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Argument and protests broke out. Alphonse listened and ate
and drank without responding until the angry noise died down. Then he detailed
the threats to Edward’s life he foresaw from any attempt to free the prince by
force. There was a shocked silence until Leybourne shook his head.

“They would not dare,” he said. “And there will not be time.
We do not intend to mount a siege. We intend to come swiftly and silently, gain
entrance to Wallingford Keep by surprise more than force, and bring the prince
out or gain a prisoner or some other advantage for which we can trade Lord
Edward’s freedom.”

Alphonse shook his head in turn. “How much time does it take
to strike down an unarmed man? And you know well there is nothing and no one
worth trading for Edward’s freedom, except Leicester’s own life. And if he is
there…” He hesitated, then said, “I will give my parole not to leave Bristol or
try to escape from Sir Robert or whatever deputy he chooses, nor will I permit
anyone else to send a message out until you either have Edward safe or have
acknowledged it impossible to rescue him. I say this simply because I need to know
what could endanger you, your plan, and your friends and because I wish you to
be assured of my silence. I want to know if you have supporters inside
Wallingford who will help you enter the keep and help you find Edward in it.”

“No,” Walerand admitted, “but I do know the guard on Edward
is very lax, and Wallingford is not unknown to me—”

Alphonse held up a hand to silence him, not wishing to hear
any further details that could make his knowledge more dangerous. “You know
Wallingford and think a sudden thrust can win a way to Edward, lax guard or no?
Well, perhaps you know more than I. I have never been in Wallingford, but Sir
William of Marlowe, my brother’s father-by-marriage, spent much of his time
there. I have heard him talk of Richard of Cornwall’s works on that stronghold,
and I do not think you can get past the outer moat and walls unless a way is
opened for you by one within.” He shrugged. “That is all I have to say, and
truly, since I will not go with you, it is better that I hear no more.”

Argument broke out again. Hamo le Strange and Robert Tybetot
cast angry glances at Barbara, as if they thought it was her influence that had
warped Alphonse. She saw the looks in a flickering glance. Mostly she kept her
eyes down and went on eating steadily—”modest as a nun’s hen” was the
saying—because she knew any comment from her would do more harm than good.
Finally, Hugh Turberville, one of the Royalists who had taken shelter in
Bristol after the battle of Lewes, said sneeringly to Alphonse that it was a bad
friend who would not take a risk.

Walerand made an angry gesture at Turberville, but Alphonse
only smiled. “I do not mind risking
my
neck,” he remarked mildly. “It is
Edward’s
neck I do not want to see stretched on the block of my
stupidity especially without his permission. Think about that.”

“You mean to say the prince will be angry with us for trying
to free him?” Leybourne asked sharply.

“No.” Alphonse sighed. “I wish I could say it. I wish I
could say anything to turn you from this venture, because I fear, I truly fear,
for Edward’s safety. But no. Edward will admire your attempt. He will remember
it and be grateful, even if you cost him the little liberty he has been
granted.” He stood up. “I think my wife and I should leave you now. You will be
more comfortable, and so will we.”

Barbara and Alphonse passed two dull, anxious weeks confined
with their servants in one of the towers facing out toward the town. From their
window they could not see the inner bailey and thus could not guess what, if
any, military action was taking place. Barbara had told Alphonse her fears that
Leybourne might harbor a grudge against Prince Edward as soon as they were
private. He considered what she said seriously, not dismissing it as woman’s
nonsense, but decided that it would do no good to try to raise doubts in
Walerand about Leybourne. The others were so set on the venture that doubts
would not stop them. And Leybourne’s participation could not endanger Edward
further. Leybourne could not harm the prince inside Wallingford, and certainly
would have no reason to do so if they did free him.

Barbara agreed, then sighed and said she had better have
kept the worry to herself instead of adding it to Alphonse’s load. He looked at
her oddly for a moment, but only begged her never to try to spare him. He took
great joy in sharing, even troubles, with her, he said, and he smiled, but his
eyes were sad. Later she wondered if he had glanced down at the work basket she
had been holding. But that was ridiculous—unless he had seen the silver mirror,
and why should that make him look sad?

The answer to that question was too terrible to contemplate
at length. Alphonse was kind. It would make him sad to know that she still
cherished his gift after so many years while he felt his interest in her
fading. Barbara pretended the thought had never occurred to her and tried to
give her attention to other matters, first to making their quarters as
comfortable as possible and, once they were settled, to pleasant ways of
whiling away the time.

