Chapter 17 #2
“Where is this messenger?” he demanded. “I would speak with him.”
The king eyed him fondly. “All in good time, my friend.”
“But . . . where does this army come from? I have dispersed the rebels, and the English have been quiet ever since. Apart from Hew—” He stopped, his brows coming down in a ferocious scowl.
“Lord Henry feels it may well be this Hew, and that he has found himself well-trained men this time, not just rabble. You will have a proper battle on your hands, Radulf. A contest worthy of the King’s Sword,” William added smugly.
Radulf was more interested in the details.
“Where has this army of men come from?” he growled. “There were barely enough of Hew’s supporters left to pour wine at our feast tonight!
Are the Danes back? I thought you had paid them to go away. Has the Scottish king sent them? I thought Malcolm was cannier than that.”
King William’s eyes were hard and bright. “No, I fear Hew has found his army closer to home, Radulf. You have an enemy . . . remember?”
Radulf appeared uncomprehending, and then realization struck. “Kenton?” he breathed. “But surely, William, he would not commit treason to revenge himself upon me? For her?”
He had called the king by name in his shock and amazement, but either William didn’t notice or chose not to.
“And yet, Radulf, it seems he has. My spies were too late to prevent it from happening, but they tell me that Lord Kenton went straight from here to Hew and offered him as many men as he wanted. Kenton’s lands are close enough and the weather is good.
It will not take them long to reach their destination. ”
“He hates you, Radulf. Although we have not yet found Lady Anna’s murderer, Lord Kenton blames you. He wants to see you beaten and humiliated. He might really think he can win the north from you. Perhaps he will try to take your wife, as he believes you took his.”
Radulf’s jaw hardened. “I will stop him.”
William nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said, “you will.”
Lily was frozen to the spot. Hew meant to make war again in the north. And Radulf would fight him.
For a moment the brightly decorated hall with its many candles seemed to waver and dance about her. With an immense effort of will, Lily prevented herself from fainting. Fainting, she thought furiously, would accomplish nothing.
Words would.
“Hew thinks only of winning,” she said loudly.
“He does not care how many lives he destroys in the process. He will draw men and boys to him because he is English, and tells them he fights for their freedom and has their well-being at heart. He will lie.”
Silence. Radulf was glaring at her as if he wanted her to be quiet. Lily ignored him. The king was listening, and that was all that mattered.
“If I go with Lord Radulf, and speak, those men and boys will listen to me.
If they do not, then their wives and mothers will.
Hew has the advantage of familiarity. Lord Radulf has not, except through the tales that are told about him, and they do not inspire confidence.
How can frightened and starving people rally to a giant, or a warrior whose sword arm never tires, or a monster who eats their children?
They will run from Radulf! But if I am there by his side, then they will question such tales.
They will listen to me and see Radulf as he truly is rather than as he is portrayed in legend.
Sire, I must go with Lord Radulf. We must prevent another long war in the north. My country, my people, cannot bear it.”
King William was stroking his clean-shaven chin.
“You speak sense, lady. This was, after all, why I married you to my Sword.” A swift, mocking glance at Radulf.
“If you are seen to support Radulf and encourage the obedience of your people to him, then many more will follow in your steps. Yes! You make good sense, lady. What say you, Radulf?”
Radulf looked as if he wanted to say a great deal. “No.”
William blinked in surprise, then his expression quickly darkened.
“You are overhasty, my lord. I like the idea. Your lady will go with you and see what she can do to help disperse any rebels tempted to join Lord Kenton’s force.
You will have your hands full defeating them as it is, without their army growing any greater. Do you not trust her?”
This last was spoken very softly, for Radulf and Lily alone. Radulf hesitated, and felt Lily stiffen at his side. “She is my wife,” he said slowly. “I trust her as much as she trusts me.”
William slapped his shoulder, a blow so hard that it shifted Radulf forward an inch or two.
“Well, then! She goes with you. Peace, Radulf, that is what we need. Peace! First defeat Kenton’s army, and then I will deal with the man himself.”
When Radulf bowed, William clasped his hand.
“I will not insult you by asking that you take care.”
“Aye,” sighed Radulf, “I am immortal, sire, remember?”
The king and Radulf had discussed how many men were available to fight at such short notice, and how many of the closer landowners would send troops. Because it had all happened so fast, Radulf’s army would not be as large as he wished.
