Love Above All (34 page)

“I am pleased to hear it.” Without actually
meeting Quentin’s eyes Henry accepted the package and passed it on
to the cleric. “Now, my friends, tell me what you learned in
Edinburgh that isn’t written in the reports.”

Quentin spoke first, providing a detailed
outline of his meetings with King Alexander, along with the
information he had gathered about the rebellion in the highlands.
When he was finished Cadwallon took up the story, describing what
he had seen and heard at court, as well as in the ale houses of
Edinburgh. Finally, Braedon revealed the rumors and bits of scandal
he had learned from other squires, and from servants and ordinary
folk.

“All useful information,” King Henry said.
“You have done well. But, Royce, why are you here?”

“I think Quentin should explain that,” Royce
said.

So, once again Quentin took up the story, a
distinctly unofficial one this time. He began with his discovery of
Fionna unconscious by Liddel Water. Royce added some details, until
the king knew almost everything that had occurred between Liddel
Water and Wortham Castle.

“This, too, is important information,” Henry
said. “There will always be rebels and traitors in Scotland, some
of them men who long for a different king from the one they have,
and other men who despise England and fear we have designs on their
country. Fortunately, Alexander is a firm ally and David will be,
too, when his turn comes to rule. They will keep the rebels under
control. I am grateful for the work you’ve done, Quentin. Louis of
France is stirring up trouble for me in Normandy, so I am glad to
have Alexander standing honestly at my back to guard the border
between our countries.

“And now, my friends, it’s time to reward
your efforts. Squire Braedon!”

“Yes, my lord?” For the first time since
Quentin had known him, Braedon looked frightened.

“On your knees, my boy,” the king ordered in
a stern voice.

Braedon knelt before the king. Henry picked
up the sword from the cleric’s table, drew it from its sheath, and
used it to tap Braedon lightly on either shoulder.

“Arise, Sir Braedon,” Henry said.

When the young man stood, looking astonished
by what was happening, the king made a fist and clouted him on the
shoulder in the traditional way. Then Henry embraced him, kissing
the new knight on each cheek. The king laughed when he noticed the
expression on Braedon’s face.

“Be glad I’ve done it here, in private, and
haven’t made you wait to be knighted on Christmas day, along with
the crowd of noble sprigs who have come to St. Albans,” Henry said.
“This way is easier, you know; you didn’t have to fast all night
and pray in a cold church before receiving your knightly
accolade.”

“My lord,” Braedon stammered, “I – I don’t
know what to say.”

“Then be wise and say nothing,” Henry advised
him. “Dare I hope you are willing to remain in my household?”

“My lord, I will do anything for you!”
Braedon exclaimed.

“Yes, I expect you would. Have no doubt, lad,
I will soon think of a task for you.” Henry re-sheathed the sword
and offered it to Braedon. “This is yours now. Down in the
courtyard you will find a suit of chainmail, two horses, and your
own squire waiting for you. Be kind to the boy; yesterday he was a
mere page and he’s a bit bewildered by his sudden promotion.”

“So am I bewildered,” said Braedon, accepting
the sword from the king’s hand. “My lord, you will never know how
greatly I appreciate your generosity. Not having the means to
purchase my knightly equipment, I feared I would remain a squire
all my life.”

“You deserve what I’ve awarded you.” Henry
looked pleased and oddly moved by Braedon’s thanks. But he
recovered quickly and his next words carried the ring of a strict
schoolmaster commanding a laggard student. “What are you waiting
for, boy? Go, see if the armor fits.”

“Yes, my lord. Thank you!” Braedon bowed and
departed, carefully closing the door behind him. A moment later
those remaining in the audience chamber heard his loud bellow of
happiness.

“Now, Sir Cadwallon,” said the king. He
reached out his hand, flicking his fingers, and the cleric hastened
to give him a roll of parchment plucked from among those on the
table. “There is a small castle in Devon, where the baron has
recently died without an heir and the honor has thus reverted to
the crown. However, a cousin of the late baron has ensconced
himself in the place and won’t give it up. Do you think you can
persuade him that his way of thinking is sadly mistaken? I am told
the local folk are most unhappy with their new lord, so they are
unlikely to raise any objections to his removal, whether it is
accomplished voluntarily on his part, or by force.”

