Chapter Seven
“He’s dead.”
Titus thought he wasn’t hearing correctly. “He’s what?” he gasped. “Who’s dead?”
“Gaveston.”
Titus had barely entered Morgen’s cluttered solar when the news was flying out at him, fast and furious. He felt as if the words had been delivered as body blows. He came to a halt, stunned, and may have actually staggered.
His jaw dropped.
“Who told you this?” he demanded incredulously.
Morgen looked weary. Old and weary. He was sitting behind his table, the one that overlooked the River Thames, and he lifted an open missive on the tabletop, extending it to Titus.
Titus took it and read it.
“My God,” he muttered when he’d read it twice. “Lancaster actually did it. He executed Gaveston.”
Morgen was looking out over the river as it meandered past the manse built by his forefathers.
The news had reached him earlier that morning by way of one of Pembroke’s men, who had received the missive addressed to him and not to de Lohr.
Spies sometimes addressed missives to men not in a position of power, soldiers or even servants, simply to get the message through.
Simple men would be overlooked if they received a missive or two.
This message was most definitely meant for de Lohr.
“I’ve been sitting here, thinking,” he said after a moment.
“What we are dealing with is nothing compared to what my great-grandfather had to deal with. What William Marshal had to deal with during the reign of Richard and subsequently John. I remember hearing stories from my grandfather about the lengths John would go to in order to steal a kingdom from his brother. Christopher de Lohr and William Marshal had to contend with two warring brothers, but once again, we are dealing with a king so hated by his warlords that they would do anything to punish him and bring him to his knees. Even killing his favorite. But in this case, it will not work in their favor, not as they had hoped.”
Titus knew that. He’d been playing this game long enough to know what all of this meant.
“And it begins,” he muttered ominously. “The tides will shift in Edward’s direction.
In truth, Lancaster and Warwick have done Edward a great favor.
Gaveston was the sacrifice, though I’m not sure Edward will see it that way, at least not at first. But when he sees the warlords lining up to support him against the ambitious Lancaster, he will realize this was for the best.”
Morgen shrugged weakly. “This is a crushing blow to the rebellion,” he said.
“I intend to send Lancaster a strongly worded missive declaring that, precisely. Lancaster could not have done more damage to the resistance had he deliberately tried. I intend to declare my support of Edward, so Lancaster will know he has lost the southern marches. I am not entirely sure what Warwick and Gloucester will do, but I suspect Warwick will side with Lancaster, since he was part of Gaveston’s execution. And Gloucester…”
“You may have war on your doorstep, my lord.”
Morgen knew that. “That is true, but I have powerful allies, everywhere, that will support me,” he said.
“Not that I need their support, however, because I have one of the largest standing armies in England. But it is good to know I have support from all corners of England, which brings me to my next point. You must ride to Berwick and tell your father. Tell him that Northumberland must be secured from Lancaster and his allies, at all costs.”
Titus nodded. “I will leave today,” he said. “But after I deliver the message, where would you have me go? Shall I go to Warwick, as we planned?”
Morgen shook his head. “Not now,” he said with some irony. “Lancaster has already lowered the ax, so to speak, so there is no longer any reason for you to go there. Return to your father and remain under his command for now. If I need you, I will send for you.”
Titus nodded. “As you wish,” he said. He started to turn for the door but came to an unsteady halt.
“You know my father will want to know if you wish to have him send men to Lioncross Abbey. Berwick is far removed from the turmoil that will engulf the Welsh marches if you lend your support for the king because your close neighbors Warwick and Gloucester might have something to say about it. He will want to send you help.”
Morgen looked over his shoulder at him. “I will gladly take any men he wishes to send me.”
That had Titus coming away from the door and back toward Morgen. There was something in the man’s manner that concerned him beyond normal concern. “You are worried, aren’t you?” he said, almost accusingly. “You are worried that Warwick and Lancaster might do something drastic.”
Morgen shrugged. “I would be a foolish man if I did not prepare for my unhappy neighbors,” he said.
“Pembroke and I will create a very large, united front, something Lancaster and his allies cannot break. De Lara holds the mid-marches, and he will side with me. Further north sees an alliance with your family, the hereditary kings of Anglesey, so I do not see any of us falling to Lancaster and his scorched-earth campaign when he realizes we are no longer with him. But there will be trouble, have no doubt. Tell your father to send me only what he can spare, because I suspect, at some point, Lancaster will try to move into Northumberland.”
Titus waved him off. “Between my uncles and my father, we have tens of thousands of men protecting our properties,” he said. “Northumberland belongs to de Wolfe, and Lancaster would be foolish to move against us.”
“True. But we also thought he would be foolish to execute Gaveston.”
He had a point. Titus conceded that with a nod of his head. “Right,” he said, turning for the door once more. “In that case, I shall leave for Berwick today. I must gather my things first, but I will be out of the city before the sun sets.”
“Ride swiftly, Titus.”
Titus paused at the door. “Even if I ride swiftly, it will take twelve or more days for me to reach Berwick,” he said. “I will move as quickly as I can, but it will take time.”
Morgen knew that. “You can only do your best,” he said. “But Titus… if it comes down to war, remain with your father. Remain at Berwick. You will not come into the heat of the fighting under any circumstances.”
Titus looked at him strangely. “Why not?”
Morgen fixed him in the eye. “Because I may lose several agents in this war,” he said ominously. “If I do, then I must have experienced agents to rely on once the fighting is over. I will need men like you.”
Titus understood. He didn’t like it, but he understood. Men like Bax de Velt would be in the middle of it, forced into the war by the very men they were assigned to spy on. There were others on the front line, so Titus well understood Morgen’s request. He needed some of his agents to stay alive.
Titus hoped he was able to comply.
Something told him that it was going to be a challenge.