"I would enjoy giving him the inconvenience," Robin said. "But no, I have no intentions of murdering you. The lowly curs you brought with you ... aye ... I have no compunctions about teaching them a lesson in chivalry."
He glanced pointedly at the severed arm lying a few feet away in the leaves. Saintonge followed his gaze and his eyes widened as he recognized the starburst and the gloved hand that clutched it. He found Griffyn then and saw the bloodied length of the serpentine sword, and before anyone could stop him, he drew his dagger and lunged for Renaud's throat.
The six-inch bolt from Sparrow's arblaster caught him high between the shoulders, punching through mail and leather and cutting the spine with an audible cra-ack. Saintonge froze, his arm still raised, his dagger gleaming in his fist ... then fell facedown, almost in slowed motion, dead before he struck the ground.
For a full ten seconds no one moved or made a sound.
"Actually"—Robin pursed his lips and frowned—"I was hoping to make use of him if Malagane sent more troops after us."
Sparrow snorted wetly and shouldered his arblaster. "Fine. The next time a viper sets himself to strike, I will ask your leave first."
"He will send more men," Griffyn warned quietly. "You may count on it. He knows where you are going and why."
One by one the Wardieu men turned toward him, their faces showing a combination of curiosity, wariness, and open distrust.
"Your man already warned us," Robin mused. "But we would hear it from your own lips."
"Fulgrin? He is alive?"
"Alive ... and most insistent about leaving nothing of value behind. We might have been here sooner had he not been so adamant about collecting horses and armor... and saddle pouches that make a fine tinkling noise when shaken."
Griffyn's gaze touched on each hostile face before he sighed and nodded. "I suppose I do owe you an explanation."
"It had best be a good one," Robin said, smiling faintly. He gave orders to have the bodies collected and hidden beneath a layer of leaves, then pointed the way, politely enough, to the river. "You can clean yourself up and at the same time give us a good reason why we should not leave you here with the other corpses."
Obeying her brother's glance, Brenna and Sparrow followed, and while Griffyn waded knee deep into the water, Robin took a seat on a convenient boulder on shore.
"First," he said, "I would hear what you know about Dafydd ap Iowerth."
Griffyn sighed and plunged his hands into the cold water. "He is dead."
"That much I know already."
Griffyn nodded and related his initial meeting with Mala-gane and Solange de Sancerre, omitting nothing, including what details he could recall about the sight that had greeted him in the donjons of Chateau Gaillard. When he recounted his part in the devil's bargain, Robin's jaw tightened, but he said nothing until the end.
"So he told you we were bound for England to lay claim to my father's lands—lands in Lincoln that he wants for himself—and you did not believe him?"
"On the contrary, I do believe him. I believe King Philip has promised him a prominent position in England when and if the barons support the Dauphin as king. I also happen to believe there will be a good many rich tracts free for the taking since Louis has made no secret of the fact he intends to execute, banish, or imprison those same barons when he takes power."
"Why would he do such a thing?" "He is convinced any noble who would betray his king once would readily do it again. Malagane, on the other hand, has always fought against John in favor of Philip and stands to become a very wealthy, very powerful individual
... providing there is no further obstacle to Louis taking the throne."
"And he thinks such an obstacle might exist?" Robin asked carefully.
"I think your friend died in great agony trying to keep a secret that has been well guarded for over a decade. I think Malagane has discovered what that secret is and is making his own preparations to insure it does not interfere with his plans."
"You seem to know a great deal about matters I would not think would have concerned you in Burgundy."
Griffyn studied his hands a moment, then used them to splash water over his face and throat to rinse away the blood.
"I am English by birth. My family has had holdings in Leicester for twelve generations."
"A purebred Saxon champion?" Robin mused. "A rarity indeed. I should think you would rejoice in seeing the Norman conquerors humbled."
