by Alexa Aston
His father took his wife’s hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “We must go, my love. Our king has need of us.”
“I understand,” she said softly.
He looked to Ancel. “Will you ride with me?”
“Of course, Father.” Ancel could barely contain his excitement. Intrigue at court? Going on a mission with his father to see the king? He’d never been part of anything like this.
Geoffrey took the scroll and held it to the flame of the candle sitting on the table. The parchment caught fire and began burning. Ancel realized that his father was intentionally destroying any evidence of the king’s command.
Geoffrey dropped the burning paper in the fireplace and looked at the messenger. “Lady Merryn will find you a place at Kinwick, Jupp. You can work the land or help with the horses.”
“Does your blacksmith have need of someone?” Jupp asked. “I was training to be a smithy before my father died. That’s when I went to work with my mother in the royal kitchens.”
“We can arrange that,” Merryn said.
Geoffrey turned to Ancel. “Find Gilbert. Tell him I want twenty of our best men to go with us to London,” he told his son.
*
They arrived in London at night after riding for two days at a quick pace. Ancel had never been in the city, much less at any of the royal residences. He’d only heard Alys describe them from her time spent in service fostering with Queen Philippa. Leaving their men outside the Palace of Westminster, he and his father moved through a myriad of long hallways and cut through many groups of people collected in small clumps. Ancel couldn’t believe the size of the magnificent rooms, much less the sumptuous tapestries and luxurious furniture and tiled floors. He’d thought Kinwick a beautiful place but the king’s palace left him speechless.
Finally, they stopped near where a small group of men gathered. Their clothing and bearing told him they were some of the most important men at court. His father motioned one of them over.
“Lord Geoffrey,” the balding man exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were in London. Did you hear of the Black Prince’s death? Such a shame. Edward of Woodstock would have made a most excellent king for England.”
“I did hear the news. I would like to offer my condolences to the king, as well as speak to him regarding other matters. Can you arrange an appointment with him? As soon as possible, since I’m only passing through London.”
The man hesitated. “That might prove difficult, my lord. The king’s schedule is quite full.” He thought a moment. “It will probably be a good two months before you’ll be able to see him.”
“That’s not acceptable,” his father said evenly.
Ancel shivered inwardly. He knew that tone. He’d tried pushing the boundaries with his father when he was younger. Geoffrey de Montfort tolerated nonsense from no one. This nobleman would do well to beware.
“I see.” The court official frowned and glanced around surreptitiously. “I must confide in you, my lord. The king is actually quite ill. Mayhap you would like to meet with the royal council instead? I can consult with the Duke of Lancaster to see when they might be able to accommodate you. If you’ll come back tomorrow afternoon, I can let you know.”
“Thank you, my lord. We’ll see you then.”
Ancel wondered why his father agreed to putting off being seen but he knew he would soon learn why as his father marched from the room and down a hallway. Ancel kept pace with him as they continued down several corridors and found an empty chamber.
“I doubted we’d be able to see the king,” his father confided. “The Duke of Lancaster will have him insulated since the Black Prince’s death. Especially if the king is also ailing.”
Ancel suggested, “Remember when Kit and Lady Thea sought an audience with the king? Kit said they spoke to him the first thing in the morning, before he’d even broken his fast.”
His father grinned. “It’s worth a try. We’ll stay inside the palace and try to see him before most noblemen begin to stir. The guards on duty won’t question me if I appear since I’ve come to the king’s rooms many times before.”
They found a bench and leaned their backs against the wall so each could take a turn at getting a couple of hours of sleep. Then, before servants even began stirring, they made their way down a maze of hallways to the king’s chambers. Ancel saw members of the royal guard standing at the door as they approached.
“The king is expecting us,” Geoffrey said easily. “And how are you, Manfred? It’s been some time since I’ve seen you.”
Ancel listened with one ear as his father made conversation with one of the soldiers on duty. What drew his interest instead was a small boy that slinked along in the shadows. Ancel made eye contact with the child and the boy motioned to him.
