“She is a true French girl,” the Black Prince said. “And this is the one who Philip spoke of as the saintly damsel?”
“I believe so,” Thomas said.
“The blessed Saint Michael must have his wits twisted,” the Black Prince said, “if he believes that we are the force of evil in Christendom!”
To that Thomas said nothing. How could he say to these men that St. Michael himself had said that evil stalked in the form of the English king, and that demony had infected the English court? The latter Thomas had no trouble believing… but that the venerable and ancient Edward III was evil incarnate? Thomas had difficulty believing that, and he certainly wasn’t going to suggest the possibility to Edward’s sons here in this chamber.
“A peasant girl is a poor choice for an archangel to pick as one of his warriors,”
Lancaster said. “Tell me, has she the face and form to seduce Charles and Philip into believing her mutterings?”
Thomas smiled. “She is squat, and dark, and would have a difficult time tempting deformed dwarves, my lord.”
There was brief, soft laughter, then the Black Prince spoke quietly. “If I had not seen with my own eyes these demons, Tom, I would disbelieve every word you have uttered. But… sweet Jesu! Are these things crawling through England’s green fields as well?”
“My lord,” Thomas said, his tone urgent. “I believe so. Etienne Marcel was clearly their creature—he advocated a social order of chaos, no less!—and I have heard mutterings among your own men that—”
“What?” the Black Prince sat up, setting his wine goblet down. “What have you heard?”
Thomas hesitated, wondering who he could trust among the other three in the chamber. John Ball was patently demon-influenced in his ideas, as was the heretical priest, John Wycliffe, and Thomas had serious doubts about Wat Tyler as well, if only because he frequented the company of Ball, and spoke admiringly of Wycliffe.
But Tyler, at least, was well respected among these men, and Wycliffe was influential at court… did the Black Prince support and protect him? Did Lancaster? And what of Hal?
“Well?” the Black Prince said.
“It is just… just that I have heard some of the men in this encampment, faceless men, I do not know their names, talk of a world where the Church had been destroyed.”
“There are some things about the Church that would do well to be destroyed,”
Lancaster said, and Thomas was glad he’d kept names silent. “Its overweening wealth, and its ambitions to interfere with the secular state.”
Thomas shrugged. “There is a level of disrespect that—”
“Ha!” the Black Prince said. “Do you blame them, Tom? Do you? Have you not just pointed out the corruption that bedevils your blessed Church? Well… I can see why Prior General Thorseby wants you back in his den for whatever harsh discipline he considers fitting, Thomas. He has never liked you, as well you know. Running off from Saint Angelo’s without so much as a by-your-leave from the prior was bound to ignite Thorseby’s ire.”
“My lord,” Thomas half-stepped forward, “if you send me to Thorseby he might confine me for a year or two of solitary prayer in a cell! I might never reach Wynkyn’s casket! I—”
“Yes, yes,” the Black Prince said. “I well understand your concern, Tom, but for the moment be still. John,” he looked at Lancaster, “I fear Philip’s news has made our choice about what to do less difficult.”
Lancaster, so long an advocate of pushing forward whatever the cost to consolidate their victory at Poitiers, nodded wearily. “He has eight thousand men at Chatellerault? Sweet God in heaven, Edward …”
“Winter approaches,” Edward said, “and our men are tired and war-weary. We must wait the winter out, and push forward in spring. But… we cannot winter here in Chauvigny. It is too close to Philip and whatever men Charles has mustered. So, this is what we shall do … I will lead the larger part of the army south, to Bordeaux. Our fortifications are stronger there, and we have enough supplies for the winter. There, during winter and while our force rests, I will open negotiations with the Duke of Burgundy—the Lord Savior knows he has ever been Charles’ foe!”
“Aye,” Lancaster said wearily. “And King John?”
“Whatever Philip said, John is still useful. Brother, I would that you and our
brother Gloucester escort him back to London. We cannot risk keeping him this side of the Channel for the entire winter. Bolingbroke can attend you. Thomas, you will attend Lancaster and Gloucester and, once Lancaster determines it can be accomplished without Thorseby’s knowledge, you will journey north to this friary where rests de Worde’s casket. Lancaster, you will ensure that Thomas does so in all security.”
Lancaster nodded yet again, knowing Edward meant that Thomas was to be well escorted on his journey north to Bramham Moor.
“I think,” he said, now looking meaningfully at Raby, “that the Lady Rivers should also travel back to England in our retinue. Your camp, brother, will be no place for a lady due to deliver, and in the meantime Lady Rivers will do well to attend my own lady, Katherine.”
At this piece of news Thomas was both surprised and not, all in the same moment.
Of course Margaret Rivers would accompany them back to England: the demons needed her close to Thomas so she could steal his soul. Thomas was totally unsurprised that demonic interests should ensure she stayed close to him. Yet that Lancaster should be the one to order it. Why? Why was Lancaster interested in the fate of what, to him, should be merely a fallen lowly woman? Why should he be so determined to remove her from Raby’s bed to attend Lady Katherine Swynford, Lancaster’s own mistress?
Interesting, Thomas thought. I shall be glad of the chance to talk with her more closely on this journey.
LANCASTER REMAINED behind after the others had left the Black Prince’s chamber.
“Edward,” he said softly, watching his brother slump into his chair, “you are not well. Should you not come home with us? There is no need for you to remain in Bordeaux.”
Edward waved a hand tiredly. “I am well enough,” he said. “The flux does not weaken me overmuch,”
“Let me send for the physician, if nothing else.”
Edward hesitated, then nodded. “Very well. Perhaps a dose of wormwood …”
Lancaster rested a hand briefly on his brother’s shoulder. “We would be lost without you,” he said. “England will be lost without you.”
Edward nodded again, and then Lancaster was gone.
“MEG?”
She was still asleep, and Raby had to shake her shoulder to wake her. “Meg, wake! Your child has made you a laggard!”
Margaret rolled over, and then abruptly sat up as she came to her senses. “Ralph!
Has the prince returned? And Bolingbroke?”
“Aye, and the news is not good.” Raby sat on the edge of the bed and studied
Margaret. Her hair was all sleep tousled, and her eyes dark and dreamy. She was naked under the coverlets, and as she sat her breasts slipped free.
For an instant Raby wondered if he had the time to bed her … then the coverlets slipped yet further and he saw the roundness of her belly.
“We are to abandon Chauvigny,” he said briskly, standing and drawing on a pair of thick outdoor gloves. “Edward is to move south to Bordeaux, and you will travel back to England with Lancaster, who escorts King John. There. Our bargain is complete. You are to return home.”
Margaret threw the covers back completely and slid out of bed.
Raby watched her from the corners of his narrowed eyes, but pretended an interest in the fastening of one of his gloves.
“And you?” she said, moving to stand by him.
“I will remain with Edward for the time,” he said, “although no doubt I shall return to court in the New Year.”
She smiled. “Then you will be in time for the birth of our—”
He whipped about and stared at her. “I do not believe we shall meet again. You shall spend time attending the Lady Swynford until your time draws nigh, and then you will return to your husband’s parents to present them with their grandchild and heir.”
Margaret paled. “But I thought you—”
Raby took her shoulders in his hands, his eyes trailing one last time down her body. God, if only she had not fallen with child! How sweet she would have been as his mistress at court!
“Margaret, I will say this one last time. You carry your husband’s child. I will never acknowledge it as mine.”
“And thus I am to be discarded?”
“Thus you made your choice,” Raby said carefully, “and the choices were made plain before I ever bedded you.”
Margaret’s eyes filled with tears. “Ralph, will you hold me, one last time? I would feel the comfort of your arms about me, and—”