They were denied nothing but freedom. Lavish meals were sent
up to them. A young priest came daily so that their souls would not be in
danger of neglect. Any amusement they desired was provided. Barbara almost
wished that they had been treated harshly, for that would have given her some
grievance to occupy her mind. She could not be bored while she was with
Alphonse, but his behavior increased her anxiety.

The only subject that could hold her attention away from the
foolish, ugly fear that he was slipping away from her was the real concern she
felt for Prince Edward. But that was no relief and, worse, it forced her to
rethink the political situation. Henry was a terrible king. His foolishness and
extravagance had been ruining England. But was what they had since Leicester
had begun to rule in Henry’s name any improvement? This constant turmoil, these
endless rebellions breaking out all over the country—was this better? She began
to doubt more and more that any stable government could ever be established
under the conditions Leicester had set. Yet the thought of Leicester’s fall
terrified her because that might doom her father. Her uncle would doubtless
attempt to protect his brother as he had been protected by his brother, but
Hugh was in France. Could he come back to England to intercede for her father
in time? Executions were quick and final.

During the first few days of their gentle incarceration one
problem or the other was always just below the surface of Barbara’s thoughts.
By the end of the week a new puzzle, somewhat less painful and therefore
welcome, presented itself. Despite Alphonse’s flattering remark that he would
have enjoyed imprisonment in Dover if they had already been married—he spoke
soothing compliments to women the way a dog wagged its tail when presented with
a meaty bone—she suspected that her husband would grow more and more tense and
irritable if she did not exert herself to divert him.

Unlike her father, however, Alphonse did not worry at the
subject that had made them virtual prisoners. He did not gnaw over what he had
said and devise new, cleverer words that would have been more convincing. To
her intense surprise, relief at first and then almost distress, Alphonse never
mentioned Edward or what Walerand and his allies might be doing. He wrestled
and fenced with Bevis, Lewin, and Chacier, sometimes taking all three as
adversaries at once. He devised new and amusing rules and additions to the
games he challenged Barbara to play. But most of all, like a sleek black cat,
he preened himself, seeming to think of little beyond the sensations of his
body—and hers.

The frequency and intensity of his attentions, instead of
reassuring Barbara, made her more fearful—when she was not too tired to think
at all. She had no idea there were so many places on the body that would
respond to a man’s tongue, lips, and teeth, or that such weird and wonderful
twistings and turnings could bring pleasure instead of the pain of broken bones
and torn muscles. Some days she was too limp to be afraid, but even then she was
troubled because her husband seemed to dismiss so lightly the life of his
friend and the good of his cause.

That trouble was cured at the end of the second week of
November when Chacier challenged a man entering the tower and was answered with
a roar and a blow. Bevis cried a warning of an armed man and then fell suddenly
silent. Into both Barbara’s and Alphonse’s minds came the same thought. If
Edward was dead, there was no need to keep Alphonse alive.

Barbara retreated to the wall, catching up in one hand a
length of cloth she had been considering for a tunic and reaching with the
other for the long spit on which two chickens had been roasted and sent up for
dinner. The cloth, thrown over a man’s head, could blind him, or could catch a
sword arm and make a thrust or parry go awry. The spit could trip a man, or go
through his neck and kill him, if an opportunity came for her to get close
without being caught and used against Alphonse.

He saw her and said softly, “Courage! God bless you!”

The last words were muffled as he slid into his mail, and he
did not look toward her again as he drew his sword and came forward so that
whoever came up would have to stop in the doorway and could not swing a sword
freely. Moreover, only one man at a time could enter, and there was only a
small landing behind the doorway atop the steep, curving stair. But all the
preparation was unnecessary.

It was Roger Leybourne’s face that showed behind his
helmet’s raised visor—explaining why Bevis had fallen silent. He had recognized
the intruder. Leybourne’s sword was sheathed when he stopped in the doorway,
but his face was black with anger. “You were right,” he snarled.

“The prince is—” Alphonse could not say the word and his
deep voice rose like a boy’s and broke.

“No, no, not dead,” Leybourne said. He put out a hand and
his mailed fingers clashed against Alphonse’s bared blade. He looked at the
sword, then looked surprised, as if he had not noticed it before. Then he
raised his eyes to Alphonse’s face again. “You are in no danger from us.
Indeed, Edward might have died if we had not had your warning. When Tybetot and
le Strange burst into the first court at Wallingford, the castellan came to the
wall and said if we did not retreat, right out of the country, they would give
our prince to us by casting him from the wall by a mangonel. Le Strange laughed
and said they would not dare, and they brought Edward out, unarmed and bound.
We had to stop our assault or endanger him. When the prince begged us to go…”

Alphonse dropped the point of his sword and put his hand on
Leybourne’s shoulder. “I am sorry, truly sorry. There was always some hope that
you would succeed.” Then he brought his hand up and down in a light blow. “So,
what is done is done. The meat of the matter is that Edward is alive and well.
Look forward, man. What is to do next?”

