Chapter One #3
“We all have spies,” Clifford interjected impatiently.
“But our spies are spread out over our lands as well as in London. They run thin at times.” He glanced at Sean, his old eyes sharp and wise.
“De Lara knows all, sees all. He knew that the House of St. James was at the Tower and told us so, last week. Today he has met the daughters, which is of no consequence to us. I care not for the women, but I do care for Jocelin. That is where the true power lies.”
The mood of the chamber was growing uncomfortable.
Jocelin, Bishop of Bath, was an influential man with a tremendous voice within the church.
The House of St. James was allied with the man and, consequently, most of the West Country.
With all of England in civil war and conflict, alliances and enemies were of supreme importance at this time.
“The Earl of Lincoln arrived yesterday,” Sean continued. “Worcester, Coventry and Rochester have been here for weeks. I am also told that Salisbury, de Warenne and Arundel are on the road and due to arrive within days. De Braose rides with Salisbury.”
One could have heard a pin drop. It was more than they had imagined. The mood turned from uncomfortable to ominous as the shock of the information sank deep.
“De Braose is the most powerful lord on the marches. As we speak, he is waging war against the Welsh,” the king’s voice was tinged with bitterness. “Why does he come to London?”
“Reginald is on the marches, sire,” de Lara replied. “His son Guy rides with Salisbury.”
“God’s Bones,” Fitz Pons hissed through clenched teeth. “Two of the three most powerful marcher lords ride to London, not to mention Arundel. What does this all mean? Why are they all converging on London?”
“They ride against the king, of course,” de Lara said steadily. He paused, eyeing the crowd, wondering if they were ready for the rest of his report. “There is more, my lords.”
John glanced up from his nearly empty chalice. “What more?”
“I am also told that Fitz Gerold, Fitz Herbert, Fitz Hugh and de Neville are expected from the north, though I cannot be sure. The information is unclear and several weeks old. And then there is the matter of de Burgh…”
“Hugh de Burgh,” John slammed his chalice to a table, missed it, and it clattered to the floor. “I will punish that man, I swear on my father’s grave. He defies me, my old tutor. I will strip him of everything my father ever granted him and call it swift justice.”
John’s rage was up. If it became worse, he would throw himself down on the rushes in fits.
It was important that he remain in control, important for his cause that he put on a strong appearance.
No doubt nearly every man de Lara named would be in attendance at the feast tonight and they must see nothing other than a collected monarch.
Sean glanced at Gerard, the great hairy beast of a man, and with a silent gesture sent him in search of the physic.
He was well aware of the signs of impending convulsions.
The nobles sensed this as well. De Lara took a step towards the group and immediately the men moved to vacate the chamber. There was a feast awaiting and much plotting to attend to. They would leave de Lara to calm the king.
When the room was empty and John sat twitching in his chair, Sean took a moment to study the man. He was attempting to assess just how close he was to seizures.
“Sire,” he said quietly. “You needn’t worry over those who would oppose you. Your loyalists are just as strong. This is an old story and an old issue. We have dealt with worse. The monarchy will prevail, I assure you. It always has.”
“But the church stands against me,” John was salivating as he spoke. “Worcester, Coventry and Bath are in London, no doubt to assist the barons in plotting my downfall.”
“They are men of the church, sire. Perhaps they are merely in London on papal business.”
John grunted. “The church has ever been against me. And that nasty little business a few years ago…”
“Your excommunication was short-lived, sire.”
“But I had to prostitute myself and my country in order to please that bastard, our gracious, sympathetic and illustrious pope,” John’s rage was gaining again. “He damn near emptied our coffers with his demand for tribute. But it was of no avail. The man is still against me.”
“Even if that is the case, sire, you count the bishops of York, Northumberland and Chester among your allies. They understand your vision for England and for her holdings.”
“Pah. They understand nothing but tribute and penance. I must pay for the sins of my father and those before him. That is the foundation of their hatred, you know. The sins of my entire family. ’Tis not just my political stance that has provoked the abhorrence of the church.”
He was speaking with the petulance of a child, exaggerated, with dribble flying from his lips. Sean knew that paroxysms were imminent. His next words were specifically designed.
“As you say, sire.”
“Of course I say. The church is full of idiots and mercenaries.”
“The church favors those who pay well for its loyalty, sire. And I have heard that Northumberland has been well-courted by William Marshall as of late.”
John’s eyes widened. “My brother’s chancellor? He lures my greatest supporter?”
“Money is sometimes greater than faith, my lord. Or the love of a king.”
John’s rage exploded and he was twitching on the rushes by the time the royal physic arrived.