By King's Decree

by Shari Anton

  Henry picked up the dagger, studied it. “We have seen this blade many times, have marveled at your skill. Give us reason to doubt our eyes. Reach into your boot and pull out a Lion’s Tooth.”

  He couldn’t, of course. He’d put it in Ardith’s boot while at Milhurst.

  After an eternal silence, Henry demanded, “We would have your confession, Gerard.”

  Gerard said nothing.

  “Then we will let our baron ponder this mysterious appearance of his dagger in the body of Basil of Northbryre. And he may do so while under guard in White Tower.”

  At the queen’s soft touch on her shoulder, Ardith turned from the unshuttered window in Matilda’s chamber. “Watching the road will not help,” Matilda said. “Gerard will arrive when he arrives. Patience, my dear.”

  “I have been patient for three weeks, Majesty. He promised to return for Daymon and me in two.”

  Matilda smiled. “Do you tire of my company?”

  “Nay, never, Majesty! ‘Tis just that—”

  “You begrudge the separation.” With a wink, Matilda added, “I understand.”

  Ardith glanced at Lady Ursula, who sat at the loom, half expecting a negating comment But Gerard’s mother never missed a beat in her weaving, until Daymon, who played on the rug near his grandmother’s feet, let out a squeal when his block tower toppled over. Ursula looked down at the tot and a hint of a smile touched her lips before she resumed her chore.

  Ardith longed to tell Gerard of the drastic change in his mother, due to Matilda’s perseverance. But as the weeks passed, and Ardith’s gravid condition with an as yet illegitimate child became more obvious, she couldn’t help fear Lady Ursula’s budding tolerance would end.

  “Come sit,” Matilda commanded with a gentle push on Ardith’s shoulder. “You must not hold Gerard responsible for neglecting you. ‘Tis Henry who prolongs the separation.”

  Ardith sank into a chair. “Have you had no word from the king?”

  “Nay. Henry is yet upset with me for my last letter. I implored him to give Bishop Anselm another hearing. He punishes me by withholding his letters.”

  Through the open window drifted the unmistakable sounds of a mounted group of men approaching the abbey. Ardith bolted to the window, leaning out to see a large knight at the head of the column, helmed and armored, on a black destrier, turn the corner around the building and disappear from sight.

  “At last,” she declared, and headed for the door, but stopped when the queen cleared her throat. With a quick curtsy, Ardith asked permission to leave the royal presence with a terse, “By your leave, Majesty.”

  Matilda chuckled and waved a dismissing hand. “Go, but have a care. You carry my godchild.”

  Ardith placed a hand on her stomach, a slow smile spreading across her face. “I will, Majesty,” she promised, and managed to check her steps down the hallways and stairways leading to the abbey door.

  As she stepped outside, her smile faded. Dismounted, removing his helmet, stood Richard. Beside him, taking the helmet from Richard’s hand, Thomas nodded in her direction. From the grim set of Richard’s face, and Thomas’s mere presence, Ardith knew something horrible had happened to Gerard.

  “Have the men fed and rested and ready to leave on the morrow,” Richard said to Thomas, then turned to address Ardith. “That is, if Ardith can be ready on such short notice.”

  “I can be ready to leave within the hour if you wish.”

  As Thomas and the soldiers moved off, Richard shook his head. “There is no need for such haste.” He paused, then said, “I am sorry, Ardith. I wish I brought better news.”

  “What has happened?” she asked urgently.

  “The audience with King Henry did not go well. Henry has ordered Gerard imprisoned in White Tower.”

  “The Tower!”

  “Do you remember, at Milhurst, when the sheriff of Hampshire sought restitution from Gerard, and Gerard told the sheriff to seek payment at Northbryre?”

  Ardith nodded.

  “The sheriff took Gerard at his word and searched the rubble for anything of value. He found little treasure, but came across the means of revenging Gerard’s harsh words. The sheriff found Basil, and stuck in the body, a dagger easily recognizable as belonging to Wilmont. The sheriff took the dagger to Henry, who accused Gerard of lying about Basil’s death. My stubborn brother would neither produce the dagger from his boot nor change his tale of Basil’s death.”