“You do not think the prince is still in danger?”

“God, no! After showing him to all the men in Wallingford,
and all hearing him bid you go. No. If harm comes to Edward now, Leicester will
have the castellan, and the whole garrison too, skinned alive. But Walerand had
better look to his defenses. The earl will consider what you have done a
violation of the pact you made with him in August.”

“That matter is in hand, of course.” Leybourne bit his lip.
“We have no right, but we have a favor to ask of you, Sieur Alphonse—not for
our sakes but for Edward’s.”

“If I can help the prince, I will.”

“It will delay your leaving for France some time.”

Alphonse hesitated, then nodded.

“Would you be willing to go with me and some others to speak
with Roger Mortimer in Wigmore?” Leybourne asked. “Force, as you warned us, has
failed, but we must have Edward. Without him we are nothing but outlaw barons.
With him we are the true supporters of the Crown and many will rally to his
standard.”

Whatever doubts Barbara had felt about Leybourne’s attitude
toward Edward were satisfied. Self-interest was the best guarantee of loyalty
she knew, and this was an aspect of self-interest that she had not considered.
It was not only money and favor that Leybourne needed but the feeling that he
was part of the proper ordering of the realm. He did not wish to lead or to be
a rebel, no matter how just the cause.

Alphonse nodded. “You must have Edward,” he agreed. “I do
not see what my speaking to Mortimer can do for you or for Edward, but I am
willing to go to Wigmore.”

Chapter Twenty-One

The guards were gone when they came down from the tower for
an evening meal in the great hall, but the back of Barbara’s neck prickled and
Alphonse kept her close. Later, abed, when she said she had felt watched, he
laughed.

“So you were. Did you think we had become trusted allies
just because I agreed to go to Wigmore? They know me to be Edward’s friend, but
they know also I served Edward at Henry de Montfort’s order. Since they did not
offer the alternative of putting us on a ship, we only had the choice of going
to Wigmore or staying here.”

“But sending us to France would only have been offered if
you
refused
to go to Wigmore!” Barbara exclaimed. “Do you think it will
be easier to escape when we are on the road?”

Alphonse laughed again. “No, my love, I am not so silly as
to see myself as the hero of an old romance, able to fight my way free of
twenty or thirty men. But in fact I do not wish to escape. I do not know this
man Mortimer, and I wish to meet him. There may be something I can do for
Edward after all.”

Barbara sighed. “I do not understand you. This morning you
did not seem to care whether Edward was alive. Now you are ready to ride into
Wales on the slightest hope you can do something for him.”

“Whatever gave you the notion I did not care whether Edward
was alive?” Alphonse levered himself up on an elbow to look into her face.

“Are you trying to tell me you gave one thought to his
welfare over the time we have been here?”

“Perhaps
one
.” Alphonse was smiling as he lay down
again. “What good would thinking about him have done? It was not as if by
thinking about his fate I could have found a device to save him. All I could
have accomplished was to ruin my digestion and make you miserable. My dear, it
is like waiting for Louis to make up his mind or waiting for a tournament to
start. Concern can only wear me out. I have learned to concentrate on whatever
is closest to hand—on you, while we were trapped here.” He drew her close. “Did
I not please you, my love?”

That was not a question Barbara was prepared to answer,
either positively, by responding to his embrace, or negatively, by pulling
free. All she could do was say hastily, “But when we left Warwick, you were
eager to leave England. You did not then feel you should stay to help Edward.”

The pause that followed was so brief Barbara would not have
noticed it except that she felt a faint tremor in the arm that held her. Then
the arm relaxed, still embracing her but without the tension that implied
lovemaking.

“I did not know when we left Warwick that Edward’s old
friends had joined into a party and were determined to free him,” Alphonse
said. “I thought from what we heard in Canterbury that they were at odds with
one another, scattered and beaten, and would either go into exile or make their
peace with Leicester and wait for the prince’s release.”

“But if Edward is freed, the war will begin again.”

“Begin again? Is it not going on anyway, love?” Alphonse
asked gently.

Barbara was silent, remembering her own doubts on the
subject, and after a moment Alphonse went on, “Whether or not you agree with me
that only the king has the right to rule, you must see that Edward is the one
hope this country has for peace. Can you not also see that hope will be lost if
he is turned into a madman?”