“Is that Lord Geoffrey?” the boy whispered when Ancel came to stand beside him.
“Aye. How did you know?” Ancel asked.
But he didn’t receive an answer. His father caught his eye and waved him over. They entered the royal rooms. Just as the guard began to close the door, the boy scurried in behind them without a word from the guards. He ran ahead through another door and then poked his head out and indicated for them to hurry.
As they entered the royal bedchamber, Ancel was again astonished by its size and opulence. A servant lay on a pallet next to the king’s bed.
“Open the curtains!” a deep voice commanded. Ancel recognized it as that of King Edward.
The portly servant scrambled to his feet and pushed the bed curtains aside.
“Leave us.”
“But sire—”
“I said leave. Bring me some bread and ale. And not a word to anyone. Do you understand?” The king’s stern look would have frightened a grown man.
“Aye, sire.” The servant fled the room without a backward glance. The young boy closed the door once the servant departed.
“You came.” Edward looked old and tired to Ancel, nothing like the tall, vigorous figure he remembered from half a score ago.
Geoffrey bowed to the king. “I did, sire, and I’ve brought with me Ancel, my eldest son, as you requested.”
Ancel also bowed and said, “And we’ve brought someone with us.”
He saw a fond smile appear on the king’s face as the old man patted the bed. The boy rushed over and climbed up next to the king, taking his hand.
“This is Richard of Bordeaux, my grandson. He’s my heir now. I want everything to go smoothly for him since my time draw nears.”
“Grandfather, you aren’t going to—”
“Nay, Richard,” the monarch said sternly. “We’ve spoken of this. ‘Tis best to be prepared.” He looked at Geoffrey and Ancel. “Though my son, John, promised his brother that he would see Richard on the throne upon my death, John always was a greedy boy—and a greedier man, amassing land and wealth. Thank the heavens that Parliament acknowledged yesterday that Richard will follow me when I’m gone. So for now, John will try to rule through the boy. I know what that’s like.”
Ancel understood what the king spoke of. Edward had been crowned at fourteen when the queen and her lover, Roger Mortimer, deposed Edward’s father. Mortimer ruled England through Edward for three years until Edward led his own coup against Mortimer and seized complete control of the throne. So the king had experience and was looking out for his grandson.
“My son will try his best to maneuver around the royal council once I’m gone. They can only keep him at bay for so long. Lancaster has a powerful personality and friends in many places.”
Geoffrey asked, “So what do you ask of me, your majesty? Do you wish me to remain in London and take a place on the council to ensure that young Richard here keeps his throne once you pass?”
The king grunted. “Nay. I know you wouldn’t, though I’ve asked you to sit on the council several times over the years. I can’t blame you, Lord Geoffrey. London and the royal court aren’t the same place since my beloved Philippa’s death.”
Edward pushed aside the
covers and swung bony legs over the side of the bed till his feet touched the floor. “I have a different favor to ask of you, my lord. Actually, more one your own boy can provide.”
Suddenly, Ancel felt the king’s intense gaze upon him. Ancel saw steely resolve in the old monarch’s eyes.
“I need someone to look after my grandson. Someone to protect him. A man willing to give his life to do so. I’ve trusted Geoffrey de Montfort for many years.” The king eyed Ancel carefully. “You’re so much like your father. Will you come to London? Will you watch over my Richard and keep him safe?”
Ancel glanced to the young boy who still held his grandfather’s hand. A boy of only nine. One who’d recently lost his father. Ancel remembered the first six years of his life when he didn’t have a father, thanks to Geoffrey being imprisoned by an enemy. Ancel had been lonely and unsure throughout that time.
Richard looked at Ancel hopefully and he knew his decision had been made. Without hesitation, he said, “It would be my pleasure, sire.”
