Masques of Gold (58 page)

Lissa stared at her husband, hardly knowing what to say next. He seemed only mildly disappointed at what appeared to her the foundering of all his hopes. “But then, why bother?” she asked.

“Because I do not believe the rebels can win. Once John signs the charter, the neutral barons will support him and the rebellion will die—but the charter will be there. John will try to squirm out of it, and he will escape many of the restrictions, I am sure. But King John is no longer young. And the charter will be there, and the barons will demand that the new king swear to it. As each year passes, it will become a firmer part of our law. So, it is worth having.”

“Yes,” Lissa agreed, thinking of the life within her that would benefit in the future. “It is surely worth having.” But then her overriding worry came back, and she sighed gently and said, “And I do not wish to remind you of trouble, but there is that accursed seal—”

“I have given it some thought,” Justin said quickly. “But to speak the truth, I have not found an answer. All I can offer is to bring the true tale to the archbishop and ask his help and advice.”

“Ask the archbishop for help and advice, yes, but you cannot tell him the truth, Justin. Everyone will suspect that I knew all the time where it was, that I seduced the secret out of Peter—old man, young wife. Perhaps some will believe I did not ask for the knowledge and I hid the seal out of fear, but there will be those, including no doubt FitzWalter and the king, who will wonder if I used it. Suspicion might even fall onto Gamel and Gerbod. No. You must not tell the truth.”

“I am not a liar,” Justin said.

“Nor I,” Lissa cried, “but I will lie about this!”

Justin stared at her and then nodded. “I too,” he admitted, “only I am a very bad liar, and I cannot think of a lie to tell.”

Then she told him about the blocks of wax and the plan for making candles and for “finding” the seal in one of the blocks. And Justin rose and came to her chair, lifted her into his arms, and kissed her. His eyes were gleaming and his mouth relaxed.

“Beloved,” he said, “you have saved us. That is truly a device a goldsmith might use to hide something and one that the cleverest searcher would not think of. Best of all, it is so close to what happened that the tale is not really a lie at all.”

He tugged her forward by the hand, pulling her to his chair so that he could lift her up on his lap. “I will be home all day tomorrow because the archbishop is going to Staines to meet the king. Make your discovery while I am here. You would not recognize the seal, but I would. The day after tomorrow, I will take the seal to Langton.”

The archbishop did not for an eyeblink doubt the tale Justin told, but he would not touch the seal. “In heaven's name,” he said to Justin, almost whispering although by Justin's request for a private audience they were alone in a small chamber above the main floor, “I am the last man on earth to bring such a thing to King John. Not even a Divine visitation could make him believe I had not first used the thing to do evil. It would be enough, I am sure, to make him repudiate the charter.”

“Then what am I to do, my lord?” Justin asked. “It must be returned at once, and to tell the truth, I fear to give it back to the king in private. I was hoping it could be done at the signing—”

“That, I hope, can be arranged.” Langton hesitated, then said, “My petition might be refused, but the king will not dare affront the lords who have remained faithful to him. I will write a letter to William Marshal begging him to arrange for you to speak to the king after the signing. As to what you wish to say to King John, you may tell Marshal the whole tale or not as you see fit.”

Although they were by no means familiar friends, Justin felt he had come to know the great Earl Marshal well enough during the tense, angry weeks at Oxford to explain his problem in detail. “I will gladly give the seal to you,” Justin ended, “if you think that would be best.”

William Marshal chuckled. “It would be best for you, that is certain. For me it would be only barely less a disaster than for Archbishop Langton. I am not sure which of us the king hates and distrusts more.” He sighed heavily. “However, I will arrange that your name…Wait. Will you take a piece of advice, Sir Justin?”

“With a most grateful heart, my lord,” Justin said.

“Your wife is not a startlingly beautiful woman, is she?” Marshal asked.

Justin opened his mouth to say yes, and then shook his head, smiling. “Only in my eyes,” he said, “as in hers I am the kindest of men.”