  Her heart sinking, she commented, “So Henry locked Gerard in the Tower.”

  “Nay, not locked. Not even Henry would dare that Gerard stays in an upper chamber sometimes used by the king as a residence and lacks for no bodily comfort.”

  “You have spoken to him, seen him?”

  “I have. He wants me to take you and Daymon to Wilmont, where we can protect you, if necessary. He wants you two far from Henry’s reach if the trial goes badly.”

  Ardith placed a trembling hand on Richard’s arm. “When is the trial?”

  “In two days.”

  Two days. Only two days in which to reach White Tower in London and somehow convince Gerard to tell Henry the truth—or do so herself.

  “Richard, Gerard did not kill Basil.”

  With a sad smile and gentle voice Richard said, “So I surmised. If Gerard had killed Basil, he would confess the deed, give Henry a full account Since he stands fast on his tale, that means he protects someone, and there was only one other person in that bedchamber, someone who might have had access to a Lion’s Tooth.”

  Ardith took a deep breath to keep steady under the rush of relief. Richard knew the truth, but didn’t condemn. Maybe the king wouldn’t either, once he heard why she’d drawn the blade.

  “You must take me to London,” she said with more conviction than she felt.

  Richard shook his head. “’Twould do no good, Ardith. You could stand in the middle of Westminster Hall and shout a confession and no one would listen because they would choose not to hear, much less believe. You see, this is no longer a matter of one man’s death. The Norman barons are gathering in London, all of them prepared to stand witness to Gerard. If Henry does not yield, if he chooses to punish Gerard, the barons will rebel. Indeed, Henry could face an armed challenge to the throne.”

  Ardith’s fingers tightened on Richard’s sleeve. “They would declare war against Henry?”

  Richard nodded. “They would welcome the excuse.”

  She struggled to understand the Norman barons’ reasoning. Failing, she asked, “If they wanted war, why did they not stand witness for Basil at his trial? And after, when Basil tried to unite them, why did they refuse?”

  “Basil had neither the resources nor leadership ability to wage a war against Henry. Gerard does.”

  Ardith released Richard’s sleeve and walked a few steps away, her head whirling with visions of men dying on a battlefield, their senseless deaths her fault. If she hadn’t killed Basil…but what was done was done. Now, she had to thwart the barons. Somehow, she had to get someone to listen to reason. Starting with Gerard.

  She turned to face the first challenge to accomplishing the impossible—convincing Richard to take her to London.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ardith held her head high and followed Richard, who elbowed his way through the throng. The nearer they came to the doors of Westminster Hall, the thicker the crowd.

  She hadn’t had time to change her travel clothes and mantle, dust-coated and deeply creased from the ride from Romsey. As soon as they’d arrived, they’d heard about the trial taking place. The king had sent for Gerard and was about to pass judgment.

  They entered the hall to the echo of a war cry, the Lion of Wilmont’s roar. “Enough!”

  Into the sudden, chilling silence, King Henry chided, “We are pleased you have decided to break your silence, Gerard. Is there aught you wish to confide?”

  Ardith could see the king on his throne at the far end of the hall. Kester stood near him. She couldn’t
see Gerard, but found Corwin among the crowd, looking harried.

  Desperate to reach Gerard, she put her hand on Richard’s back. He understood her silent message, for he again shoved people aside. Some thought to take exception, until realizing his identity and allowing him to pass.

  As they neared the front of the hall, she bumped against Sir Percival. He nodded a greeting before she swept by. Several men whom Ardith recognized as barons milled about the stairs, many clad in chain mail, among them Charles, earl of Warwick.

  Only a fool would not realize the barons’ intent. Only the ignorant would not feel the tension pulsing through the hall. King Henry was neither ignorant nor a fool.

  Gerard’s voice rang angrily. “I have listened for as long as I can bear to this vainglorious sheriff! Think you he brings you this tale out of loyalty or sense of justice? Bah! And you, sire, to whom I am pledged, to whom I have given both my loyalty and friendship, have chosen to believe him. Well, despite his pretty phrases, and despite your wish for revenge, I tell you, sire, Basil died as a result of the fire in his bedchamber.”

