The Robin Hood Trilogy

by Marsha Canham

  “And the Princess Eleanor?”

  Pembroke was silent a moment. “Because of Arthur, because he once renounced his claim in supposed good faith only to reappear some months later at the head of an army … Eleanor could pledge her oath of fealty from the highest rampart in the land, she could shout it before the largest court assembled, and John would not be inclined to believe her. As long as she is alive, there is another whose claim to the throne precedes his own. And as long as she is alive, he knows there will be men gathering in dark rooms to speak of civil war.”

  “The king would not dare harm her,” Eduard declared evenly. “Every knight in the realm would turn their backs on him. He would be spitting in the eye of chivalry itself, and no amount of guilty penance, no weight of holy relics strung about his scrawny neck, would redeem him.”

  “You place more faith in his concern over public opinion than I do,” Pembroke remarked. “In any case, she is a danger to him and he would not contemplate returning to England without her. As his prisoner or his hostage—call it what you will—the Pearl of Brittany will never be allowed to walk free again, not so long as John sits upon the throne.”

  Eduard, standing in the silence and shadows, steeped in quiet fury. He raised a hand unselfconsciously and pressed it over his breast, feeling the bite of the tiny gold ring. Eleanor had given it to him the day he had won his spurs; the same day he had vowed, with drops of his own blood, to perform all deeds of bravery and honour in her name, and to serve and protect her unto the death as her champion.

  He had not trusted John’s motives from the outset and had wanted to go, by himself if necessary, to bring her away from Mirebeau. But his father and the dowager had both worked to cool his temper. Eleanor herself had assured him she was being treated well and was quite certain her uncle meant her no harm. At the time, she had also been quite certain Arthur would be set free again, and had even gone willingly to Rouen in the hope of being closer to him. As recently as a fortnight ago, she had held hope Arthur was somewhere in the castle donjons being kept in isolation and darkness until his Angevin stubbornness could be broken.

  If John had given the order for Eleanor to be moved to England, she must be aware by now that the rumours of her brother’s death were founded in truth. She would be frightened. Alone. She would know she could no longer trust her uncle’s promises and assurances.

  William the Marshal was watching Eduard’s face closely. “I would hasten to add that if any overt force was brought to bear against the king to win her release, it would invite upon her the same fate her poor brother suffered. Nay, even the threat of force would turn John’s hand against her.”

  Eduard met the marshal’s eye. “Do you suggest we do nothing to correct this travesty?”

  “I suggest we do the only thing we can do.” William drew a breath through his teeth and looked at each man in turn. “I suggest we steal her back.”

  “Steal her back?” Alaric exclaimed.

  “Aye. And the sooner the better. The farther from Brittany she is taken, the deeper into John’s domain she travels, the less likelihood there will be of wresting her from the king’s grasp.”

  “You have obviously ruled out appealing to the dowager for help,” the Wolf assumed.

  “For all of his faults, his past treacheries, and for all that he bestows upon her the affection of a moulting snake, Eleanor of Aquitaine has always favoured John among her sons. She would not knowingly intercede if it meant threatening his position on the throne. As much as she loved Arthur, she ordered a hail of arrows be delivered upon his head when he sought to take Mirebeau. As much as she loves her granddaughter, she would not condone any act that might lead to putting her on the throne in John’s stead.

  “Not,” he stressed, “that it would be necessary, or even probable, for the barons of England to band together to do so. It might well be enough just to be able to threaten to do so in order to win some compromise of power from the throne— compromises we must have to limit the power one man has over an entire kingdom.”

  “So you would use her,” Eduard spat contemptuously. “You would free her from one form of captivity only to place her in another?”

  “There would be no donjon walls and no gaolers to watch her every movement,” William insisted earnestly. “She would be free to marry and have a family and look forward to having her children’s children pulling at her skirts. With John, she will have none of those things. Not even the dreams.”

