The Sorceror's Revenge

by Linda Sole

  ‘Will Henry listen?’ someone asked and a chorus of voices agreed that it was unlikely. The King had shown his dislike of the restrictions placed on him, dismissing the council and ordering that decisions were delayed until he returned from talks with King Louis of France.

  The tall man with the thin intelligent face stepped forward into the light of the candles. All eyes were drawn to him for there was something about him that commanded attention. More than one man watching felt a shiver of ice slither down his spine

  ‘If you could bring someone to him, a man he trusts more than most – if this man could persuade him, all might not yet be lost.’

  ‘Henry trusts only a few men. He would not listen to any of us. He is at odds with his own son, though no one truly knows where the prince stands.’

  ‘He might listen to the man they call the King’s Champion. He might listen to Robert, Earl Devereaux, for if the earl deserted his cause he would be that much weaker. Many more might follow if Devereaux came over to you.’

  A snort of laughter greeted this suggestion. ‘Devereaux would never join us. He has been asked more than once. He is firm for the King.’

  ‘If he will not join us then he may be dealt with,’ the man said calmly, undisturbed by the mocking laughter. ‘If someone he trusted were to approach him with our offer he might agree. It is only a matter of time before things come to a stage where there must be war. Either Henry abides by the oath he swore or the country will be torn apart by civil strife. Is that what you wish?’

  ‘Who would undertake the commission?’ Simon de Montfort asked. ‘I would prefer the country were at peace but the King is impossible. If left to himself he would rule as his father John Lackland did and we cannot allow it.’

  ‘John of Hopton may be persuaded to take the offer to his cousin. He is not a rich man and he may covet his cousin’s wealth, but offered a rich bride he would have reason to be grateful to us.’

  ‘You speak as though you are one of us…’ one of the lesser barons at the back of the room gave him a surly look. ‘I do not know you. How can we be certain that you do not seek to betray us?’

  ‘Count Malvolia is to be trusted,’ de Montfort said. ‘In France the count is respected. He is an apothecary and physician of great skill, and I have reason to be grateful, for he cured my steward’s sister of a terrible sickness that had troubled her for years.’

  ‘If you vouch for him…’ the man at the back subsided with a mutter.

  ‘I have suffered at the hands of tyrants,’ Niccolai said, a grim smile on his mouth. ‘I believe this King Henry 111 of England would become a tyrant if left to himself. Simon de Montfort brought you all together. You have come a long way, and in 1258 you forced the King to sign a treaty, which it is his duty to honour – but if he seeks to break his vow by means of a papal bull then you have only one option and that is to fight. John of Hopton is ready to plead your case with Devereaux. All he needs is your signatures on this paper.’ He placed the list of demands on the table.

  One of the barons looked at the paper but shook his head. ‘If we sign the King may have us arrested as traitors and hang us all.’

  ‘There is naught here that was not in the agreement of 58. It is merely a reminder of the oath the King took then, an entreaty to remember his duty. What we seek is not more concessions but the support of the King’s Champion for our cause. Besides, Henry would have hung us all before now if he dared,’ de Montfort said and took the quill. He dipped it in the ink and scrawled his signature across the page.

  For a moment no one moved then the others approached, took the pen and signed. Simon de Montfort handed the paper to Niccolai, who looked at it briefly, rolled it when he was satisfied the ink was dry, and slipped it inside his gown.

  ‘I shall take it to Hopton at once. He waits to leave and I know that he will do his best for you. It is in his own interests, as he well knows.’

  There were a few grunts as he left the room, and then one of the men spoke, ‘Did anyone notice if Malvolia signed the paper?’

  ‘He does not need to,’ de Montfort said. ‘He is only the messenger in this case. Besides, Malvolia is a busy man, and has business elsewhere before he returns to France, whence he came this very day. We are the men who will shape the destiny of England and we must not shirk our duty. In this land of ours no King must ever have absolute power again.’

   * *

  John of Hopton reined in as he and the twenty men that accompanied him came within sight of Craigmoor. He was a dark man with a sullen look about his face, his jaw square and his mouth thin. Unlike his cousin Robert, he had nothing to recommend him for his manner was as plain and blunt as his looks, and he had found little favour, either at court or with the fathers of the heiresses he had at various times hoped to wed. He had always been jealous of his cousin, who seemed to find honours and women without trying. The rich marriage offered to John was a tantalising prize and one that dangled like a carrot in front of the donkey’s nose.

