“I knew your grandfather and your father, lady. They were good and honest men. I hope I served them well as their liege lord. I will do my best for you, as well. Please, try to tell me everything. As best you can.”
She saw real concern and sympathy in the piercing eyes. “After Richard was attacked by the Welsh in September, he was brought back to Barland in very serious condition. We thought—I thought—he was dead.” Slowly, haltingly, Eleanor told the story of how Richard had miraculously revived under the hand of the priest, how he had slowly regained strength. And how he had apparently radically changed from a brute and a bully to someone who was kind and considerate, loving and tender. She shook her head at last. “I heard these words, you see. Words I couldn’t understand. I realize now how foolish I was to think ill of my husband, but, my lord”—she grasped his arm—“he was nothing like the man I married. Nothing at all. And—” She broke off. “I was foolish. I was wrong.”
“Ah, well, lady.” William patted her hand. “You aren’t the first wife to swear her husband’s possessed, I’m sure. But usually the behavior is a little more outrageous than that which your lord has exhibited.”
“But that’s it, you see,” Eleanor said. “He was so—so different. And he seems to know things in ways he never knew them before. He talks about peace and law and justice—I’ve never heard anyone, even priests, talk about such things.”
William nodded, considering. “He does have an uncommon grasp of concepts and ideas that I have never been able to express to anyone else. But an intuitive grasp of statesmanship doesn’t a demon make.” He patted her arm once more. “At least I understand now. You were frightened and confused by the changes you saw in your husband. Did you speak to your priest?”
“Not to the priest at Barland, no. But I did speak to one here. And he was reassuring. He suggested that perhaps Richard’s injuries affected his speech in some way. He said such things have happened before.”
William nodded. “That is very true. But now the task at hand is to get these charges dismissed so you can return to Barland with your husband.”
Her hand crept to her belly. Home to Barland. The words echoed in her mind. What if they never returned to Barland together again? “My lord, there’s something else you need to know. My
brother, Hugh—he believes that it wasn’t the Welsh who attacked my husband in September.”
William raised one eyebrow. “Oh? And who does he think is responsible?”
“A man named Giscard Fitzwilliam. I was foolish enough to confide my fears about Richard to his sister-in-law.”
The Marshal narrowed his eyes. “And why would this Fitzwilliam attack your husband?”
“He wanted Barland. He bid for the wardship when my father died. You were on the Continent at the time. But Richard outbid him and even though Fitzwilliam is a close friend of the king—”
“Money is far dearer to John’s bosom than the best of his friends,” William finished. He got to his feet. “It all makes much more sense now. Well, lady, I shall speak to your brother and to your husband. And in the meantime, try to rest. You look as though you haven’t slept at all.”
She shook her head. “I have not.”
“Have you friends here? Women you can rely on?”
She shrugged. “No one, really.”
He shook his head. “I shall see if one or two of my wife’s friends are among the ladies here. You shouldn’t be alone.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“And I’ll see you’re lodged at Windsor. At least you and he can be under the same roof.” He bowed once more over her hand and left her brooding again.
He found Hugh in the practice yard, drilling with the other squires. At the sight of the Marshal, the young men broke out in ragged applause. He smiled and waved, and gestured to an astonished Hugh. “I want to speak to you, Hugh.”
Hugh flushed. “l—l’m honored, my lord.”
William ignored the boy’s nervousness. “I want you to tell me all you can about a certain Giscard Fitzwilliam.”
“I hate him,” Hugh burst out. “He’s—”
“Hush, lad.” William cut him off. “You have to learn to cool that temper. It’s all well and good to hate a man, but you need to be able to think about him first. Why do you hate him? Because he bid for your sister’s wardship?”
“That—and he’s a lying, two-faced, hypocritical swine—”
“Enough.” William held up his hand. “Why do you believe he attacked de Lambert in the autumn? Did you see him?”