William Marshal's brows rose. “If that is true, you are a fortunate man despite what your wife discovered—unless you say that to show you think her a fool?”

Justin shook his head again. “Lissa is a clever merchant in her own right. She is no fool.”

“Good,” Marshal said. “Then let her give the seal to the king and tell him her tale herself. I do not say King John is particularly soft to women—” The men exchanged glances, remembering how the king had locked Lady Braose and her son into a tower chamber and left them to starve to death. The whole nation knew of that. “However,” Marshal went on after clearing his throat, “he is less wary of women than of men, believing them weaker. I will, if you agree, put your wife's name on the list of petitioners with yours.”

That was how it came about that, on 15 June, Lissa waited with her husband and a group of other petitioners on the field called Runnymede. She, Justin, and the others with varying private petitions were gathered on the east side of the field, apart from the king and his supporters, who had massed on the north, and what looked like the most part of the baronage of England, who filled the field right to the trees on the south.

Lissa was drooping a little with weariness now, and the sun, which had been behind her, was now shining in her eyes and making her close them. For hours and hours men had been shouting at each other across the field, and riding to and fro. She had been shaking with fear when she came, having set out while the stars were still visible to ride the more than twenty miles from London. At her pleading, Justin had stopped at dawn at a wattle and daub church in a nameless village to hear mass. And she had left, again, a rich gift of incense and scented candles—candles made from the wax from Peter's house. The priest, whose rags were little better than those of his pathetic congregation, had run from the church and followed them down the road crying blessings. Lissa had felt better, even though it was very hard for her to believe that scarecrow and the mangled mass he chanted would be acceptable to God, until they had come to the field called Runnymede.

There fear had gripped her when, last of all, the king and his party had ridden onto the field, although she could see as well as anyone that John's party was outnumbered ten to one or more. She had at first been even more frightened when instead of a grand ceremonial beginning, the groups had shouted at each other. Justin had patted her hand and assured her they would be well away if the parties should come to blows, but he did not expect it. And it did not happen. After a time, when it was clear there would be no violence, Justin had dismounted and lifted Lissa down, telling Halsig to lead the horses back under the trees. Several more hours passed; Lissa sat next to Justin on the grass, but she had stopped listening to what they were saying. It seemed much the same, each party accusing the other of identical faults.

Because she had been keeping her eyes closed to avoid the sun's glare, she did not even notice when the arguments ended. There had been several periods of relative silence earlier when documents instead of curses and insults were exchanged. She did not see that a table was being set on the field and draped with a royal crimson cloth embroidered in gold, nor did she see the king—called by those who did not love him a tun on legs—dismount agilely despite his bulk. She opened her eyes with a start when a roar went up so loud that she felt as if it would lift her off the ground and push down the trees around the meadow.

“He has put his seal to it,” Justin said, bending to pull her up beside him. He had leapt to his feet, as had almost everyone else who was not already standing, when the king, hearing danger in the louder growls at each demur he made, finally signed and sealed the document. “There are objections still,” Justin explained. “More work will be done before it is ready to be copied and sent throughout the country—but most of the country is right here. He has signed it and sealed it. We have our charter!”

So Lissa, who could not call up the same enthusiasm for a public document when she felt herself personally in danger, began to shake again and heard very little of what was called by heralds. She did see several of the group with them depart and approach the table. There she saw richly dressed men, their tunics hung with gold chains, a few behind the king, a few more to his right, and a crowd on the left side. She heard snatches of voices also, but she could not understand any words.

Most of all she watched the king's face with the fixation of terror, but he was too far away for her to make out his expression. All she could see at first was the crown; she knew it was not the great crown because she had heard that described with its rich jewels and its alternating large and small golden leaves. This was only a golden circlet with four rising peaks—but it was daunting enough to her. Finally she was able to look away, but below the crown not much of John's face was clear, only the dark hollows of the eyes, a slash of pink surrounded by mustaches and a short dark beard shaved well away from the cheeks, and along the cheeks hair, still mostly dark, curling to the ears. Then Justin broke her concentration by removing from the leather pouch the packet of blue velvet that now held the seal and handing it to her.