Radulf had then spoken to Lord Henry’s man, questioning him until he had extracted every ounce of information from him.
Now they were awaiting their horses outside William’s castle, standing in the chill darkness while torches flared from sconces on the walls.
The air smelled of the river and the sweet blossoms of some unseen tree.
“We will leave at first light,” Radulf informed Jervois. “There will be no dallying on the journey this time. It appears Lord Henry is outnumbered, and even when we reach him, we may still be outnumbered—but that has never stopped us before.”
His smile was savage; his eyes shone black in the firelight. Lily looked up at his big, tough body and understood why his name was the stuff of folklore.
“Aye, sir.” Jervois chimed in with a bloodthirsty laugh. “We will finish them off once and for all. This Hew’s head would make a fine ornament on the Bootham Gate.”
Lily thought of Hew’s pretty face and fine blond hair and was neither sickened nor shocked.
He deserved to die. So many lives had already been lost because of his lies and greed. Now her plan for a peaceful and prosperous north was in the balance. “As long as it is not your head upon the gate, Radulf, or yours, Jervois, I do not care.”
The two men looked at Lily in surprise. Jervois, she noticed, then became lost in thought.
After he had gone to hurry the grooms with the horses, Radulf said, “You would not weep for Hew?”
Lily shook her head. “No, I would not. If I wanted him to win I wouldn’t be coming north with you.”
Radulf shifted. She knew he was angry—she could read it in his tight mouth and hard eyes— but she reminded herself that his anger was unimportant when she had such an enormous task to accomplish.
Radulf must fight a battle and Lily must save her people. Right now, even the love she felt for him was unimportant. And yet . . .
“You told the king you trusted me.” The words burst out of her.
“As much as you trust me,” he reminded her.
“How much do you trust me, Lily?”
Her throat went dry. She trusted him more than any other man she had known since her father’s death, but her streak of self-preservation was too well developed for her to tell him so.
He spoke again when she didn’t answer, his tone deceptively mild and unconcerned. “I will take you with me, and you will do what you promised to do. We will both obey the king and see this matter brought to an end. And then we will go home to Crevitch, and it will all be forgotten.”
He was offering her a truce.
She smiled, her lips trembling. “Very well, my lord. The north, and then to Crevitch.”
They were barely inside the house when Radulf began shouting orders and Lily began hurrying to pack.
Jervois had felt dazed until then. He had been dazed since Lily said, in a strange sort of jest, that he might end up with his head upon Bootham Gate.
As his horse had galloped through York’s narrow streets he had been able to think of nothing else.
If he died, Alice would have to wed Sir Othric!
He remembered the man well, a hideous figure with warts on his face. He might have been a creature of pity, only he was so full of his own importance it was impossible to feel sorry for him. Sir Othric would have found such a thing incomprehensible.
The fact of Alice marrying that repulsive old man hadn’t seemed real until now. It had been a blur, but suddenly it took on a sharp and distinctive edge.
As Radulf strode toward the hall, Jervois stepped in front of him. “My lord.”
Radulf halted, frowning down at him.
Jervois swallowed. “My lord, I . . . I beg you to . . . that is, I have a boon to ask of you.” He was red; he felt the fire in his face.
Radulf watched him with some concern. “What is it, Jervois? Are you ill?”
“Alice of Rennoc,” he got out, somehow.
Radulf’s eyes lost their worried expression. A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “You want to gobble her up?”
Jervois stepped back a pace, green eyes blazing.
“My lord!”
“Nay, calm yourself. ’Twas . . . a private jest.”
Radulf assumed a more serious demeanor. “Aye, Jervois, have her to wife if you want. We will find you some part of my estates to watch over. Go tell her uncle, in case he weds her to someone else while we are gone.”
Jervois felt dizzy with relief, but he was not finished yet. “If I die in battle, my lord—”
Radulf frowned. “If you are slain then I will take care the girl does not wed against her will. My lady would probably be glad of her company at Crevitch. Worry not, my friend, all will be taken care of.”
Jervois smiled. Without his habitual serious-ness, his face looked suddenly young and transformed. “Thank you, Lord Radulf!” he said fervently.
Radulf shook his head as his captain hurried away to Alice of Rennoc’s uncle. He had been thinking himself the only fool in the house; it was comforting to know there was another.