The Shattered Rose

by Jo Beverley

  "With a Church principality that stretched from coast to coast, he was concerned about one small castle?"

  "Sir William opposed him, sire."

  "But did the bishop show such interest in your affairs from the very beginning? When you first went to him after Lord Galeran returned home, what was his demeanor?"

  Lowick frowned over that. "He listened to my petitions for help, sire, but—"

  "But did little. When did that change?"

  Lowick was now sweating like the bishop, but he answered clearly, "After news of your brother's death, sire."

  "Ah," said the king, moving away a few steps. "After his greatest supporter was gone, and he faced my patronage. Or lack of it. Total control of Northumbria would be a useful weapon, wouldn't it? But to be used in whose cause?"

  Flambard had regained some control, and was ready to argue for his life. "I merely sought proper order in the north, sire. It was why your brother appointed me there."

  "Was it? But then why did your interest in Sir Raymond's case grow after my brother's tragic death?"

  "I merely took time to consider his case, sire. As you have seen here today, it is not a simple one."

  "And the forged document was merely an attempt to simplify it. As was," added the king, "the attempt on Lord Galeran's life."

  Flambard licked his lips. "Attempt...?"

  "Lord FitzRoger took a man of yours into custody this morning, my lord bishop. He has already been most informative. The crossbow is a devilish weapon. Even the Pope agrees that it should only be used against the heathen."

  In the midst of a deadly silence, Henry turned and resumed his throne, looking ominously content.

  Lowick turned on the bishop. "You? You were behind that attack?"

  "Ranulph Flambard," said Henry, overriding Lowick, "I find you to be under suspicion of attempted murder, of forgery, and of a great overstepping of your clerical authority."

  "With all due respect, sire," stated Flambard, his glance flickering between Henry and the Bishop of London, "you have no jurisdiction over a prince of the Church."

  "Have I not?" Henry turned slightly, "My lord Bishop of London, perhaps you wish me to see to the secure custody of this dubious churchman while full inquiry is made into these matters."

  The bishop almost smiled. "The Church would be grateful for your assistance, sire."

  "Then I consign him to the Tower until such time as the truth is known." Before Flambard could form any argument, the king continued. "And it seems to me that the Bishop of Durham is willful and eaten by pride. Perhaps he needs penance to help him see the error of his ways so that he may find salvation."

  "A plain diet of bread and water might be salutary, sire," said the Bishop of London.

  "Indeed," murmured Henry. "And yet, just a short time ago the bishop himself advocated physical penance to break the sin of pride...."

  "Ah." An almost gleeful light shone in the elderly bishop's eyes. "Ten strokes at each canonical hour, sire?"

  "How wise. How judicious." Henry glanced at FitzRoger. "See to it, my friend."

  "With pleasure, sire." And FitzRoger supervised the removal of the protesting cleric.

  "You'll regret this!" Flambard screamed as the guards forced him toward the door. "You'll find you need me, as your brother did!"

  Henry merely smiled. "Go peacefully, Flambard, or I'll double the strokes."

  In the moments it took for the bishop and his servants to be cleared from the room, Galeran considered the possibility that all of this—barring a few surprises thrown into the pot—had been planned. Henry perhaps knew Flambard could be useful to him, but only as a humble, broken servant, not as a man with power enough to challenge the Crown. Henry perhaps had seized an excuse to break him.

  Henry Beauclerk was an interesting man, but Galeran hoped to live out his life far from his eagle eye.

  When the door cut off the bishop's threats and pleas, the king turned his attention to those who were left—Galeran, Raoul, Lord William, and Lowick. The recording clerk, Warwick, and the Bishop of London were now only observers.

  "Sire," said Galeran. "I must go to my wife."

  "In a moment, Lord Galeran. I assure you she is safe, and resting under the best possible care." He turned to Lowick. "Now, Sir Raymond..."

  To Galeran's surprise, Raoul, not Lowick, stepped forward to sink to one knee before the king. "If I might be permitted to speak, your majesty."

  "I did not think you had any part in this."

