"It
doesn't matter now," she said softly, moving toward the vizier, studying
her daughter in the weak light. A faint smile appeared once again. "All
that is of import is the fact that you now know the truth. And I must tell you
all that is within my heart, if you would be willing to hear me."
Arissa
nodded faintly, coming to realize why the woman's features had struck a chord
deep within her on the first day they had met. She knew her. "I want to
hear everything," she whispered. “
Please.”
Sister
Repentia touched her face, feeling the silky skin. The last time she had
touched the same cheek, her daughter had been an infant and the beauty
resulting from that tiny babe was beyond her comprehension. "You are so
utterly beautiful, Arissa. I can scarcely believe God has blessed me with such
a magnificent child."
Arissa
smiled, her lips quivering. Her fury was vanished, replaced by a desperate need
for understanding and a hunger for knowledge.
"I
love you, Mother," she blurted, her defenses dissolved and the contents of
her heart pouring forth. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she took her mother's
hand. "I have always loved you. I loved you even when I believed you did
not want me."
Sister
Repentia joined her in her tears. She had waited eighteen years to hear those
very words and she could hardly believe the sweetness they evoked. Kissing the
young hands, she wiped at her daughter's tears even as she ignored her own.
"And
I love you, my darling Arissa. I always have."
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Mayhap
it was because his fortieth birthday approaching in a matter of days and he was
growing more decrepit by the moment. Or mayhap it was because he hated the
Welsh and their damnable snow. For whatever the case, Richmond found that his
joints were achier than usual as he crossed the border into the midst of a
harsh Welsh winter.
Having
left Gavan at the border camp just outside of Minsterley, it had been a
difficult decision to travel alone into the heart of the Welsh rebellion. Upon
receiving information from Henry's border commanders regarding Hotspur's
whereabouts, he and Gavan had concurred that it would be wise if Richmond
descended into the midst of the insurrection alone, a single man as opposed to
a threatening collection of knights.
The
majority of the crown's army based on the Welsh border had not seen Hotspur in
over two weeks, when he had paused in camp long enough to comment on his
"negotiations" with the Welsh Prince and to retrieve about two
hundred of his personal troops. It was the universal consensus that he was
planning to rebel against the king, a rumor that was becoming more of a reality
by the moment.
Having
spent nearly three weeks collecting intelligence against Hotspur to better
understand the man's moves and motives, Richmond had been forced to agree with
the overall assessment of the situation. His heart sank to realize that most
likely he would be forced to destroy Hotspur, a task he looked forward to with
the utmost reluctance. But he had made Henry a promise; if he was unable to
maintain Hotspur's alliance, then he would obliterate the man.
Riding
in layers of wool and his armor, steel protection that took on the
characteristics of a block of ice, he directed his sturdy destrier in the
direction of the Welsh encampment based on the instructions given him by the
English spies. As he finally came upon the encampment, complete with a large
bonfire struggling fiercely to ward off the bold Welsh winter, he was met by a
patrol about a quarter of a mile out. Six men armed with crossbows and
broadswords, and Richmond immediately held up his hands to indicate he was not
a threat.
"I
have come seeking Hotspur," he announced loudly. "My intentions are
peaceful."
The
man in the lead rode alongside, sizing him from top to bottom. "Are you
one of his men?"
Richmond
nodded without hesitation. "My name is Richmond le Bec. Announce my
arrival."
Since
the war between the English and the Welsh had cooled over the past few months,
hostilities were not as high as was usual and the Welsh patrol was not
particularly reluctant to admit the seasoned knight entrance to their
stronghold. But not without a standard measure of security.
"Hand
over your sword," the Welsh soldier commanded.
Richmond
unsheathed his broadsword immediately, delivering the heavy weapon hilt-end
first. As the patrol encompassed him in a protective circle, the group spurred
their horses toward the distant camp.
The
atmosphere was heavy with smoke as Richmond reined his charger into the belly
of the encampment, noting the heavily-clad soldiers as they patrolled the
cluster of tents under the threat of a fierce snow. A host of dark eyes
returned his impassive gaze as he halted his steed in the indicated area,
dismounting into nearly a foot of slushy snow.
Two
of the soldiers from the patrol took the lead, directing him to follow.
Richmond passed a group of heavily-bundled women, whores who serviced the soldiers,
and was the recipient of several suggestive leers. Ignoring the trollops, he
made his way through the deep snow and into a collection of larger tents.
The
soldiers led him to a lean-to shelter, constructed from oiled tarp and
well-tanned hides. While one man slipped inside, Richmond waited with the other
soldier under the canopy of thick gray clouds. As the rumble of soft voices emanated
from inside the tent, a light dusting of snow began to fall.
Hotspur's
appearance was almost immediate. Eyes wide at Richmond, he stepped out into the
snow to greet his friend.
"God's
Blood, Richmond!" he said in disbelief. "Why did not you send me word
of your arrival? I could have met you on the border, man!"
Richmond
shook the extended hand, his heart warming at the sight of his friend. But in
the same breath, his sense of despair deepened as he greeted the man he would
soon be forced to kill.
"It
has been a long time, Henry," he said softly, feeling the warmth and camaraderie
between them in spite of the unnerving circumstances. "I apologize for not
sending word ahead. In fact, I couldn't be sure that you were even here."
Hotspur's
smile faded somewhat. Dismissing the two soldiers with a few whispered words,
he led Richmond into his tent. The interior of the shelter was warm, lit by a
brightly burning vizier reeking of dung. Feeling the heat like a slap in the
face, Richmond removed his helm and tossed it to the floor, already sweating.
Henry grinned, handing him a goblet of wine that was eagerly accepted.