Griffyn offered up a wry smile. "As rare as true Saxon blood might be, it would be even more difficult to find pure Norman blood in England. The conquest succeeded only because the invaders intermarried, raped, and impregnated the women of Saxon nobility with Norman bastards. Peasants, people in the forests and in the far north, whisper of a time when a Saxon will sit on the throne of England again. They swear they have seen and heard the great king, Arthur Pendragon, leading an army of ghosts through the greenwood in search of a man strong enough to take back the throne. But that is all it is: stories and whispers. The Normans in England do not even regard themselves as being Normans anymore. They call themselves English and look to the French—the ages-old enemies of the Normans—to help them oust their Norman king."
He stopped, raked his fingers through his hair to squeeze out the excess water, and shook his head. "I dare swear it confuses the hell out of me. I chose to make my home in the mountains of Burgundy because I have no particular affection for the Normans or the French or the Spaniards, all of whom seem bent on conquering each other. I keep to myself and see to my own needs and make a point of avoiding any and all commitments to noble causes."
Robin matched his wry smile. "Which makes me doubly curious to know why you would have put yourself at such risk to warn us of Malagane's treachery."
The gray-green eyes flickered ever so briefly in Brenna's direction. "As I told Malagane, I dislike being used as a pawn in any man's game. More so if I am not told all the rules and all the players."
"You appear to have guessed a few players on your own."
Griffyn acknowledged the supposition with a tilt of his head. "It was not that difficult to do, especially if you remember being a young, impressionable lad of thirteen who still believed in romance and chivalry and the nobility of men who would risk everything to rescue a princess from the donjons of a cruel king. At the time, of course, there were no names given to any of the rescuers; it was not until Malagane inadvertently mentioned that your brother—
Eduard?—was especially close to Arthur of Brittany that I was able to fit the pieces together. I gather the Lost Princess is not as lost as everyone presumes her to be?"
"She is a helpless and innocent pawn," Robin replied quietly, "who never wanted to be part of any man's game. Nor does she want to be one now, despite those who would parade her before the world, a blind and vulnerable woman committed only to serving God."
Griffyn straightened slowly. "Blind?"
"By her uncle's hand, eleven years ago. It is one of the reasons why he has never troubled himself overmuch to find her; he has known she has posed no threat to his crown."
"I gather no one else is aware of this ... impediment?"
"By no one, you mean Malagane? No, I doubt he knows. I doubt Robert FitzWalter or any of his dissenting barons know either."
Griffyn lowered his hands and let them drip by his sides. "Then why not simply tell them? Why go to all the risk and bother to rescue someone who would not need to be rescued if the truth came to light?"
"Because it is not Eleanor who needs rescuing," Robin said softly. "It is her son."
Both Sparrow and Brenna turned their heads to gape at this, for the existence of a child was news to them as well.
"He will be ten years old this spring," Robin explained with a sigh. "No one knows about him. Not even Eduard.
Only Marienne and a few of the older nuns at the abbey... and the child's father, of course."
"Henry de Clare," Brenna guessed on a breath.
"An unexpected lapse on both their parts. It happened during a storm, when they were caught out in the forest. The storm lasted several days, during which time Henry had no means of lighting a fire to dry their clothes or keep them warm and ... one thing led to another."
"How do you know all of this?"
"Marienne ran out of excuses to give me why she could not come home to Normandy. She finally had to tell me the truth, if only to keep me from crossing the Channel and carrying her away by force. She has claimed the child as her own thus far, and is fairly certain no one suspects his royal lineage, but she says he grows to resemble his great golden uncle Richard more and more each day and they have all began to fear for his safety. I was already making plans to go to England when the dragon ring arrived. I thought ... I hoped perhaps Dafydd might have had some other specific message for me."
"If he did, it died with him," Griffyn said, coming slowly out of the water. "But who is Henry de Clare? Surely, if the child is common and base-born it can pose no threat either."
"Henry de Clare's bloodlines are as pure as you claim your own to be; his ancestors rode at the side of William the Conqueror and, before that, held claim to a vast portion of Gascony. Neither is the child base-born, for they were secretly wed when the results of their indiscretion became known. It has been a marriage in name only these past any years, for Eleanor is committed to the church, but their vows were made before a bishop and no court in the land could declare them false."