  Typically, Raoul grinned up at Henry. "I wish I didn't, sire, but the Lady Jehanne asked me to speak for her here."

  "The Lady Jehanne, if you will note it"—and there was a warning edge in the words—"is no longer in any jeopardy. Most of her guilt has been explained away, and if she deserved any punishment, she has received it."

  "But she is concerned for Raymond of Lowick, sire."

  His words caused the thunderous silence of astonishment, broken only when Galeran hissed in a breath. At this point... At this point was he to be betrayed?

  "The lady has no deep feelings for Sir Raymond," Raoul said, as if unaware of the consternation he had caused. "But she holds herself responsible for his problems, sire, since it was her action during her brief time of madness that led him astray. She pleads for mercy on his behalf, and asks that her husband not be burdened with his death."

  "Ah. She has some concern for her husband, then?" asked Henry caustically.

  "The greatest concern, sire," said Raoul calmly. "If she considers Sir Raymond largely blameless, think how she regards her wronged husband. Her wish is only to make all right for him, and not to place upon him the need to injure others, as she knows he dislikes to do."

  "Including taking a whip to her," said Henry. "A most intriguing woman, though—mirabile dictu—I find myself in some sympathy with Flambard. It is not a woman's place to act in this way to affect the affairs of men."

  Seeing at last what had been going on, Galeran was running over choice things he longed to say to Jehanne. But first he had to handle this. He went to kneel at Raoul's side. "Sire, I ask your pardon for my wife if she has offended you by her actions. I suggest it is the depth of her repentance that makes her behave in this way."

  "She's normally a meek, well-behaved woman, is she?"

  From the tone, Henry doubted this greatly, and Galeran decided it was wisest just to give a man-to-man shrug.

  Henry laughed. "Women can be a thorn in a man's side, particularly the sharp ones. But they're worth every jab. Stand up, my friends, you have done your part. So," Henry asked Galeran, "do you support your wife's petition for clemency?"

  Galeran looked at Lowick, regretting, just a little, the battle that would not happen.

  "I forgave my wife, sire, and I do not think Sir Raymond is any the more to blame for the adultery than she. For his other sins, however, I would ask that you follow the guidance of the Bishop of London and send him to fight for Christ. He has great warlike talents that should be put to the service of God."

  And by God's grace, thought Galeran, I need never see him again.

  The king turned to Lowick. "What think you, Sir Raymond?"

  Lowick, however, looked troubled rather than relieved. "I would accept such a merciful judgment with gratitude, sire, as long as I have Lord Galeran's word that he will not punish the Lady Jehanne further, or in any way harm my child."

  A tightening around Henry's mouth told Galeran that he was losing patience, so he intervened. "Raymond, would I hurt an innocent child, or Jehanne, whom I love?"

  Lowick frowned as if seeking truth, and Galeran realized that the man was sincere. He truly feared for the safety of Jehanne and Donata. "It is not easy for any man to accept an unfaithful wife, or a child not his own. You hit her, I heard tell."

  Galeran had often wondered what evil that blow would bring, no matter how excused. Now he knew. It had, perhaps, caused all these problems by fueling Lowick's fears.

  "It was the first time I'd raised
my hand to her, Raymond, since we were children, and I will never do so again. I swear it here, on my hope of eternal life."

  Lowick's handsome face was set in lines of ferocious thought. "And Donata?"

  "Is already as a daughter to me."

  After yet more frowning contemplation, Lowick nodded. "Then I truly beg your pardon for the harm I tried to do you, Galeran." He turned and knelt again before the king. "I see now, sire, that I let myself be led into wrong through my unlawful love, through my natural feelings for my child. And," he added resolutely, "through my ambitious greed for land. If your mercy still stands, sire, I will happily fight for Christ."

  "So be it," said Henry impatiently, and waved him out of the room.

  The king then sat on his throne, taking off his crown and placing it on a table by his side. "That man is just the type of noble fool who wreaks havoc without any bad intent at all. Are you content now, Lord Galeran?"

  "Completely, sire, if I have my wife and her child safe, and can return home."