“No,” Hugh shook his head. “But I found an arrow just before the Welsh found me. That’s why I was there, you see. I had the feeling it wasn’t the Welsh. They attacked us but didn’t pursue us. I wasn’t hurt at all—it was clear to me, thinking about it later, that the object of the attack was Richard. And it was raining that day, we were swathed in cloaks. Unless you absolutely knew who to look for, it would have been difficult to focus that clearly on one man. Do you see?”
William nodded. “Yes. I do. Go on. Tell me about this arrow.”
“It was no Welsh arrow. I know their make—everyone does on the marches. It was one of our kind. And I only found one that day—considering all the ones that had been shot, so someone was careful to go and retrieve them. Even the broken ones.”
“Ah.” William nodded.
“And then, when I was held by Llewellis, I got to know him. And he denied ever attacking Richard, even though he admitted he would have liked to, for reprisal against what Richard did to one of his father’s men in the spring.”
William frowned. “This coil grows more complicated. What did Richard do in the spring?”
Hugh shrugged. “Killed one of their chieftain’s sons. He destroyed a village the day we were attacked. That’s what made us all think it was the Welsh, you see.”
William shook his head. “Hmm. So somewhere between the time he was wounded and the time he met with me, Richard apparently reversed his previous policies regarding the Welsh?”
Hugh shrugged again. “I wasn’t there. I don’t know what happened. He’s damn different, that’s all I know. I almost like him now.”
William smiled wryly. “I see. You’ve heard, I suppose?”
“About his arrest? Everyone’s heard.” Hugh glanced at his fellow squires over his shoulder. “Everyone’s asking me.”
“Asking you what?”
“If it’s true.”
“And what do you tell them?”
“I say he’s no worse a devil than any other man I ever met.”
William shrugged. “That’s as good an answer as any, young man. It seems that everyone is all agreed on one thing. Richard’s recovery changed him in some way. He’s not the same man he was.”
“No, he’s not.” Hugh glanced around. “I know Eleanor likes him now—and she never used to before. But even she doesn’t know some things. He fights differently now, too.”
“His wounds—”
“More than that.” Hugh shook his head. “Only a man who’s fought him would know this. Geoffrey de Courville—Richard’s second-in-command—he knew it. He kept quiet about it, though. I think he put it down to Richard’s wounds. But I practiced with him after Geoffrey’s death, after I was returned to Barland. Long after he was healed. And he’s different. Not so sure. Certain things he used to do, he never does anymore. His stance has changed, his grip has changed—”
“’All these things are possibly connected to the physical injuries, lad.” William shook his head. “You can’t condemn someone based on that, especially not someone who’s been so badly injured. You’ll see.” He gave Hugh a knowing look. “All right, lad. Back to your drills. This evening, you may attend your sister. I’m arranging for her to be here at Windsor, at least until this nonsense is settled. Until then, you’re excused from your duties. I think she needs you now more than I do.”
Hugh bowed. “Thank you, my lord.”
William watched a moment longer as Hugh rejoine
d his fellows. There was no doubt that de Lambert had changed in the course of his recovery. But by all accounts, he was now a far better man than he had ever been before. Perhaps he was asking questions about the wrong man. The more closely he looked, the more it was clear that Giscard Fitzwilliam was at the bottom of this coil.
CHAPTER 24
The Court was crowded. Men and women and even children swarmed the perimeter of the great hall at Windsor Castle, and even the musician’s gallery was crammed full of eager spectators. Eleanor sat on a chair to the left of the king’s raised dais, gripping the arms and wondering how she would endure the coming ordeal. Several black-robed priests conferred on the opposite of the room, and every now and then one glanced in her direction. Father Caedmun sat by her side. He murmured reassurances every time that happened.
Finally she turned to him. “Father, how can this be proved?”
The priest blinked. “In truth, my lady, this is a tricky and dangerous area. This inquiry is only the beginning. There must be enough evidence for the bishop to recommend a trial. Ordinarily, that would be to the Archbishop of Canterbury. But in this case, since the archbishop himself will be here, I think matters will proceed somewhat more quickly. Though maybe not as quickly as my lady would like.”