  Lord Randwulf pursed his lips thoughtfully. If the marshal was serious—and there was no reason to doubt he was not —he was placing the men of Amboise in an extremely awkward position. The dowager would not only resist any attempt to use her granddaughter to control her son’s powers, she would never sanction her champion’s involvement in any such plot. Conversely, Randwulf was aware of the friendship and affection that had developed between Princess Eleanor and his son over the years, and he knew Eduard well enough to be fairly certain no amount of threat or method of persuasion could convince him to leave this thing alone. Randwulf had practically had to declare open war on France himself in order to keep Eduard in the battle lines and away from Rouen.

  “You say she has already been transported to England?” he asked.

  “From Cherbourg, aye.”

  “And taken where?” Eduard demanded.

  “I do not know for certain, but from past experience, the best guess would favour a landing at either Lyme or Purbeck. John has used both Bristol and Corfe Castle for his political prisoners in the past, as they represent the most difficult challenges for a rescue or an escape.”

  “There is also the White Tower, in London,” Alaric reminded him. “No one has ever escaped from there.”

  “True enough,” the marshal agreed. “I also considered London, but it might draw attention to her presence in England, and attention is what he will want to avoid at all cost.”

  “It is what we will want to avoid as well,” the Wolf said darkly, “for all that we are about to commit treason on a rather grand scale.”

  The marshal’s eyes glittered in the candle flame. “Then you agree she must be taken out of his hands and delivered into safer keeping?”

  Randwulf glanced over at his son. It was madness to agree. If the men involved were caught or even recognized, their lives would be forfeit. And if an attempt at rescue was made, but failed, not only their lives, but the life of the princess would be taken on the spot.

  “Before you answer,” the marshal interjected cautiously, “and because I come to you with more boldness than our friendship perhaps warrants, it must be said that the men entrusted with this bounden duty must not be known to the king or to any of his minions. Certes, not well enough for any of them to say to themselves: ahh, there is the Wolf’s head we have been waiting so many years to thrust onto a spike. Or”— the piercing gaze shifted from Randwulf to Alaric—“there is the good Friar who would better serve a monastery in hell. Second, the leader must be a man well-enough known to the princess that she would not fear or hesitate to go with him if he should suddenly appear before her.” The earl stopped and looked directly at Eduard. “It would be a mission fraught with danger and given slim chance of success.”

  Since the possibility of not aiding in the princess’s rescue had never entered his mind, Eduard was able to return the marshal’s stare with a creditably hard one of his own. “Allow me to select a few good men, and I will leave at first light.”

  “You may count me among them,” Henry volunteered at once. “I am familiar with both Bristol and Corfe, having spent a drunken fortnight in the one and a miserable month of service in the other.”

  “Then your help and company will be most welcome,” Eduard agreed.

  “Aye, and what will the pair of you blundernoses do?” Sparrow asked with a snort. “Prance through the gates of Corfe and inquire if Her Highness is receiving rogues that particular day? You will need to draw a plan, fools. And the plan will have to be looked at this way and th
at, upside and down, with guts spilled and charted so as to leave nothing to chance. This is no game or gambit to be entered with a righteous toss of plumery and a silvered scarf tied to the lance. This is a few against many, an assault on fortified battlements, with our Little Pearl’s delicate white throat poised on the edge of a blade! Leave at first light, will you?” he groused. “Paugh! Go then. And when you are caught circling the castles with your rumps sour with sweat, offer the king’s men my fond regards before they put out your eyes and roast your livers over an open fire.”

  Lord Randwulf gave the chastisement a moment to echo around the small enclave before looking calmly to Alaric. “Friar? A balancing opinion, perhaps? Or a rebuttal against the marshal’s assessment of our worth?”

  Alaric steepled his hands together on the tabletop, placing the pad of each tapered finger carefully against its opposite. He spared the briefest of glances for the crutches leaning against the wall before he met the Wolf’s eyes.

  “I think … Eduard and Lord Henry have the advantage of speed, if it is needed, and the luxury of noble passion where it is most wanted. In other words, in the time it might take you or I to think of a way to breach a gate, they would be through it and out the other side.” Alaric left his unblunted point to sink in and looked at Sparrow. “I also think the lord marshal has not quite finished laying all out before us. I suspect he would not have come to us without a plan, Puck, and for what it may be worth, we should hear it first before consigning anyone’s gizzards to a fire pit.”