  Richard broke through the crowd, stopping at the edge of the small circle of space surrounding Gerard.

  Obviously, Gerard had decided to flaunt his position, and did so with customary flare. A wide band of highly polished gold kept his shoulder-length hair in place. He’d donned a courtly dalmatica of red silk shot through with gold, trimmed with wide strips of intricate embroidery at neck, cuff, and hem. A thick gold chain twice circled his waist.

  In the full regalia of his Norman heritage, and at the height of his fury, Gerard looked utterly magnificent, without doubt a man of considerable wealth, and considerable physical strength.

  He flung a bejeweled hand into the air. “Twenty good men of my own rank have spoken for me. By the rules of your court, sire, I have done all I must to prove my innocence.”

  “And the dagger, Gerard, the Lion’s Tooth of Wilmont?”

  Ardith held her breath as Gerard answered, “If, indeed, its point found itself within Basil’s flesh—a fact that carries some doubt, I might add, brought to us by a corrupted sheriff—it did not kill Basil. He was alive when I left him on the chamber floor. That he could not crawl out before either the smoke or flame got to him is no fault of mine.”

  Stunned, oblivious to all but Gerard’s statements, Ardith moved toward him. He must have heard because he turned and stared, the anger leaving his face, his arms opening.

  She glided into his embrace. Gerard’s arms, strong and comforting, wrapped around her like a cocoon. With his chin resting atop her head, she knew he was glaring at Richard, but his revelation still whirled in her head.

  She hadn’t killed Basil, only wounded him. He’d died, but not at her hand. No mortal sin stained her soul, no punishable offense hung over her head.

  Gerard whispered harshly, “What the devil are you doing here? I told Richard to take you to Wilmont.”

  “Do not be angry with Richard. I gave him little choice.”

  “Threatened to come alone, did you? To what end?”

  Ardith suddenly realized how inappropriate were her actions before the court. She tried to back away, but Gerard held tight. Not, she was certain, from affection but to keep their words private.

  “I came to confess, if I had to,” she whispered back. “I thought I killed Basil, Gerard. I truly did.”

  “But I told you how Basil died. Did you not believe me?”

  “I remember no fire, Gerard. All I remember is the look on Basil’s face—and the blood, so much blood. I thought you started the fire in an effort to protect me from Henry’s retribution. You can be overbearingly protective, my love.”

  “And so my little warrior planned to stand before the king and admit her misdeed. A truly noble gesture, scamp, but not necessary. I do not need to be rescued.”

  From the dais came the sound of a loudly cleared throat. “Baron Gerard, if you are nearly done coddling this woman, might we proceed?” King Henry chastised.

  Gerard’s spine stiffened at the rebuke, yet he kept his voice hushed. “Go back to Richard.”

  Reluctantly, Ardith released him and obeyed.

  Gerard watched her walk back to stand between Richard and Corwin, who’d somehow made his way to the front, then turned back to face the king, wishing he could have eased Ardith’s fears. But Henry stubbornly focused on the dagger, and unless the king let go of the fixation, the possibility of bodily harm existed within Gerard’s remaining options. War he did not want, though many were willing to take up arms for his cause. But war against Henry had been Basil’s hope, and even in death Basil’s wishes must not be granted.

  The last option also involved a fight, a fight Gerard hoped to avoid but would instigate if necessary.

  Ardith’s appearance had made the task of ending this trial more urgent. She’d drawn Henry’s attention, if only briefly, an attention that must be quickly diverted. “If I coddle her, sire, ‘tis because she carries my heir. Surely, of all the men in this kingdom, you would know how irrational a woman in gravid condition can be.”

  Snickers erupted among the crowd. King Henry, however, was not amused.

  “Filled her belly, did you?” Henry snapped. “Have you married the chit yet?”

  “Your summons to court forestalled the nuptials, sire. I would like nothing better than your permission to return to Wilmont and legitimize my child.”