Eleanor sighed. It seemed she’d done a great deal of sighing in the last week.
Hugh patted her hand. “Try not to worry, Eleanor. If there’s nothing to this, the King and the
Bishop will see it.”
She smiled weakly at her brother. She wished she could believe that. But the King was rapacious and aching to teach the barons a lesson, and as for the Archbishop—she’d heard that Stephen Langton was a man of God, but who knew what they would make of all this? “What will happen, Father?”
“They’ll bring your husband in, of course. He’ll hear the charges, and then witnesses will be called to testify before the Archbishop. And if they think there’s just cause to continue, the Archbishop will order that he be examined more thoroughly. By the priests. Privately, of course.”
Fear clutched at Eleanor’s heart, and she made a little noise.
“Lady, there’s nothing to fear. Your husband is a godly man. As long as he can say his Commandments and his paternoster, he’ll be fine.”
“My—my husband is not a learned man, Father,” Eleanor said miserably. “He had no real schooling in anything but war.”
Caedmun smiled at her reassuringly. “The Archbishop knows that. Be easy, lady.”
Eleanor closed her eyes, mentally trying to gather her strength. A blast of trumpets announced the entrance of King John and the Archbishop of Canterbury. Eleanor struggled to her feet. Hard at their heels followed the Marshal, looking tired and grim. He caught Eleanor’s eye as he took a seat to the right side of the dais and smiled at her. She tried to smile back, but she felt her eyes fill with tears. She clutched Hugh’s hand.
“It’s all right, Eleanor,” he whispered, trying to console her. “Please don’t worry.”
“I want to believe that, Hugh,” she whispered back. “I do.” She took a deep breath as the king and the archbishop conferred briefly. “Bring in the accused,” the king said. There was a rustle and murmur and then the voices of the crowd rose as a ripple ran through the assembly. There was the tramp of measured footsteps, and then the people at the front of the crowd parted. Richard, escorted on either side by six armed men, stepped before the dais. He glanced around, and saw Eleanor.
Eleanor felt her heart stop in her chest. He looked so tired, so worn. He was clean-shaven, but his hair needed a good cutting. It curled in little tendrils on his shoulders and around his ears. Those curls made him look vulnerable, she thought, noting the deep shadows beneath his eyes, and the way his skin was pale. His clothes were clean enough, though, and he didn’t look as though he’d been mistreated in any way. His hands were bound in front of him. She wanted to run across the little space between them, throw herself into his arms and beg his forgiveness. But there was already forgiveness in his eyes, forgiveness and love. Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked.
“Lord Richard de Lambert, do you know the charge for which you must answer today?” The King was speaking.
Richard looked up. He met John’s eyes fearlessly. “I’d like to hear it, Your Grace.”
The King shrugged. “Read the charge.”
An officer of the court stepped forward. “Lord Richard de Lambert, you stand accused of consorting with demons, of allowing a demon to possess your body, and of assorted crimes against our Holy Mother, the Church.”
“How do you answer the charge, Lord de Lambert?” asked John.
“They’re absurd.” Richard looked at the priests with contempt and beside Eleanor, Father Caedmun made a little warning noise. Richard glanced in that direction. He pressed his lips together. “I deny every one.”
“So you say you have not consorted with demons or allowed one to possess your body at any time?”
“Never, Your Grace.”
King John glanced at Stephen Langton, who was watching Richard expressionlessly. “Well?”
The Archbishop looked over at William the Marshal. “The accused has answered the charge. Let the witnesses commence.”
Eleanor gasped in astonishment as the first witness pushed his way before the dais. Sir John Longshanks glanced at her with apology on his face before he turned and faced the king. “Do you swear to tell the truth as you imperil your immortal soul?”
“I do, Your Grace.”
“What have you to say in this matter?”