  Sparrow snorted again and glared belligerently at the earl.

  “I have indeed given the matter much thought,” William nodded. “But until recently could not settle on any scheme that did not offer more risks than rewards.” He paused and addressed Eduard. “Firstly—is it true you have managed to exchange several communications with the princess in spite of the heavy guard placed around her at Mirebeau and Rouen?”

  Eduard saw no reason to deny it. “We have passed a letter or two through the walls.”

  “Do you think you could pass another through thicker walls if you were to come within striking distance? And would she know beyond a doubt the message came from you and no one else?”

  Eduard’s eyes narrowed. For over a decade he and Eleanor had communicated by coded letters—a youthful fancifulness they had begun when she had been six and he thirteen … but how had the earl known of this?

  The lion-maned palatine smiled faintly. “The young maid who attends the princess as her personal tiring woman and companion … her name is Marienne, is it not?”

  The muscle that tightened across Eduard’s jaw was answer enough.

  “Many years ago, her mother and I were … more than just friends,” the marshal confessed softly. “It seemed to be the least I could do at the time to see her situated comfortably. But content yourself; Marienne is a good and loving child. She has betrayed your secret to no one else but me, and then only because she has come to love the princess so dearly she is desperate for some way to save her from a life of captivity and deprivation. She gave me your name in the strictest confidence and trust, and it will remain so, locked by the same vow we all gave as we sat at this table.”

  “So,” said the Wolf, “being unsure of how I might react to your request, you came prepared to ask my son to take advantage of the trust and friendship he and Princess Eleanor have developed over the years.”

  William weathered the sarcasm without apology. “I never had any intention of asking you to risk yourself in this venture. How could I? John has had a legion of spies watching your every move for the past ten years. It was you the queen dispatched all those years ago to pay the ransom he demanded for the princess’s safe return the first time his greed and ambition prompted him to take her hostage. He will assume any attempt to rescue her now will originate here, at Amboise, and that you would trust no other man but yourself to such a hazardous undertaking.”

  “In this, Lackland shows remarkable insight and intelligence,” the Wolf commented dryly.

  “He has his moments.”

  “Even though I am a cripple and a doddering old fool?”

  “No one is calling you either,” William insisted. “Which is precisely why you must remain here, visible and accessible at all times. Thus, while he debates and ponders and concentrates all of his efforts watching you and waiting for you to come after the princess, he will not have much notice to spare on my niece.”

  A general stirring occurred around the table as each man wondered at the connection.

  “Your niece?” Eduard asked. “What has your niece to do with any of this?”

  “As I mentioned earlier, the king has thoughtfully arranged a betrothal between the Lady Ariel and the son of William de Braose. My niece, through terms of her own concocting, has managed to avoid receipt of the charter, but it is only a matter of time before we are required to acknowledge it.”

  “Ariel will never acknowledge it,” Henry insisted. “She will take herself to a nunnery before she agrees to marry the son of a common routier.”

  Eduard, who was hearing of this proposed union for the first time, temporarily set aside his concerns for the princess and spared a muttered thought for the abbess. “I pity anyone who tries to teach her complacency and obedience.”

  William smiled, causing a faint ruddiness to rise in Eduard’s throat as he demonstrated the excellence of his hearing. “I would be the first to agree she is in possession of a high spirit. Nevertheless, she is of my wife’s blood and a De Glare, and I do not thank the king for interfering in my family matters.”

  “You will refuse his command?” Alaric asked.

  “Outwardly, no. I intend, in fact, to send her back to England at once to comply with the king’s writ … in the company of a heavily armed escort, if necessary.”

  “It will be necessary,” Henry murmured bleakly.

  “I am counting on it,” William assured him.

  Sparrow perked instantly. “For in this heavily armed escort …?”