"No court in John's England?" Griffyn queried sardonically.
"No court that would dare question the word of Stephen Langton."
Sparrow groaned and struck his head with the flat of his palm. "Do not tell me it was the Archbishop of Canterbury ho witnessed the wedding vows. Do not tell me this even in jest."
"He was not archbishop at the time," Robin said mildly. Indeed, he did not even have aspirations of ever becoming seer. His election came as much of a surprise to him as to anyone else—most especially John Lackland, if you will recall, whose refusal to accept him as the Pope's choice caused Rome to place England under an interdict for six long years."
"And now this same Stephen Langton knows of the existence of a legitimate heir to the throne of England?" Griffyn arched an eyebrow. "A boy-child, no less, one whose claim is stronger than either John's or his weakling babe of a son."
"Langton vowed, with his lips on a crucifix, the knowledge would die with him, if that was what Eleanor wanted."
"And is that what she wants?" Brenna asked quietly.
Robin looked at her. "She wants peace. She saw her brother die as a sacrifice to other men's greed. She saw the ruling barons of England stand by and do nothing while God's laws of descendence were ignored and another was chosen king in Arthur's place. And she sees them now, trying to rally the people behind a French king because the corrupt and brutal king they chose over Arthur turned out not to be to their liking. How loyal would they be to her son if they decided he was not to their liking either? She does not want him to be the cause of yet another spree of bloodletting and rebellion, nor does she want him to live out his days under the threat of an assassin's knife."
"Does this family ever trouble itself with simple matters?" Sparrow sighed. "Like wars and plagues and famines?"
"It is not a burden I have enjoyed carrying alone all these years," Robin declared.
"Then why share it now?" Sparrow demanded.
"Because I realized today—in the lists and here in the forest—that it is not the kind of secret that can simply die with me. There are men who would stop at nothing to kill the boy should his existence become known. Still others who would use him—like a pawn," he added, staring directly into Griffyn's eyes, "to further their own ambitions."
"Even so," Griffyn pointed out, "you have chosen odd company to share it with."
"Not so odd, I think. Unless I am wrong in guessing the reason why you lowered your shield this afternoon—and why my sister thought you were worth saving."
Griffyn looked directly at Brenna for the first time. "She did, did she? And you thought you would test her judgment by revealing information to me that could plunge England into a civil war?"
"You said you liked to be apprised of all the players in the game."
"I also said I avoid any and all commitments to noble causes."
"How do you feel about reckless adventures?"
Griffyn's eyes narrowed. "That would depend on how reckless and how adventurous."
"Reckless enough to have a prince of France and an English king vying to see who can catch us first. Adventurous enough to ride into the heart of middle England and spit up the noses of those who would stop us."
"It is a tempting offer, I assure you, but"—he paused and peered intently into the slate-gray eyes—"how would you know you could trust me?"
"I would know ... because you would give me your oath of honor."
Sparrow made a choking sound in this throat. "Did you not just hear him say he was an Englishman? A Saxon, no less? You might as well heed an oath from a Celtic bog-fiend!"
Griffyn glared down at the outspoken woodsprite. "As it happens, I was going to say ... it might prove a greater risk to you to invite me along rather than let me go on my way. I he last time I heard there was a reward of some four thousand marks on my head—and it may be even more by now."
Robin was as impressed as he was surprised. "What the devil did you do to warrant it?"
"I took offense at the king offering me hospitality in my own donjons and escaped," he said blithely, "killing a dozen or so of his royal guard and giving his mistress a vigorous serving of Saxon droit du seigneur. It was when I was younger, of course, and went by another name."
"Another name?"
He shrugged his big shoulders. "It carries little worth now, but I was the Earl of Huntington until the king discovered my Saxon lineage and sought to eradicate it."
Robin's handsome face broke out in a slow grin. "An outlawed English earl, a Saxon champion, and a dark prince of Burgundy ... by God's teeth, I would call it an adventure indeed just to travel in such illustrious company! Brenna?