“I’ve known Lord Richard in the time since he’s come to Barland, Your Grace. In early December, as we were returning from Lord William’s castle in Pembroke, we were attacked. And I heard Lord Richard speak in strange tongues. He fought as if another man was in his body.”
“As if another man were in his body, Sir John?” Stephen Langton leaned forward. “Could you explain that?”
“Ah, he fought well enough, I am not saying he didn’t. But he didn’t fight the way I’ve seen him fight. I’ve had plenty of chances to see him. He was…not himself, that’s all.”
“And what did you hear him say?”
“I can’t repeat the language. I don’t know the words. But when someone was attacked, he would shout something at them. And I heard him call things several times—and then he’d repeat them in our tongue—almost like he was remembering he had to speak to us.”
Eleanor glanced at Richard. He stood still, his hands clasped together in their bonds. His eyes were fastened on Sir John and it was impossible to read the expression on his face.
“And were there others who heard these things as well?”
“Oh, yes, Your Grace. All of the men did. I brought three of them with me—the others were needed back at Barland. But they will all swear to the truth of what I say.” He looked down at his boots. “If it pleases the court, I would like to say—”
King John opened his mouth and the archbishop held up his hand. “Yes, Sir John? What else would you like to say?”
“Lord Richard did no harm to anyone. He was recovering from grievous wounds. If he fought differently, I put it down to that.”
The Archbishop gave the knight a long look, glancing briefly at Richard. Then he nodded. “Very well, Sir John. Thank you for that statement. Next?”
To Eleanor’s horror, there were another four witnesses: a groom, a maid, and two soldiers—all of whom had heard Richard’s outburst on the day the piglets had made the horses rear up. They were clearly intimidated by the court, but their testimony seemed damning enough to her. Then Marguerite stepped forward, and keeping her face averted from Eleanor, she told the story of how Eleanor had confided her fears in her. Eleanor bit her lip, desperately fighting for control. She couldn’t bear to look at Richard.
And then it was Giscard who stepped forward, with the most damning testimony of all. “I saw de Lambert in the woods,” he said. “He performed strange ceremonies, and lit a fir
e to a pagan shrine.”
“That’s a lie,” Richard bellowed. He’d held his tongue all through the morning, and finally could stand no more. Giscard said nothing, but only met his eyes fearlessly.
Stephen Langton looked from one man to the other. “And when did this take place?”
“I saw it many times, Your Grace. Ever since Lord Richard came to Barland. He found the pagan shrine and worshiped there regularly. I saw him bring small animals and kill them there.”
“That’s a lie,” cried Richard again, struggling in his bonds. The soldiers physically restrained him, and Eleanor wanted to rush to Fitzwilliam and attack him herself. Even Hugh scowled and cursed beneath his breath.
The hall was in a tumult, voices rising excitedly and the crowd shifted en masse as everyone tried to get a better look at the accused and his accuser.
Stephen Langton glanced at King John, then addressed Giscard. “All right, my lord. You made your statement. Have you anything else to say?”
Giscard looked at Eleanor. “Nothing, Your Grace. Except that I tried to warn Lady Eleanor repeatedly. But she seemed besotted by her husband, and firmly in his thrall. She would have no time for me.”
Eleanor stared at Giscard in horror.
“You lying, foulmouthed—” Hugh began.
“Hush, my son,” cautioned Father Caedmun.
William the Marshal looked disgusted and even Stephen Langton looked askance. “Very well, my lord. Thank you. You may step down.”
Giscard bowed to the court, and with exaggerated courtesy to Eleanor. Her stomach twisted in revulsion and she thought she might vomit.
“Who’s next?” asked the Archbishop. His mouth was set in a narrow line and he looked as though he’d heard enough.
The officer looked at Eleanor. “The court calls Lady Eleanor de Lambert.”
There was a gasp. Father Caedmun rose to his feet. “I beg the court’s indulgence, but the lady cannot be compelled to testify against her husband.”
Richard closed his eyes.
[1997] Once and Future Love Page 20