“You think they will punish Edward for this? Put him in the
bottom of the donjon and load him with chains?” Barbara shuddered.

“I hope not, but he must be held more straitly for a time. Think
what that will do to him, atop seeing freedom so close and snatched away—having
been forced to cut off the chance for freedom by his own order.”

“But his life was at stake!”

“Ah, but he cannot be sure of that. No more can I, although
it is what I feared and warned against. Will he not wonder whether he threw
away a last chance to be free? Whether what he did was cowardly? Whether his
order will have broken his friends’ faith in him? He will tear himself apart. I
do not wish to see my friend changed into a monster. And aside from my
obligation as Edward’s friend, the prince is my brother’s overlord in Gascony.
I do not think a man twisted with bitterness and hatred would make a good
overlord. I want Edward freed while the lessons he has learned will make him
reasonable, not mad. So, if there is any real hope of escape for the prince, I
will do all I can to help.”

“I am worried about my father,” Barbara said softly.

She could feel Alphonse shrug. “I cannot help that,” he
said. “I cannot even agree that there is any need to worry. Norfolk is a wily
old fox and will take good care of himself—as he has told you over and over.”

Knowing protest was useless and that argument would more
likely set Alphonse’s intention than change it, Barbara said nothing. Alphonse’s
own stillness implied that her device was working properly and he was
reconsidering Norfolk’s fate. She was thus shocked when he pulled her suddenly
atop him and laughed.

“We are both talking as if my going to Wigmore will make a
difference,” he said between kisses on her chin and throat. “Likely it is only
a device to keep us both safely in hand without a restraint that would wake
enmity in us. It costs Leybourne nothing to take us, after all, and a use might
be found for one or both of us. Mayhap I will never get to speak to Mortimer at
all.”

Alphonse’s guess was wide of the mark. Three days later,
having followed Roger Leybourne past the abbey of Wigmore and through the poor
village, not large enough or rich enough to be called a town, they found Roger
Mortimer, Baron of Wigmore, waiting at the bottom of the steep ridge on which
his keep was set. Barbara did not realize who the leader of the small troop was
at first. The man looked almost as wild as the Welsh chieftains she had
sometimes welcomed when acting as her father’s hostess in Strigul. Mortimer’s
hair flowed down his back and mingled with the shaggy fur he wore over his
armor. His face was more Welsh than Norman too, dark and keen. She knew him
when he spoke, however, and remembered that the looks, and the long, love-hate
relationship he had with Llywelyn apGruffydd—the Welsh leader, came from his
Welsh mother, Llywelyn’s aunt.

“I have a summons to appear at Oxford on the twenty-fifth,”
Mortimer called, his voice harsh and loud. “What has Walerand to say to that,
Leybourne?”

“He has sent out a summons to his own men and hopes to bar
the Severn,” Leybourne answered and then, hastily, as if to prevent a demand
for more information, he went on, “I have with me Sieur Alphonse d’Aix,
Edward’s and Henry de Montfort’s jousting companion, and his wife, the Earl of
Norfolk’s daughter.”

“Norfolk, eh?” Mortimer laughed. “Is he still sitting on his
own lands looking out to sea so that he does not need to see what is happening
in England?”

“Can you suggest something else Norfolk can do without
violating his word of honor?” Alphonse asked.

His voice was as smooth and lazy as ever, but Mortimer
turned his head sharply. “So…” he began, but did not finish. Instead he nodded
at Barbara and said, with an attempt to moderate his tone, “You are welcome, my
lady. My wife will be glad to see you. She misses the company of her sister and
the ladies of the court.”

Barbara found a civil smile and reply, but she did not
particularly look forward to intimacy with Matilda de Mortimer. Mortimer’s
brusque nod and his gesture of invitation to the company at large to enter the
lower bailey left her free to dredge from her mind what she could remember.

She had only met Matilda once or twice, Matilda never having
served the queen at the same time she did, if she served at all. What Barbara
recalled of the woman from those meetings was not inviting. Matilda had seemed
too much like her proud, envious sister, Eleanor de Bohun, with an additional
dollop of bitterness because Eleanor had married an earl whereas Matilda had
been given to a mere baron. A damned foolish envy, Barbara thought, because
Mortimer was more powerful and necessary than Bohun. Mortimer was so essential
to maintaining the English border against the Welsh that Leicester had not
dared keep him a prisoner after the battle of Lewes. Mortimer had been freed to
prevent his cousin Llywelyn from overrunning the Welsh Marches. He had done
that, but he had not kept his other promises to Leicester.