“Teach him all you know, Ancel de Montfort. He’ll have tutors for his education. They’ll deal with his atrocious spelling and appalling penmanship. But you? You will guide him in other things a man should know. Swordplay and weaponry. Military strategy. How to treat his horse and how to treat a woman. Teach him about the important things in life—honor, duty, respect. How to be a good man. And most important of all? Keep him safe from the dangerous men who walk these halls. Help Richard mature. Help him become the man he needs to be to rule this kingdom. Can you do that?’
“I accept, sire. I will do my best to help shape him into becoming Richard the Second, King of England.”
With those words, Ancel knew his life had changed forever.
Chapter 1
London—June, 1381
Ancel saw the billowing clouds of black smoke in the distance. Moments later, the wind blew the acrid smell his way. It invaded his nostrils and left a harsh taste in his mouth.
London was burning?
He spurred Storm on, covering ground more quickly than he had in the past week. He hadn’t wanted to leave the king but Richard had insisted that Ancel ride north to Scotland to be his eyes and ears. A bulk of the royal forces had been scattered along the border because of the rampant rumors of an impending Scottish invasion. The king wanted a show of force in the north to prevent any type of rebellion from taking place. Since other English troops were still stationed on the continent, it left the monarch with only a few hundred men at his disposal.
That left London vulnerable. But who had attacked the city?
Ancel remembered his promise to Richard’s grandfather and how he’d pledged to keep King Edward’s grandson safe from harm.
What if Richard was already dead—and the Duke of Lancaster had finally seized the throne?
Ancel pushed that thought aside. He wouldn’t let worry cloud his judgment. He’d make his way to the king. Find out what had taken place in London. Then do whatever it took to protect the young royal.
Even if it meant giving his life.
Richard had matured in the five years since Ancel had come to court. At ten and four, the young king was already as tall as any grown man. He was also intelligent and well read. Unfortunately, he still had a tendency to stammer when he became agitated but Ancel believed once Richard took on more responsibility, he would begin to have faith in his own abilities and leave his nerves behind.
The harsh smell from the fire irritated his nose and throat as he drew close to the city. Ancel saw hundreds of people on the road headed in his direction and more pouring through the gates. He wondered how many had lost their homes in the fires—and who was responsible for the setting of the flames. He maneuvered his horse through the disheveled crowd. Londoners carried their possessions in their hands and wore lost looks on their faces as they shuffled en masse.
Ancel rode over the bridge. Either no one alive was left on duty or the soldiers had abandoned their posts when the chaos broke out. As he galloped through the streets, the scope of the destruction stunned him.
He came to Savoy Palace, home of the Duke of Lancaster—or what had been the duke’s home. Embers still smoldered around the little that remained of the structure. The best Ancel could tell, the blaze here had occurred in the last day or two. He traveled further and found the entire legal district of the Temple also in ruins. Remnants of burnt law books lay scattered in the streets, their pages floating in the wind.
Then scores of dead bodies came into view. Some by themselves, others piled together. A quick assessment told him these weren’t men who’d perished in the flames.
They’d been murdered.
He spun his horse around. Bodies lay in every direction. Not all were connected with the government. By their dress, he recognized several of the dead to be Flemish in origin. A deep prejudice ran against the Flemish weavers who’d practiced their trade in London for decades, invited there by King Edward and Queen Philippa. Had a group from the English weavers’ guilds killed these artisans? Even if they had, who’d murdered the rest and set fire to the city?
Ancel saw a man picking his way through the dead and called out to him. “What happened here?”
The man tucked something shiny inside his gypon before he looked up. “’Twas the rebels. They did it all.”
“What rebels?” Ancel demanded. “I’ve been gone from London the past month.”
“Them from Kent and Essex way. They’ve set fires across the city. They’re killing anyone associated with the royal government. Their mob marched in over London Bridge two days ago. No one dared to stop them. A lot of townsfolk even joined in. They stormed Westminster Gaol and Newgate Prison. Freed everyone imprisoned there.”
