Chapter Two #2
Jocelin helped her with the heavy, fur-trimmed garment.
“We will both see him upon his arrival. Tonight, I have arranged for us to be seated with the Bishop of Coventry. William is a very old friend and a strong supporter of our cause.” When Sheridan turned to face him, adjusting the neck of the cloak, he lowered his voice so Alys would not hear.
“We will speak to him about arranging a meeting with the other allies.”
“How soon can this be done?”
“I do not know. There are many we must arrange this with, and it must be done in all secrecy. Should the king discover our plans….”
“He’ll arrest us all and execute us for treason.”
Jocelin bobbed his head with resignation. “It is possible. I also understand that William Marshall will be at the feast tonight, another mark in our favor.”
“William Marshall?” There was excitement in her tone. “Do you think we could arrange to sit with his party? No offense meant to the Bishop of Coventry, but William Marshall is legendary. The man has served three kings and I, for one, would be eager to bask in his presence.”
Jocelin patted her shoulder patiently. “In time, little one. You do not invite yourself to the Marshall’s table. You wait to be summoned.”
“But…”
“Tut,” he held up a finger, cutting her off. Now was not the time to continue this discussion. To change the subject, he lifted his voice to Alys. “Are you ready, my dear? There is much food and festivity awaiting us. We must hurry before it is all over with.”
Alys bolted from the door with Jocelin and Sheridan close behind.
A small contingent of the Bishop’s men and of St. James’ men await in the hall, commanded by a knight who had been Henry’s captain for many years.
Neely de Moreville was a powerful man with an unspectacular face, but of calm and good character.
He bowed to the ladies, paying particular attention to Sheridan.
“If my lady is ready,” he extended an elbow.
Sheridan took his offered arm and followed him down the corridor. Jocelin and Alys were immediately behind them, followed by four St. James guards and four Ecclesiastical guards.
The Tower of London was a labyrinth of dark corridors, a grand hall and cramped rooms. It had recently seen some expansion; a new moat had been added, filled by water from the Thames, and several buildings and apartments were added on the south side of the White Tower.
The largest addition, however, was the Bell Tower that loomed high above the fortress.
The group left the east apartments and crossed the bailey towards the White Tower. The feast would be in the keep’s great hall. Sheridan’s gaze moved over the new, enlarged surroundings.
“I have never seen such a large structure,” she said. “Surely this is the strongest and most impregnable fortress in the world.”
Neely took any opportunity to speak with Sheridan. Being his liege’s daughter, he had watched her grow from a sweet child into a dazzling young woman. But he knew his place, well aware of their difference in station.
“It has quite a history, my lady,” he said. “Especially over the past few years with the contention of power between King John and his brother, Richard.”
“I heard tale that John laid siege to the tower several years ago while Richard was in the Holy Land.”
Neely nodded. “Richard’s chancellor, William Longchamp, initiated a massive expansion project, the results of which you see now.
John took advantage of his brother’s absence and attacked the new defenses.
Longchamp was forced to surrender not because the fortifications failed, but because the Tower ran out of supplies. ”
Sheridan thought on that a moment. “’Twould seem that John will stop at nothing to gain what he wants.”
“Keep that in mind, my lady.”
Having served the House of St. James as long as he had, Neely had been trusted with their innermost secrets.
He was well aware of Henry and Sheridan’s position on John.
He was, in fact, extraordinarily uncomfortable that she was here at the core of King John’s wickedness.
It had been, in his opinion, foolish of her to come, but this journey had been planned for a long time and nothing would stop Sheridan from accompanying Jocelin in her father’s stead.
Neely knew more than he let on about the king, as did Jocelin.
They both knew the man had no morality. He had been known to seduce the wives of his advisors while the men were powerless to stop him.
For those who tried to resist him, he had them thrown in the vault and took the women anyway.
Sometimes the men were left in the Tower to rot.
One did not refuse the king and live to tell the tale.
Which was why they were particularly fearful for Sheridan.