  “We would be lax in our duty to the good citizens of England should we turn loose a murderer.”

  “For the last time I tell you, with God as my witness, I did not kill Basil of Northbryre.”

  “The dagger, Gerard. Who—”

  “What matter! Is this not my trial? Do I not stand accused of Basil’s murder? Do you, sire, or do you not take my word as good and true?”

  The king rose from his throne. “Nay, we do not!”

  Silence prevailed for the space of several heartbeats.

  Quietly, but clearly, Gerard risked more than he cared to think about as he announced, “Then you leave me no choice. As is my right, I place my fate in God’s hands and demand ordeal by combat.”

  The king’s eyes narrowed. “You dare challenge your king?”

  “I would not presume, sire. Choose your champion.”

  Men shifted from foot to foot. Swords scrapped against chain mail. Low murmurs underscored the unease.

  The king glanced about the hall. “Choose. Hah! Those on whom we might bestow the honor have stood as your witnesses!”

  A circumstance Gerard hoped would work in his favor. If no one of equal rank and skill would accept the challenge, Henry would be forced to accept the opinion of the court and dismiss the murder charge.

  The king’s gaze shifted from baron to chain mail-clad baron, then outward toward the crowd. He shouted, “Baron Gerard has demanded ordeal by combat. The prize is Wilmont! Who among you will champion your king for such a holding?”

  Silence hung like a suffocating shroud. Not a sound, not a breath stirred the air. Gerard risked a glance at Charles of Warwick. A slight twitch of his ally’s mouth, a suppressed urge to smile, raised Gerard’s hopes of a peaceful and successful end. Just as Gerard thought he’d won, a low voice pierced the bubble of silence.

  “I might consider it, sire, if Ardith of Lenvil is part of the bargain.”

  Gerard instantly recognized Sir Percival’s voice. He spun around to watch that bear of a man come forward. “I had planned to bargain with her father before I knew of Gerard’s interest. I would still have her.”

  “But she carries Gerard’s brat!”

  Percival shrugged a massive shoulder. “Along with a sack of coins the church will have it.”

  Charles stepped forward. “Unacceptable, sire. Though Percival is Gerard’s equal in arms, he is not in rank. Ordeal by combat demands—”

  Henry waved him to silence. “We know the law, Charles.”

  From a fold in his royal robes, the king produced a rolled parchment, tied with a red
ribbon. Gerard suddenly realized what the king was about to do, and how well the monarch had been prepared for all circumstances.

  Henry held up the scroll. “Behold. These lands, taken by the crown from Basil of Northbryre for acts of treason, we do hereby give to our champion, Percival, for his good service this day. There are, we assure you, sufficient hides of land within this bequest to qualify him for full rank of tenant-in-chief—a baron.”

  Henry tossed the scroll toward Percival, who nearly tripped on the stair to catch it. “As for the wench, we declare Ardith of Lenvil a royal ward, her fate to be decided by the outcome of the ordeal. Arm yourselves and seek peace with God. The ordeal begins at the last bell of none.”

  Ardith started to follow Gerard out of the hall, but was quickly stopped by Richard on one side and Corwin on the other.

  “He has no time for you, Ardith,” Corwin said. “He has but an hour to confess his sins and don his armor.”

  “He will need help donning his hauberk,” she argued.

  “Warwick went with him. Damn it, haven’t you caused enough trouble without distracting him now?”

  Ardith stopped straining against the men’s hold. Corwin had the right of it. ‘Twas her fault Gerard faced ordeal by combat. Had she not come to Westminster, had Percival not seen her, he might not have had the foolish notion to challenge Gerard and the trial would have ended as Gerard had obviously planned.

  Richard tugged on her arm. “The crowd leaves for the yard. Come, let us find a place to watch unhindered.”

  As they left the hall, two of the palace guards fell into step behind them, bringing a lump of dread to Ardith’s throat as the full impact of the events to come hit her. If Gerard should lose this contest, she would go to Percival. Wilmont would go to Percival. And knowing Gerard, he would fight till his dying breath to prevent both.