Ancel’s mind reeled with this information. He knew how unpopular Lancaster’s taxation policies had been. The duke’s poll tax instigated just before King Edward’s death had been revised twice and Ancel knew common folk were at their breaking point, giving up coin and livestock to pay the heavy burden to the royal treasury.
“Is there any news of the king?” he asked, almost afraid to hear the response.
The man shrugged. “I heard he’s locked himself up safe in the Tower but that could be a rumor.”
Ancel thanked the man and turned Storm in the direction of the Tower. He reached the grounds minutes later only to find it in shambles. People running in every direction. Screaming. Looting. It was a city gone mad. His eye caught a large mass of men moving toward Tower Hill, so he followed them at a discreet distance. Shock reverberated through him as he recognized the Lord Chancellor and Lord High Treasurer being dragged before a jeering crowd by armed rebels. Sudbury looked terrified, while Hales seemed numb to everything going on around him.
Both men were forced to their knees and beheaded within seconds. Bile rose in Ancel’s throat. He wouldn’t allow the king to suffer such a punishment.
He wheeled his horse and spurred it back toward the White Tower, where the monarch kept rooms.
“Sir Ancel! Sir Ancel!”
He spied a member of the royal council rushing toward him on foot.
“Help me!” the nobleman cried as he reached Ancel.
“Where is the king?” Ancel asked, his heart beating frantically.
“He’s gone,” the man panted. “To Mile End in east London. To meet the rebels.”
Ancel didn’t wait for further information. He galloped away from the Tower, ignoring the pleas of the royal councilor to rescue him. Reaching the king was paramount. He pushed his horse hard, hoping to come across Richard before the young man came in contact with the rebels. If these men were burning London to the ground and beheading royal councilors, he couldn’t imagine what they might do with the king.
Ancel cursed the Duke of Lancaster and his group of friends that had inserted themselves into every aspect of royal life. Lancaster managed the throne and his taxation policies had caused this unholy mess. Ancel knew the time drew near for Richard to assert his authority and f
orce his uncle aside.
If he lived long enough.
Cresting a hill, Ancel saw thousands of peasants gathered, as far as he could see. He spied the king’s banner and rode straight toward it, yelling for those in front of him to get out of his way. Ancel made it through the throng and caught sight of the king. A lump formed in his throat. He’d grown to love Richard as a brother and would shield him from any harm.
“Sir Ancel!” the king called.
Ancel jumped from his horse and hurried toward the monarch. He gave a quick bow and asked, “Are you all right, sire?”
“Aye.” The king motioned for Ancel to come close as he turned aside from the small guard that surrounded them.
“How is the border?” Richard asked. “Has it held?”
Ancel felt a moment of pride in the young boy who’d become a young man. Surrounded by thousands of his angry subjects, he still thought as a king despite the danger that encircled him.
“The Scottish border is secure, sire. I will share reports from the various commanders I spoke with when the time is right. But what’s happened here?”
The king’s mouth flattened in displeasure. “’Tis Uncle’s taxes. These men are calling for me to hand over my uncle, two archbishops, and key members of my royal council.”
Ancel glanced around. “I don’t see Lancaster present.”
Richard snorted. “Funny how Uncle has made himself scarce these past few days. I don’t plan to hand anyone over but they have a charter they want me to sign.”
He frowned. “What else do these peasants want?”
The king held up a sheaf of papers in his hands. “I’d just finished reading this when you arrived. It calls for the abolition of serfdom and wants me to grant a general amnesty for the rebels.” Richard gave him an earnest look. “I can do both in good faith, Sir Ancel. These men have told me that they support me and the monarchy. They simply wish to rid the royal council and courts of the corrupt officials within them.” He hesitated. “Do you think this a good course of action?”
Ancel had often given the boy king advice but this went beyond anything that had ever been asked of him. He chose his words carefully, knowing what Richard did and said today might influence the course of England’s future.