  “… Will be a few handpicked men who will break away at the proper time and …”

  “… Pluck our Little Pearl out from under Lack Jack’s nose before he even sniffs a plot afoot!” Sparrow finished, puffing his chest with smug delight, pleased to have proved himself beyond worth yet again.

  Not all of the conspirators were so smug or so pleased.

  “How will you determine where to find the Pearl in order to pluck her?” Alaric asked with a frown, attacking the most obvious weakness.

  “I … have my own sources of information among the king’s equerries,” William said carefully. “The right amount of gold in the right hands will buy what we need to know, and in plenty of time for Eduard to make his plans before he embarks from Normandy.”

  “You predict the destination will either be Corfe or Bristol?”

  “Those would be my choices.”

  “They would be mine too,” Alaric admitted honestly, glancing at the Wolf. “For neither are hospitable to strangers and neither open their gates readily to visitors.”

  “Aah, but they might … if they thought those visitors travelled by the king’s command, escorting the bride of his choosing to the groom of his choice. Since both castles lie along the route to Radnor, it would not seem unusual for the bridal party to pass by.”

  “To pass by, aye,” Sparrow said, his enthusiasm waning under a puckered frown. “But to breach the gates, pluck the Pearl out of her shell, and make haste away with all heads still attached to shoulders …?” He paused and sucked a stubby finger, clucking his tongue with grave approbation.

  “We have one other thing in our favour,” the marshal said, leaning forward. “The man assigned to guard the princess is known to me. His name is Brevant and he has a fondness for gold that matches his dislike for the king.”

  “Neither reason warms my cockles,” Sparrow declared.

  “Nor can they be counted upon to bear the strain of too close a brush with danger. But even a
ssuming our stout fellows keep their ears and eyes and entrails, where do they go afterwards? Every road pointed back to Normandy will be too hot to tread upon.”

  “And so thick with the king’s men,” William agreed calmly, “they will have few to spare on the roads heading north, into Wales.”

  “Wales?”

  “Northern Wales, to be even more precise. Powys. Prince Gwynwynwyn has promised to give Her Highness sanctuary for as long as is necessary. This too fits neatly into the scheme of things, for the Braose lands are in Marcher country; Powys falls in a more or less direct line north and west of Radnor.”

  Henry clenched his teeth against a curse of exasperation. “I thought you had agreed against delivering Ariel to De Braose?”

  “Just so. But the king will not know this until it is too late —hopefully—and she has been safely delivered to the real groom.”

  “The real groom?”

  William nodded. “If the plan is agreed upon, I will have the contracts drawn, signed, and dispatched with all haste.”

  “Dispatched where?” Henry asked, bewildered.

  The lord marshal took up the spluttering candle and tilted it so that a pendant of hot wax fell onto the tabletop. “Corfe Castle,” he said, drawing an imaginary line beneath it to mark the English coastline. He dripped a second bead directly north and announced, “Bristol.” The third drop was placed an equal distance north again, along another quickly sketched impression of the Severn River. “Radnor.”

  With all eyes following the candle, the next blot of wax splashed due west of Radnor, landing too far south of the region ruled by Gwynwynwyn.

  “Snowdonia,” the marshal said quietly. “The heart of Gwynedd.”

  Henry’s eyes widened and he looked up at his uncle. “You are not serious.”

  “I am deadly serious … as your sister should have been when she rashly enlisted the rogue’s help in the first place. Lord Rhys ap Iorwerth,” William explained to those who were still befuddled. “His brother is Llywellyn ap Iorwerth, Prince of Gwynedd, and a staunch ally of King John. He is, in fact, betrothed to John’s bastard daughter. And, lest anyone think I have arrived at this decision in haste—or madness—be assured it is not the first time I have considered it. Lord Rhys has impressive holdings in Gwynedd and has the ambition to replace his brother as leader of all the clans. He already rules Cardigan and Deheubarth with the airs of a dark prince and craves nothing better than to strike an alliance with the House of Pembroke through willing and mutually beneficial terms. His younger brother, Lord Dafydd, whom you have already met, has presented Lord Rhys’s case most convincingly.”