She was a magnificent creature and it would only be a matter of time before John saw her.
When that time came and the royal summons arrived, Neely was still uncertain to what he should do.
Jocelin wanted to whisk her to a convent if and when the occasion came.
Not even the king, with as much trouble as he had historically experienced with the church, would violate the sanctity of a convent.
But the problem was that once she was committed, she would have to remain.
For a beautiful young woman and the heiress to a massive earldom, that was not an attractive option.
Therefore, being in London, at this moment in time, was risky in more ways than one.
Sheridan knew none of this, of course. They had decided not to tell her for fear of upsetting her. Though she was a stable and wise girl, still, they were attempting to protect her. No use in worrying over something that they could not control. But they could be on their guard.
The entrance to the White Tower loomed ahead.
The keep was constructed of pale stone that gave it a ghostly glow in the moonlight.
It was so tall that it appeared to touch the night sky.
The St. James party mounted the steps and entered the small foyer immediately inside the structure.
There were two stewards there to greet them, ushering them further down the corridor and into the great hall beyond.
Lansdown Castle was a grand enough place with a large hall.
But even the homey fires of Lansdown’s hospitality could not compare to what they soon witnessed.
It was as if they had entered an entirely new world; never had Sheridan seen so many tapers, slender beams with gracefully lit tips.
They gave the hall an unearthly glow. The room was also very warm, not only from the amount of people in it, but because there was an enormous fire in the two massive hearths that bordered the east and west walls of the room.
More servants greeted them, dressed in finery affordable only in the house of the king.
There were several long tables, all decorated with phials of wine and seasonal fruit.
Nobles, such as they do, sat on benches, tables, and all around the room.
They were everywhere, the men who harbored such power in England.
On Neely’s arm, Sheridan watched it all quite closely. It was an intimidating sight.
Power and wealth reeked from every facet of the massive, fragrant hall.
While Neely deposited Sheridan at the table and faded into the shadows, as other knights did as their masters took seat, Jocelin sat between Sheridan and Alys.
Their soldier escort fell back against the wall directly behind them.
The party was barely settled as Alys snatched her goblet and held it aloft for wine.
A servant was at her side almost immediately, filling the goblet.
Alys downed her allotment and demanded more.
Sheridan settled herself on the bench, smoothing her gown and kicking off the dried rushes that had adhered themselves to her slippers.
All around the room gathered groups of men and women, the gaiety of laughter filling the warm, stale air.
In the gallery above, a group of minstrels played a haunting tune.
Sheridan twisted her head around, watching the group overhead for a moment, before returning her attention to the brilliant room.
“Do you see anyone that you recognize?” she whispered to Jocelin.
Jocelin’s sharp eyes scanned the hall. It was like being in a roomful of predators; each man had the look of both killer and prey.
There was an odd air about the place, of both suspicion and friendship.
His gaze came to rest on a group several yards to their left and he visibly perked.
“See there,” he said quietly. “The Bishop of Rochester and his party. And I also see with him the barons Fitz Gerold and Fitz Herbert, men from the Welsh marches.”
“Do you see de Warenne?”
“Nay.”
“Coventry or Rochester?”
“Not yet.”
Sheridan tried not to be too obvious about staring. “If you point out these men to me so that I may recognize them,” she whispered, “perhaps I will be able to set up the meeting we’ve all longed for. No one will suspect a lady in these circumstances of subversion.”
Jocelin cocked an eyebrow. “’Tis only subversion if what we are attempting to accomplish is thwarted. If successful, we shall be loyalists.”
“There is no one that disputes our rightness,” her voice grew stronger. “No one on earth that would dare to…”
Jocelin cut her off. “Look,” he almost gestured but caught himself in time. “There is the Earl of Arundel. I haven’t seen the man in years.”
Sheridan caught sight of a short, red-haired man as he disappeared into a well-dressed crowd. Before she could comment, Jocelin crowed again.
“And look there,” he bordered on excitement. “William Marshall in the flesh.”