“Must I go alone?” she whispered.

“No, of course not,” Justin replied, smiling cheerfully. “Did I not promise to share with you and protect you when we were married? Besides, I would look much guiltier if I tried to hide.”

Lissa could not tell whether the amusement he was displaying was genuine or assumed to strengthen her, and before he could say more, their names rang out. Half propelled by Justin's arm at first, Lissa soon pulled away and moved across the field, then through a path between men that opened onto the crimson-covered table. She sank down in a curtsy right to the ground, her head bent, and heard the most beautiful voice, soft and rich to the ears, like brown velvet to the fingers, ask, “Do you desire justice of me? Who has wronged you?”

Lissa felt Justin move from her right side to her left and heard a kind of strangled protest, but she could not spare any attention for that. She had lifted her head, drawn by the rich promise of the king's voice. His dark eyes were turned down to her. No promise was in his face; the eyes were glazed and unseeing, the full, sensual lips were slack, the corners drooping with fatigue and despair.

“None has wronged me, Sire,” Lissa got out. “I have come to return something that is yours.”

“What?” The voice was still beautiful, but it sounded different, brighter, with a sharp note of curiosity. “Stand up, woman. What is your name? What do you mean?”

Since her name had just been called aloud, Lissa knew that the king had not been listening. She rose, feeling a spurt of sympathy for the man; certainly he was as weary as she and might be as bored. Then she remembered the host of those against him and wondered if King John might not be as frightened as she also. No doubt he deserved it—Justin said so—but that spark of common feeling made it easier to speak to him.

“My name is Heloise FitzAilwin, Sire. More to the point, I am the widow of Peter de Flael, the goldsmith who, at your order, made your privy seal.” She laid the blue velvet on the table and began to unfold it. While she opened the cloth, which the king watched her do with alert interest, she told of Peter's death and how his house had been searched and destroyed and then about her decision to have the house repaired and how she took the wax home to make candles. “I found this”—she moved the velvet, now exposing the wax-clotted cloth that held the seal, across the table to the king—“in one of the blocks that I broke up for easier melting.”

The king unwrapped the small package and stared at the seal within it. He turned it over, then back, then laid it down. He did not speak.

“I did not touch it.” Lissa's voice trembled. “I did not know what it was, only that something hidden in that way must be precious. My second husband recognized it as your seal, Sire.” She was shaking again and could say no more.

“You have done well, Mistress Heloise,” the rich voice intoned. “What would you have as a reward?”

“Only your mercy and your favor, sire,” Lissa whispered. “I am afraid.”

“Peter de Flael would have died for this violation of my trust, but you have done no harm and need have no fear of me. You are free to go, with my thanks.”

Lissa backed a step and stumbled, but a strong arm was around her, steadying her, leading her away. There were voices, other sounds, none of which made sense to her. She could hardly see or hear until she found herself sitting on the ground well back from the field, near the trees, with Justin kneeling beside her, pressing a cup of wine into her hands and urging her to drink. She sipped at it slowly, and after a while her heart stopped pounding.

“Are we safe, do you think?” she asked him.

“Oh yes,” he said. “He will be too busy for a time to think about this matter, and if he inquires about us he will learn that I am Henry FitzAilwin's nephew. My uncle was a favorite with the king and always loyal. He may change his seal—I would myself—but he will hold no grudge against us.”

“And FitzWalter?” she asked.

Justin began to answer but stopped as a shadow fell across them. Both looked up to see Robert FitzWalter, as if Lissa's saying his name had conjured him there. Justin got to his feet, interposing his body between Lord Robert and Lissa, and she scrambled to her feet also.