting, following which he said they would leave in
the morning. Barbara blinked only once, thanked him gravely for telling
her—hunting was an activity so unlikely because of the forest laws that the
statement could not be considered a lie—and blandly hoped he had enjoyed
himself.

She did not raise the question again, partly because most of
her waking time was taken up with getting ready to leave and partly because she
wanted to know whether her husband would redeem the promise in that hard stare.
That he did. As soon as they were well on the way the next morning, Alphonse
told her without prodding that he actually had been hunting in Barnwood Forest,
in company with Harold of Herron, who had bought the right of chase there, and
Fenice’s husband Aubery of Ilmer. Barbara laughed aloud, understanding at once
why two such ladies showed no sign of grief or anxiety over their menfolk. Both
were safe. She nodded at Alphonse’s explanation that Aubery had fled the battle
of Lewes on Richard of Cornwall’s orders, when Cornwall’s capture had become
inevitable, to bring warning to those of Richard’s vassals who had remained on
his lands to guard them. There was, however, a note in his voice that told her
Aubery of Ilmer’s doings were no longer of great importance to him.

“You have bad news,” she said.

“Rumors only,” he replied. “Harold of Herron is no devoted
Royalist and he has friends among Leicester’s supporters. One of them came upon
us in the alehouse in Thame where I was brought to meet Harold so he could lead
me to Aubery’s camp in the forest. He told us that King Louis had objected to
the imbalance of the arbitrators but seemed willing to listen to offers of
adjustment. But the legate, although he had not yet given a firm answer, had
indicated that he was immovable on the subject of renouncing the Provisions of
Oxford.”

Barbara shook her head. “Whatever else Leicester might be
willing to yield, he will not yield that. If all hope of King Louis’s
arbitration of peace is at an end, will you be in danger because you are
French? Perhaps we should not go to Kenilworth. Simon is just careless and
arrogant enough to ignore Gloucester’s request that you be allowed to visit Sir
William and even his order that we be allowed to travel freely.”

“There is no danger yet,” Alphonse said. “I am certain
Leicester has no intention of declaring France an enemy and the negotiations
are not yet ended. I would not like to leave without even trying to see Sir
William. And he is nobody in himself. A visit to him must be politically
without danger and without meaning. Thus, whatever the rumors, I might be
permitted to see Sir William.”

John Giffard received them warmly in Warwick on the
afternoon of October 20 after two and a half days of hard travel. He apologized
for the noise and disorder, saying with so little expression that he might as
well have shouted his disapproval, that he had been ordered by Leicester to
pull down the great stone keep and the work was under way. However, the wooden
hall and domestic buildings in the strongly walled bailey were comfortable
enough and he was glad to see visitors.

When they had entered the hall and told him their purpose in
coming, Sir John was completely of Alphonse’s opinion that the sooner he saw
Sir William the better. He summoned his clerk, wrote a message to Simon de
Montfort at Kenilworth, and sent it off with Gloucester’s letter before he
instructed his steward to show Alphonse and Barbara to the portion of the solar
he had made ready for them.

“Simon is not ill-natured,” he said stiffly, “only young and
thoughtless. If he has received no instruction to the contrary, his natural
response would be to allow the visit.”

Before dark the messenger returned. “Lord Simon,” he
recited, “will be happy to allow Sieur Alphonse to visit Sir William, however,
Sir William does not happen to be in Kenilworth at the moment. He has been sent
out to certain of Richard of Cornwall’s properties, of which he had long been
steward, to explain the new management to the bailiffs and make them more
cooperative. Tomorrow Lord Simon will send a messenger to have Sir William
brought back. Lord Simon expects Sir William to return in about three days. In
the meantime, Sieur Alphonse is more than welcome to be a guest at Kenilworth
Keep.”

Over their evening meal, Barbara, Alphonse, and Sir John
Giffard discussed Simon’s message, but could come to no conclusion about what
it meant. Alphonse had seen how uncomfortable Sir John became when the
messenger called the young man Lord Simon, which he could only have picked up
from the servants in Kenilworth or whoever gave him the message. He probed
further carefully and discovered that Sir John had been castellan of Kenilworth
and had been the man who wrested Warwick from its previous lord, and his
“reward” had been an order from Leicester to hand over Kenilworth to young Simon
and oversee the destruction of Warwick, his war prize, just because it was too
near Kenilworth.

What a singularly stupid thing for Leicester to do, Alphonse
thought. Atop the business of the Zouche ransom, Sir John’s trust in
Leicester’s lack of partiality must be badly undermined. Like Gloucester’s
resentment against Leicester, Sir John’s hurt showed where a wedge could easily
be driven. However, Alphonse felt it wrong for him to become embroiled in
English politics, whatever his sympathy for Prince Edward, and as soon as his
curiosity was satisfied, he shifted the subject back to Simon’s message.

“What I need to decide,” Alphonse pointed out, “is whether
to go to Kenilworth tomorrow or not.”

“No,” Barbara said.

Both men looked at her.

“He has invited me. Will it not seem suspicious to him if I
refuse?” Alphonse asked.

“Do you have some reason to believe your husband will be in
danger from Simon?” Sir John asked at the same time.