“Sire,” Cadwallon responded, his eyes on the
tantalizing parchment, “it will be my pleasure to seize the castle
in your name.”

“Once you have it,” the king said, “you are
to hold it in my name, as my baron. Permanently. Here is the
grant.” With that, he handed the parchment to Cadwallon, who
immediately unrolled it. Cadwallon gazed at the royal seal at the
bottom of the document as if he saw the promise of paradise in that
round red blob of wax.

“Sire,” Cadwallon said in a voice that
trembled slightly, “I have a mind to marry, once I can provide a
home for my intended bride. Have I your permission to wed a
Scottish lass? She is no commoner; she was born into the minor
nobility.”

“You know I am in favor of good relations
with Scotland,” Henry said, smiling at the new baron. “You have my
permission.”

“I will need a few men for the enterprise in
Devon,” Cadwallon noted.

“Take some of my men-at-arms,” Henry said,
“and return them as soon as you acquire men of your own. I think
Sir Braedon could use a bit of experience in warfare. What say
you?”

“I’m sure Braedon will be as pleased by your
suggestion as I am,” Cadwallon responded, grinning.

“Go, then,” King Henry said, waving his
newest baron out of the room.

While all of this was happening, Quentin had
noticed how studiously Henry avoided meeting his eyes. Now, with
only Quentin and Royce left in the room with the king and his
cleric, Henry was looking distinctly uneasy – and that made Quentin
uneasy.

“Well, Royce,” Henry said, “you are
exceptionally cheerful. What can I do for you, old friend?”

“I’ve had an idea,” Royce said, “that I’d
like to discuss with you at some length. If you are too busy today,
perhaps we can meet again, later.”

“Tell me now,” King Henry said.

“It will take some time, Sire. Perhaps you’d
like to finish your business with Quentin first.”

“Quentin.” Henry frowned at him and fell
silent.

“Yes, my lord?” Quentin prompted. He didn’t
know what the problem was, but the king’s peculiar reaction to him
was worrisome, to say the least. When Henry began to speak, his
reluctance was plain to see, and to hear.

“Before you left for Scotland,” the king
said, “I mentioned to you the possibility of your marriage to a
certain orphaned heiress.”

“Yes, you did,” Quentin responded. “But about
that suggestion, my lord—”

“The thing is,” Henry broke in, looking
distinctly guilty, “the thing is, Achard de Ferrars has asked for
her hand and Lady Eleanor declares she is eager to wed him. In
fact, she claims she will marry no one but Achard. The girl is
proving to be remarkably stubborn.”

“I see,” Quentin said, trying to conceal the
sudden hope that filled his heart and mind. He knew the correct way
for him to appear was disappointed at the prospect of losing a
well-dowered bride, yet understanding of the king’s problem. He did
his best to look the way he should while he struggled to find
something appropriate to say. He ventured a glance at Royce, hoping
for a hint. Royce came to his aid at once, though not in the way
Quentin anticipated, and at first he wasn’t sure what his friend
was trying to do. But he trusted Royce, so he listened
patiently.

“I am acquainted with Achard,” Royce said to
the king. “All of his estates are in Normandy, aren’t they?”

“They are,” said Henry. “Lady Eleanor’s
inheritance is also chiefly in Normandy.”

“Is it wise to grant one nobleman the power
implicit in control of two large estates that are located close
together?” Royce asked.

“Perhaps not,” Henry said. “It’s not an
arrangement I’d ordinarily approve. But, if I deny Achard the girl
he so passionately wants he may turn against me and pledge himself,
along with the large army he can muster, to Louis of France, with
whom I expect soon to be at war. On the other hand, if I give
Achard his heart’s desire he’ll have a good reason to remain loyal
to me and to send his men to fight on my side against Louis.”

Having successfully maneuvered Henry into
explaining his reasoning, Royce sent an expectant look in Quentin’s
direction. Quentin recalled a few clever ruses that Royce had
concocted in their days of spying together and thought he could
guess what his former spymaster wanted him to do. Happily, it was
also what Quentin wanted to do.