  Henry raised a brow. "I detect a little something in your voice. Perhaps you are tempted to beat your wife after all for this business. She had no choice but to be whipped."

  "Had she not, sire?" The king was right. Relief was beginning to make room for sharp irritation. "The reason Raoul de Jouray became involved is that my wife's cousin escaped from the convent, seeking his help. But my wife sent no message about her punishment, for she knew I would put a stop to it. If I do not want to beat my wife, I do not want her beaten."

  Henry snapped his fingers, and a page hurried forward with a goblet of wine. "I heard of it all from Lord FitzRoger. As you doubtless guess, your wife accepted her punishment to prevent you from having to deliver it—which I might well have ordered despite your fierce stare. Order must be preserved. As it is, we can let it be known that she has been suitably chastised. There is no need to explain the circumstances."

  Galeran could find nothing civil to say to this.

  "Apparently," continued Henry, "she also accepted the punishment because she saw that in ordering it, Flambard was overstepping himself. A clever and resolute lady."

  "Yes, sire."

  "Whose neck you would dearly like to wring. That is up to you." The king turned abruptly to Lord William. "I have served your family today, my lord. I hope you will serve mine."

  Lord William must also suspect that the king had served mainly himself, finally finding a way to confine Flambard with the blessing of the Church, and tie William of Brome to his cause. But he bowed. "You have my oath, my liege."

  Henry could doubtless hear the reservations behind it, but it was good enough to bind a man like the Lord of Brome. "Then you and yours will have my favor always. And you do not need to fear Flambard or any Bishop of Durham again. I intend to break the power of that bishopric once and for all."

  Henry sipped his wine, glancing at Galeran. Suddenly he laughed, showing his strong white teeth. "Whether to kiss her or throttle her, you are itching to see to your wife, are you not? Go, my lord. This lad will take you to her. But don't murder her here, please. And serve me well in the north."

  Chapter 21

  She was here? Galeran had counted on the journey to the convent, or to Hugo's house, to sort out his curdled feelings and prepare to meet Jehanne kindly. He had only to follow the page through three rooms and into a fourth, however, before he was with her.

  But she was sleeping.

  She sprawled somewhat awkwardly on her side, her back toward him. Her clothing had been slit and spread apart, probably so a greenish salve could be applied. He hoped the cream soothed her, but it did little to hide the swelling of abused flesh, crossed red and black by the rod.

  Anger fled, except rage at those who had done this to her. He wished he could lay the rod to Flambard himself.

  But then anger at Jehanne snapped back, hilt to blade with fierce pride at her courage. The first beating would not have been so bad, nor even the second. But she had continued to accept them knowing, especially when she sent Aline out, that by a word she could put a stop to it.

  And all for him.

  The small room was plain—perhaps a place for a senior servant of the king to catch some sleep without leaving Westminster. Aside from the narrow curtained bed, the only furniture was a table with a bowl and ewer.

  Galeran leaned against a wall as he worked through his feelings.

  She should have trusted him to bring them all home safe.

  This was Jehanne, though. Just as she had always been. If he wanted a meek wife who would never try to take a hand in the management of their affairs, then he had been poorly used by fortune.

  He had not been poorly used by fortune.

  He could imagine no other wife. What other woman was as beautiful, as intelligent, as courageous, as resolute, as generous...

  He was growing hard with desire, but it looked as if they had a good stretch of chastity ahead of them while she healed. It was as well he'd practiced the discipline.

  Quietly, so as not to wake her, he opened another door and found Aline, Winifred, and the baby. He placed a finger on his lips before Aline could cry her surprise.

  When he'd closed the door, she asked, "Is everything all right?"

  "Yes. Jehanne is safe, the baby remains with us, and Flambard is in the Tower."

  "Praise God! But what of Lowick?"

  "By heaven's gates!" he exploded. "Why is everyone so concerned with that man's fate? What it is to be handsome."

  "Handsome?" Aline scoffed. "He's as handsome as my father's best bull. It's just that he's at heart an honorable fool. He needs protecting."

