Prologue
Five months later
Caversham Manor, Berkshire
A demesne of William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke
It had been a very bad winter.
The sky was the color of pewter, creating casts of dark and shadowed doom upon the winter-dead landscape and bringing to bear all of the unsettled moods that were so prevalent across the country.
A new king had taken the throne less than a year before and now, in this dead and colorless winter, the land reflected the soul of the people.
Dead and colorless since John ascended after Richard’s unfortunate death.
But death was a part of life and those left behind were forced to deal with the aftermath. As William Marshal sat in the small but cozy solar of Caversham Manor, he could see the fire snapping and crackling before him but he swore he could not feel the heat.
All he felt was the cold of an uncertain future.
The Marshal’s world was one of trouble these days.
As his mind wandered through the vines and thorns of the complex news he had received earlier in the day, it made less sense now than the moment he had first heard it.
In fact, the bearer of the news was seated beside him with a cup of watered wine in his hand and the air, though stagnant with the smell of smoke and stale rushes, was filled with tension.
Doom surrounded them.
William knew the deliverer of the information, a strong and true knight William had known for several years.
There were few finer men in the world than Sir Gart Forbes.
Forbes had spent the past several years traversing through France and the Teutonic princedoms, fighting for the very rich lords who could pay for his sword.
He’d gone on Crusade with Richard, and he’d remained after the fall of Acre, trying not to get caught up in the battle between the western church and the eastern church.
There was Rome, there was Constantinople, and then there was the ominous suggestion that the Holy Father, the Pope, was no longer satisfied with waging conflict against his brothers in the eastern empire.
Now, he was turning his suspicious and shrewd eyes westward to England.
It was a horrifying thought. According to Forbes, rumors of pure madness were flying fast and furious along the Pilgrim Trail, along the roads that led from the east to the civilized west. Forbes, a man who knew many but called few friend, had come back to England after eight long years away bearing tales of such insanity that William was still having difficulty believing them.
It wasn’t as if he didn’t have enough trouble these days, with the French king raising an army in an attempt to regain Normandy.
In fact, William had been in the process of planning a return to Normandy when Forbes had appeared with his news.
It had taken William all afternoon to swallow the information, digest it, and understand the validity of it.
Now, the information was consuming him from the inside-out.
“I had forgotten how bitter the winters are in England,” Forbes said quietly, breaking the stillness of the room. “I had become accustomed to warmth all year ’round.”
William turned to him, smiling weakly. “You prefer the heat of the savage kingdom, do you?”
Forbes laughed softly. “It has its advantages.”
William’s yellowed eyes moved over Forbes; he was a big man with a shaved head, young and handsome. He was also darkened by the sun from his years away from England, his skin tan as a cow’s hide.
“Mayhap,” William finally said, sighing heavily and sitting forward in his chair, hoping to catch some of the heat from the crackling fire. “Gart, we must speak again on the information you delivered to me this afternoon.”
“Aye, my lord?”
“You are certain that you heard this correctly?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Explain it to me again. I want to make sure I did not misunderstand you.”
Forbes cleared his throat softly, almost nervously.
He wouldn’t look at William as he spoke, mostly because the news he had delivered to William Marshal had been received from a whore and Forbes was ashamed of the fact.
Whores were not the most reliable of sources and for a knight of his status to have not only listened to the woman, but to have repeated her words, was somewhat shameful.
But on the chance she was telling the truth, Forbes didn’t want to be left with guilt for not having relayed her information.
“You did not misunderstand me, my lord,” he said, lowering his voice.
“I told you the truth of what I have heard. In fact, I have a witness to what I was told – Alexander de Sherrington was with me at the time. I am sure you know Sherry; he is one of the most elite and powerful knights I have ever known, and he became a good friend while we were in The Levant. We even traveled together for a while.”
William nodded faintly. “I know Sherry,” he said. “A frightening man, in fact. He is also something of a loner.”
“He works alone for the most part.”
“So do you.”
“I do.”
“But you say he was witness to this information? Where is he?”
