Chapter Five #5
Sean slapped the beam again, unexpectedly and sharply.
“Exactly. Because my commitment to the cause was more important to me than assuming my rights as Viscount Darlington. And for what? To be told that all of this has been for naught, that what I truly want in reward for my service might very well be denied to me because you apparently don’t trust that I can keep my focus on the cause?
I find that offensive. I have given up more than anyone for what I believe in.
You have no right to deny me what I want. ”
“No one is denying you,” the voice said calmly. “But you must look at all angles. Your timing is poor. We must focus on what is most important right now.”
“Is my sense of duty being called into question?”
“Most certainly not.”
“I will not give up Lady Sheridan.”
The voice, once again, sighed heavily. There was no getting around the subject. Men in love could be the most stubborn creatures on the face of the earth.
“As you say,” the voice said. “But she must leave the Tower at once, for her own safety. I will instruct Jocelin to make it so. Now, may we speak on other matters?”
Sean was broodingly silent, his mind a clutter of thought and emotions. He was unused to such disorder. “Aye,” he finally said.
“Tell me of the king.”
“He knows that something is amiss. He knows of Rochester’s meeting with Salisbury.”
“Has he gone so far as to rally his troops?”
“Not yet.”
“You cannot let him, Sean. And you cannot let him leave the Tower.”
“Understood.”
“What is his troop strength?”
Sean pushed himself off the wall, crossing his massive arms as he spoke.
“Warwick and Percy have a massive contingency from the north between them. They are nearing Coventry from what I am told, at least one week away. Suffolk has a thousand men to the east within a day’s ride, as does Norfolk.
William Fitz Osbern has brought his entire regiment from Monmouth, about eight hundred men.
Plus the royal troops, there are nearly five thousand men in or around London that will oppose the siege. ”
The voice snorted. “We will crush them.”
“You must be vigilant of Warwick and Percy from the north. They will be able to attack you from behind and create a second front.”
“We can position men to prevent the main body of our army from being disrupted,” he said. “Unless… unless we wait for Warwick and Percy to reach London and bed within her walls.”
“I would advise against it. Take London now while she is weak. Call in reinforcements from the Marches to occupy Warwick and Percy.”
The voice grew serious. “Then I must speak with de Warenne. He will know his loyal March allies.”
“We cannot expect any more support from de Braose. He is raging war right now with the Welsh.”
“Not the Welsh, Sean,” the voice said softly. “Against Clifford. Reginald is going after Kington Castle on the Marches in an effort to wrest it from Walter Clifford.”
Sean hadn’t heard that bit of information, and he usually knew everything through his network of informants and spies. “But Clifford is here, in London.”
“I know.”
“Surely he is aware of the siege?”
“Possibly not yet. He has been here for some time. It takes time for news to travel.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Young de Braose confided in a few.”
Sean shook his head at the irony of it. “Revenge is sweet. Clifford stole it from the de Braose clan and now they want it back. Young de Braose has been telling everyone his father isn’t here because he is fighting rebels.”
“He is, in sorts, just not Welsh rebels.”
There was a humor to the irony of political agendas and the petty wars of barons. Sean lingered the information a moment longer before tucking it away.
“We should meet by sunset tomorrow to follow any progress that has been made,” he said. “The king will not be leaving the Tower anytime soon that I can see. We will have to rendezvous on the grounds.”
“The well house near the barracks.”
They had been in the bell tower overlong. Sean brushed the dust off his arms and made for the narrow, spiral stairs that led to the parapet below. He knew the king would soon be looking for him.
“Sean,” the voice said. “The meeting you saw in Lady Sheridan’s apartment the other night…”
Sean held up a hand. “No worries. I told the king it was a wake for Henry.”
“I know.” The voice paused. “My secondary sources tell me that he did not believe you. You should be aware.”
Sean leaned against the wooden rail. After a moment, he smiled dryly. “It is not because he does not believe me personally. It is because he is suspicious of everything regardless of what we all tell him. He lives in a world of paranoia that the rest of us can only imagine.”
“Are you certain?”
“Nine years of experience tells me this.”
“Be cautious, anyway. You are our best, strongest asset in this war against tyranny.”
Sean nodded, took another stair, and suddenly paused again. “I nearly forgot to ask. The document I wrote; did you receive it?”
“Father Simon delivered it. That is what we were examining the other night when you saw us in the St. James’ apartment.”
“I thought as much. Did it incorporate everything it should?”
“That and more. Your text is brilliant. You clearly have a talent with written prose.”
“Under your direction, of course. But remember; I do not want my name mentioned anywhere. I am not responsible for this document that will change the course of this country. I would rather be an invisible contributor. Leave the glory to those who wish it.”
“Have no fear. The impression was given that the Bishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of London were the authors. No one will ever know that you are the true creator of the Magna Carta.”
“Is that what you are calling it?”
“Fitting, is it not?” The voice suddenly took on a concerned tone. “And speaking of writing, are you still keeping your journals?”
“I am.”
“Take care that they do not fall into the wrong hands.”
“The priest keeps them for me in the chapel. They are safe.”
“See that they are. I have always disagreed that you keep a log of your years with the king.”
“Perhaps someday they will give historians an insight into his madness and the turbulence of the times. Besides, you know that I have always been fond of writing. It keeps me sane.”
“You should stick to treaty writing. It is safer.”
Sean snorted with humor as he reflected on the title of the treaty that had taken a year out of his life to write. The Magna Carta. Sean quit the bell tower and disappeared into the shadows below. When the cathedral was sufficiently vacant, the Voice disappeared as well.
Time was running short.