  Galeran burst out laughing. It had been so long since he'd laughed that way that it felt as if his face were cracking. He collapsed down on a bench, weak with it. "Poor Raymond. A bull!" But then he controlled himself. "What of Raoul, then? Are you going to protect him too?"

  Color rushed into her face. "He's no fool. He can protect himself. Like you."

  "Yet Jehanne thought she had to protect me from fighting Raymond."

  Aline put her hands on her hips. "Are you going to turn silly over that? She loves you, so she wants to protect you. What choice does she have? What choice does anyone have in these things? We want to protect the ones we love. It's as natural as breathing."

  He smiled at her ferocity. "Is it? No one seems to have told men that it works both ways."

  "Perhaps it's that men never listen."

  "Perhaps it is. So, Aline, do you want to protect Raoul?"

  She stared at him, startled. "I don't know."

  "Perhaps," he said, "you aren't listening to yourself."

  Galeran went over to the blanket in the corner upon which the baby slept, her tiny body rising and falling with each deep breath. Would she grow up to be like her mother and aunt, fierce as a wolf-mother in protecting her cubs?

  Or in protecting her mate.

  "How long since she fed?" he asked.

  "Since before we left the convent. She'll wake soon."

  He felt able, therefore, to gather Donata into his two hands and bring her close to his chest. His nose told him the cloths were wet again, but it didn't bother him. He settled her in the crook of his arm and tested the softness of her skin with a finger, wincing as his roughness brushed against petal smoothness. "You are as my own, little one," he said softly. "I have sworn it."

  With a gummy yawn, the baby awoke, opening big blue eyes to look fixedly at him. But her mouth immediately started working.

  "Food, food, and nothing but food, eh?" he said with a laugh. "A fine sense of the priorities. Very well. Let your Aunt Aline change you, and I'll take you to your mother."

  Then I'll have an excuse to wake her.

  I need her awake.

  I need her.

  The child made no complaint as she was unwrapped, cleaned, and changed, but continued to stare toward Galeran as if she knew how central he was to her world.

  Would she ever know the mayhem her existence had cause
d?

  He would do his best to make sure she never did.

  When Donata was fresh, he carried her in to Jehanne. Sitting gently on the end of the bed with the baby in one arm, he shook one of Jehanne's stocking feet. "Wake up, sleepyhead."

  She stirred slowly, almost reluctantly. Then pain and reality hit her, and she hissed. Fixed in an awkward position, she stared at him, blinking. "Galeran? Where...? What...? Oh, Donata."

  "Yes, she needs feeding." He put the baby down, then helped Jehanne move to sit on the edge of the bed. Surely any movement must hurt, but she showed no sign of pain except a sharp out breath when it was over.

  Clearly feeling abandoned, Donata squawked.

  "Patience, little one." Galeran gave her a finger to hold on to as he asked, "How will you manage?"

  "I'll be all right. Just give her to me."

  But as he picked up the baby and placed her carefully in Jehanne's lap, Jehanne eyed him anxiously, almost fearfully. He knew she had many questions, but the baby would not wait, and was already beginning to cry in genuine distress, nuzzling at the cloth over the breast.

  Jehanne murmured to her as she raised her tunic. In moments the only sound was the contented suckling of the babe. Jehanne looked at him in a direct way that was close to her usual manner. "Is everything all right, then?"

  "Why do you assume that?"

  "You look... relaxed. Happy?"

  It wasn't fair to tease her. He let himself smile. "Everything's all right. And yes, I feel relaxed, and close to being happy."

  She closed her eyes briefly. "Thank heavens!" But then she asked, "Raymond?"

  Galeran burst out laughing. "The honorable bull? He's hale and hearty and off to gore the Infidel."

  "Bull?" she queried, but then smiled. "That was well done. He'll like that."

  "He seems content now that he's sure I won't knock you into walls when I'm in a bad mood, or raise Donata in the kitchens."

  At that, she looked down and changed her hold on the baby slightly, but he guessed it was mostly to take time to think. When she looked up again, she asked, "So, what problem remains?"