The horses went across a bridge over a deep ditch, through a
gate, and into a half-moon-shaped bailey. Barbara was surprised at how small it
was, knowing it to be the outer bailey because she could see above her the
strong wall that surrounded the inner court and, even higher on a steep motte,
still another wall, which enclosed the great keep and two more strong towers.
Barbara could feel her heart sink, and she saw on either side of her Bevis and
Lewin also looking up, their faces blank to hide their anxiety.

Once inside this fortress, would they ever come out again?
Mortimer, she feared, was less dependent on Edward’s favor and would be less
concerned with offending the prince’s friend—and still less concerned about
offending her father—than Leybourne or Walerand. Mortimer’s escort stopped in
the outer bailey, but Barbara shook her head when Lewin asked softly if he and
Bevis should also dismount. She felt better when Mortimer made no objection as
their whole party, including Chacier and her two armsmen, followed him through
the outer bailey, across another bridge, and into the smaller inner court,
which held a large hall, two small houses, and all the usual outbuildings,
including a kitchen and a smithy.

To Barbara’s intense relief, Mortimer dismounted there,
grooms running forward to take the horses, and a moment later Matilda de
Mortimer came to the door of the hall to speak a formal welcome. Although
Barbara’s memory of the woman proved partly accurate, she discovered there were
ameliorating circumstances. What Mortimer had said about his wife missing the
company of her social equals seemed true. Matilda greeted her with considerable
enthusiasm, removing Barbara’s cloak with her own hands and kissing her cheek.
When she had offered refreshment to the company and seen the men unarmed and at
ease, clustered around the leaping fire on the hearth in the center of the
hall, she drew Barbara with her to the other side and sat with her on a bench,
asking eagerly for news.

Barbara thought her a fool at first, knowing she would have
learned more from listening to the talk of the men. Then, leaning too much on
what Mortimer had said, she guessed that Matilda was hungry for court gossip
rather than political news. Later she realized that her hostess was urging her
to gossip to extract information about Leicester and his party, and her opinion
of Matilda rose. She almost forgot the precariousness of the situation in the
pleasure of seeming to spill tales at random while she really picked and chose
not only what was harmless but what would lead to more revelations if and when
she thought them safe.

By the next day the situation seemed much less precarious.
Perhaps because he had less to fear himself, perhaps because he cared less, or
perhaps because he trusted his people to bring them back if they ran, Mortimer
treated them as guests rather than as prisoners. Barbara was delighted to learn
after the evening meal that she, Alphonse, and their servants would have one of
the small houses in the inner bailey to themselves. She was less delighted when
she discovered that Mortimer, even more than her father, kept men’s and women’s
business separate and expected women to keep well out of the way and be
submissively obedient. If she had not known Eleanor de Bohun, who seemed mean
and envious without reason, Barbara might have assumed her sister Matilda to be
a sweet woman whose husband had turned her sour.

In comparison, Alphonse seemed more precious by the moment,
even if he did have the morals of a prowling tomcat. However, not love talk but
politics was whispered into her ears in the privacy of their bed that first
night. She and Alphonse had discussed thoroughly what each would reveal
because, as Alphonse pointed out, it would be dangerous if their stories
conflicted. They agreed on almost everything except exposure of the possible
rift between Gloucester and Leicester. Barbara was uneasy about that, feeling
it came close to treachery, but Alphonse said, with a kind of flat indifference
that Barbara now recognized as his form of rage, that he had given no oath of
loyalty to Leicester and felt no particular fondness for either Simon or Guy.

Her own anger and disgust sprang to life anew, soothing
Barbara’s conscience, and she let hints of Gloucester’s dissatisfaction slip to
Matilda the very next day. Since she could do nothing to stop Alphonse from
describing the situation, why should Matilda not gain praise and trust from her
husband for discovering information he would be given anyway? Yet, although she
was willing to help Matilda, as any woman would help another, Barbara never
warmed into friendship for her. There was something harsh and bitter in Matilda
that rejected fondness.

Fortunately Matilda was also interesting, which was of
considerable benefit because they stayed in Wigmore almost a month, and
Alphonse was much absent during that time. Barbara had been frightened the
first few times he armed and rode out, despite his assurances, but he returned
safely and custom dulls fear. Sometimes he rode out with Mortimer, sometimes
with one or another of the group, thus Barbara was not surprised or alarmed
when Matilda came to her house soon after Alphonse had left one morning early
in December and said Mortimer wished to speak to her. Feeling no more than
curiosity, Barbara caught up her cloak and followed Matilda to the hall.

“It is necessary for me to make terms with Leicester,”
Mortimer said abruptly when she was close enough. “I wish you to arrange a
place of meeting and safeguards with him.”