“My lord,” Quentin said to the king, “from
what you have just told us, it is clear to me that Achard must
marry Lady Eleanor.”

“I knew I could depend on you,” Henry said.
All of the previous unease and guilt in his manner vanished. “You
shall have another reward, Quentin. Just ask for what you
want.”

“My lord, I will be honest,” Quentin said,
aware that kings, and this king in particular, did not like to feel
beholden to their nobles. Kings thought it ought to be the other
way around. “Your wise decision in regard to Lady Eleanor has
relieved me of a duty I never wanted to assume.”

“But, you really ought to consider
remarrying,” Henry persisted. “Every baron needs an heir.”

“Sire,” Quentin said, “you have kindly given
me permission to ask for what I want....”

“I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you
looking and sounding like your old self again,” King Henry said to
Royce an hour later, after Quentin had left them. “You have
secluded yourself at Wortham for far too long.”

“I will never cease to grieve for Avisa,”
Royce said. “She died too young.”

“You ought to remarry,” Henry said.

“I think not.” Royce put as much chill into
those three words as he could without being rude to his king. Henry
seemed to understand, for he changed the subject.

“You said earlier that you have had an idea
of some kind. It must be interesting if it rousted you from your
hideaway at Wortham. Now, while I am still in a good mood, reveal
this remarkable idea to me.”

As soon as they were alone Henry had called
for two folding chairs, a brazier, and a pitcher of wine. The
cleric waited quietly at his desk in the corner, in case the king
decided to issue an order. On the opposite side of the room the two
old friends sat close to the warmth of the glowing charcoal in the
brazier. They had known each other since they were children and
whenever he spoke with Henry, Royce made a point of always saying
exactly what he thought. He did so now, knowing that not many
people dared to speak honestly to a king.

“As you are well aware, especially after
hearing Quentin’s report, Louis of France is rather desperately
trying to stir up trouble against you. If he doesn’t succeed in
Scotland, he will try even harder in Normandy. By this time, Sir
Desmond must be in his hands.”

“Alexander’s men will rescue Sir Desmond,”
Henry said, sipping his wine.

“Yes, I am sure they will. But in the future
there will be other captured men. There will also be other rebels
like Murdoch and his friends, both in Scotland and on the
continent, who long to cause trouble to serve their own purposes.
On the opposite side, there are certain men in Normandy, in Anjou,
and in the Low Countries, even men in high positions in France
itself, who are not happy with King Louis’ recent actions.”

“Everything you say is true.” Henry eyed his
friend expectantly, a faint smile curving his lips. “What do you
propose to do about it?”

“Every king employs spies,” Royce said,
stating the obvious.

“Of course. Gathering secret information is
vitally necessary, as you know very well, having been a spy,
yourself,” Henry said. He laughed softly. “As I recall, you once
pretended to be a fishmonger, and Quentin drove your fish cart. You
were the strangest pair I ever saw. The worst smelling pair,
too.”

“We’d have been better advised to use a real
fishmonger, and a real driver,” Royce said. “Quentin and I were
caught and nearly died for our trouble. Which is precisely my
point. Spies are most successful when the disguises they assume are
closer to reality.”

“Go on.” Henry was still smiling, his eyes
bright with interest.

“My lord, you and I know it is the nobles who
hatch the schemes,” Royce said, “and we know how difficult it can
be for the usual kind of spy to penetrate noble society. Too often
you must depend on clerics and servants for information. I propose
to gather a secret band of noblemen who will act as your agents. To
be more specific, I will choose the younger sons of noblemen,
knights and squires possessed of clever wits and good fighting
skills, but with few prospects in life because their older brothers
will inherit the family lands and titles. I’m certain I can find
men who are willing to disregard the danger involved, if you will
offer them hope of attaining the kind of prize you just granted to
Cadwallon.”

“Name three such men,” Henry challenged him,
“and I will seriously consider your idea.”

“In fact, I have several men in mind.”

“Somehow, I knew you would.”

The king and the great nobleman smiled at
each other in understanding born of long friendship. Then they
lifted their wine cups and drank deeply before Royce continued.