Richmond
took a long drink, grimacing with the aftertaste. "Welsh wine," he
muttered. "I never could develop a taste for it."
Henry
snorted softly, quaffing from his own tin goblet. "When it is the only
drink supplied, you learn to live with it," he drank again, refilling the
chalice Richmond had already managed to drain. As Richmond put the cup to his
lips, Hotspur eyed him carefully. "Care to tell me why you are here? 'Tis
a long way from London."
Richmond
drained his cup, already feeling the warmth fill his veins. All of his armor
from the waist up fell to the floor in pieces, along with a heavy woolen tunic.
Clad in his lower body protection and a relatively thin linen tunic, his poured
himself a third cup of wine.
"You
know why I am here," he said quietly, pondering the dark contents of his
goblet. "Truthfully, Henry, do you take me for a fool? At the king's
bequest, I ride to the border to assess the progression of the Welsh rebellion
and upon arrival I am told that you have not been seen in weeks. It is assumed
that you have turned against your king and have taken up camp within the Welsh
resistance," he took a long drink, eyeing Northumberland's heir.
"Would you refute these rumors?"
Hotspur
stared at his friend though the dimly-lit interior of his tent. He could
scarcely believe the man was before him, living and breathing. He fully
expected him to be stationed in London, by Henry's side, as a missive arrived
from the Welsh border announcing a precious hostage.
Henry
was terribly possessive of Richmond; during the skirmish with Richard, Henry
had kept Richmond with him constantly as if using the man as a bizarre security
shield. Rarely had Richmond left his king's side, and the fact that he had
suddenly appeared in the midst of the Welsh stand-off was somewhat of a shock.
Owen
would think so, too. Although they eventually desired Richmond within their
fold, to have the man here on the very day that Arissa had arrived was
something of a surprising event. Glendower had prepared for months of exchanging
missives before allowing Richmond into his encampment, and Hotspur was correct
in his reasoning that having Richmond and their valuable hostage within the
same enclosure was not a particularly attractive situation.
It
was dangerous to have the lovers within such close proximity. Events could
rapidly spin out of control if they weren't careful.
But
for the moment, Richmond was expecting an answer and Henry struggled not to
appear too distracted by the unexpected wrinkle in their plans. He smiled
feebly and averted his gaze.
"I
fear to refute the rumors would be to perjure myself," he said softly.
"Obviously, I have taken up residence within the heart of the Welsh
rebellion and I have brought two hundred of my men with me. Hundreds more will
be coming from Northumberland and her allies to the north, numbers that will be
able to bring Henry to his knees. But, certainly, this is of no surprise to
you. If you listened to the hearsay, then you have already suspected as
much."
Richmond
gazed at his friend a long moment, sighing heavily after a time. Slowly, he set
his empty goblet to a worn table. "I know your alliance with Henry has
never been particularly strong, but I never realized it would take something as
insignificant as a monarch's thoughtless ramblings to drive you to the
enemy."
"Thoughtless
ramblings?" Hotspur's eyebrows rose in mild outrage. "I would hardly
call the slander he spouted insignificant, Richmond. The man accused me of
incompetence and foolery, among other things. If my alliance to the king is
dissolved, then it is by his own hand and not mine."
Richmond
sighed again. "You are well aware of the careless nature of England's
monarchs. You knew the loss of the three fortresses was not your fault and you
should have maintained your innocence. Instead, you defect to the enemy and it
makes your guilt appear entirely sincere."
Hotspur
bolted from his chair, his face taut. "Do not tell me how to maintain my
reputation, le Bec. My nickname speaks for itself."
"Hotspur
indicates quick temper and sharp skill," Richmond returned steadily.
"It would seem that at least half of that nickname is more prevalent than
the other."
"Bastard,"
Henry muttered angrily, turning away. "How dare you come here to question
my judgment and loyalties. 'Tis I who have been battling the Welsh on the
border for nearly two years, only to be slapped in the face for my efforts by
an ungrateful monarch who, by all accounts, isn't even the rightful king. If
there was any justice of righteousness in this world, Richard would still
ruling England."
"And
England would still be divided by bitterness and inner turmoil. Henry, for the
most part, has stopped the civil squabbles by united her feudal barons."
"Henry
is king only because the church forced Richard to step down," Henry shook
his head sharply. "I have no desire to argue the point with you. We will
always see differently in this regard."
Richmond
scratched his head wearily, thinking on another cup of wine. "Mayhap. As
it is, I have ridden all the way from London to obtain the answer I have
received this night," he moved to pour himself another chalice of liquor.
"You are intent to oppose Henry?"
"I
am."
Richmond
finished pouring his wine, studying the contents closely. "Then you have
put me in an extremely awkward position," he said softly. He turned to his
friend, his expression one of remorse and sincerity. "You realize we will
be fighting on opposite sides, Hotspur. I do not relish the idea of meeting you
on the field of battle."
Henry
met his gaze with a countenance of equal depth. "Nor I. But I must do what
I feel is correct."
"You
mean you must seek vengeance on your king."
Hotspur
nodded faintly. "There is a measure of truth in that statement, but it is
not the entire reason. There are several, those which we have discussed before
and those I have never mentioned."
Richmond
pondered his statement a moment, drinking the dark liquid in his cup. "I
am sorry for the both of us. You are my good friend and I do not want to see
you die."
"Nor
I, you," Owen Glendower entered the tent, his dark eyes wide at the sight
of Richmond le Bec. A frantic soldier had sought him in his tent, informing him
that le Bec had arrived and was currently in Hotspur's company. Shocked that
Richmond had made an unexpected appearance, he had hastened to join the
conversation.