Gart shook his head. “This, I cannot know, my lord,” he said. “We were together in Rome and then he left because someone in the Lateran Palace, a high-ranking priest, paid him a princely sum to eliminate an enemy. I’ve not seen him since.”
William pondered that for a moment before flicking his wrist at Gart. “It is of no consequence,” he said. “I believe what you have told me. I simply want to hear it again to make sure I understood correctly. A woman gave you this information, you say?”
Gart nodded. “A courtesan, my lord,” he said. “A woman who is a favored of one of the Holy Father’s advisors, a man by the name of Abramo. She told me that she had been warming the man’s bed for two years. Others confirmed this to me.”
“Others you trust?”
Forbes shrugged. “One was a papal knight,” he replied. “Another was an old man who was a servant of the body to Abramo.”
William looked at him, seriously. “I see,” he said. “And while in Rome, you entertained this courtesan?”
“I did.”
“How did you meet the other two men who confirmed who she was?”
Forbes started to look nervous again. “I wanted to see her before I left Rome to return to England,” he said, not wanting to admit he liked the woman because she was sexually clever and stimulating.
“I went to the Lateran Palace where she said she lived to see if I could send a missive to her, to draw her out so that I could bid her farewell, and I was told by a papal guard that she was a favored of Abramo, a man close to the Holy Father. When the guard sent the missive inside the palace, the servant of the body returned to tell me that the woman belonged to Abramo and that I was forbidden further contact with her.”
William was listening carefully, moderately satisfied with Forbes’ explanation. “And it was of Abramo that the woman spoke.”
Forbes nodded, seemingly impressed or overwhelmed, or both, by the news he bore. “Indeed,” he replied. “She said the information regarding King Richard had come directly from Abramo.”
“And she was certain?”
“She was certain that Abramo was certain, and the man was certain enough to act upon the information.”
William sighed heavily, sitting back in his chair and gazing into the hypnotic flames. “So Richard Plantagenet had a liaison with a woman in Sicily when he wintered there ten years ago en route to The Levant,” he muttered. “And from that liaison, a son was born.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“A lad that Lothar has in his custody.”
William always referred to the pope by his birth name – Lothar of Segni.
It was a sign of the animosity that William had long been part of, something that had eroded whatever inherent respect the position of the pontiff required.
Especially in this situation, there was no respect – only the presence of an adversary.
A war was on the horizon.
“Aye, my lord,” Gart replied.
As the news sunk in, William rubbed wearily at his forehead. Even the second time around, the information still shocked him. “So now he has Richard’s son,” he muttered. “Worse yet, he plans to supplant John with Richard’s offspring?”
Gart nodded, watching William for any sign of what the man’s thoughts were on the matter.
All he could see were veins throbbing on the man’s temples.
“According to the woman, Abramo told her that assassins were being dispatched to England to kill John,” he said.
“There is no love between John and Rome, my lord. If the church rids England of John and then lays claim to the throne with Richard’s son, then England ceases to become our country. It will become part of Rome.”
William already knew this. He shook his head, exasperated. “Already this plan is madness because the boy is Richard’s bastard,” he pointed out. “They cannot lay claim on behalf of the boy.”
Forbes sighed. “This I said, as well,” he said, somewhat sadly.
“However, the woman told me that the Holy Father is prepared to swear that Richard married the boy’s mother, a minor noblewoman, prior to his marriage to Berengaria, and that the Holy Father personally performed the ceremony.
The Holy Father intends to legitimize the boy’s claim. ”
William looked at him, hints of horror crossing his weathered features. “Is this really true, Gart?” he asked, almost pleadingly. “This is truly what you were told?”
Forbes nodded. “I swear this is what the woman told me, my lord,” he said. “That is why I traveled in the dead of winter to reach you. This is something you must know. John, as much as we dislike the man, must be protected.”
William rolled his eyes, rubbing at his head more forcefully now.
“Great Bleeding Christ,” he hissed. “John may be an undesirable king but at least his is the legitimate king and if there is to be any removing of the man, I would do it and not the fools in Rome. Do they really think they can get away with such a thing?”