  Malvolia had made it plain that the alliance would only take place if he achieved the task that had been set him, which was to cause a rift between Robert and the King.

  ‘I do not doubt that he will treat this offer with scorn and consign the paper to the fire, where it belongs,’ Malvolia told him. ‘I doubt that Devereaux will be won to the cause, but he must be offered his chance.’

  ‘And if he refuses, which, like you, I am certain he will – what then?’

  ‘The prize you would have cannot be so lightly won,’ Malvolia said, his expression cold, unyielding. ‘If the attempt fails we shall talk again about what should happen to the King’s Champion.’

  Hopton shivered as he remembered the look in the other man’s eyes. He had been tempted to ask why Malvolia should hate Robert Devereaux, but he had kept his mouth shut. Eleanor of Rothwell was a rich heiress; twice married she had inherited a fortune from both husbands. No matter that she had a face like a horse. He would ride her in the dark and get his heir of her. After that she could go to the convent or stay. He could always find a willing whore to satisfy his lusts, which were in any case hardly insatiable.

  Hopton neither drank nor ate to excess. He was a cold man who showed little emotion, though devout in his way: murder was a foul crime and he feared God’s judgement too much to attempt it. Although he envied Robert his wealth and his position, he had never considered that he might inherit the earldom, for there was the boy. His mother had been Robert’s mistress and the marriage invalid, but the child had been adopted and installed as the heir. Whether that would stand in Hopton’s way if his cousin were dead was a tricky point, something that might be decided by the Church rather than the Moot courts.

  However, if Robert were disgraced, a grateful monarch might give Robert’s estates where he chose. As yet Hopton had not made up his mind which side to choose, and for the moment he was prepared to have a foot in each camp – and he was not the only one. He knew that some of the barons had begun to murmur amongst themselves that Simon de Montfort pushed the King too far. His demands were unreasonable and it was hardly surprising that Henry should think of breaking the oath he had been forced to take in 1258. If he obtained the papal bull he had requested there would be war in England. Hopton intended to be on the winning side when that happened, but in the meantime he was happy to assist Malvolia’s plans to bring his cousin down – but if he meant murder it would be by another’s hand.

  He recalled his wandering thoughts. Sitting here would avail him nothing. He would present the document and await his cousin’s answer, though he already knew what it would be. The question was, why had Malvolia chosen him for the task?

  20

  ‘I would have thought you knew me better,’ Robert said as he finished reading the list of demands and the signatures beneath it. He scanned the names and discovered that there were fewer than he might have expected. Were some of the barons wavering? They must all sense that war was close. In the case of civil conflict they must all
choose sides. Striding towards the hearth in his hall, where a log fire constantly burned, he ripped the sheet of parchment in two and consigned it to the flames. ‘Tell whoever sent you that Robert Devereaux stands with the King. They must have been fools to imagine that I would be interested in their petty schemes. They plot against a man worth a hundred of their leader.’

  ‘You have been given your chance, and it was for this that I took this commission,’ Hopton replied. ‘You will not blame me if there is worse to come, cousin. You are a powerful man and your support brings in many of those who waver. Without you, the King would be that much the weaker and might see sense. If you will not join us, you may find that there will be other attempts to change your mind.’

  ‘Nothing will change my allegiance. I am for the King, as always. Only my death will stop me taking my place at his side when the call comes.’

  ‘Then you must be on your guard.’ Hopton frowned. It was in his mind to warn his cousin that he might have an enemy in Count Malvolia, but he held his tongue. Eleanor of Rothwell’s fortune lay tantalisingly just beyond his reach. He would not risk losing it for the sake of a man for whom he had once felt friendship. ‘I shall speak of this no more, cousin. I did not promise to persuade you, only to bring you this message.’

  ‘And you…’ Robert’s gaze narrowed. ‘When we were young I trusted you as much as any man. What has changed you?’

  ‘I shall be honest with you, cousin. As yet I am not certain where my allegiance lies. I do not consider that by bringing you this I have tied myself to either camp. I was told that if you stood with the barons a bloody war might be avoided, and this I would support. It is a sad thing when the King and his barons are at odds, Robert. To my mind it wastes lives and money. I am not a rich man and I cannot afford to fight without reward. Henry did not see fit to award me land or honours after the campaign in Wales. Therefore I must seek my own fortune where I may.’

  Robert looked at him thoughtfully. He was angry but trying not to show how much he resented that his cousin had been used to bring him this message. Until this moment he had thought he could trust Hopton in a crisis, but now that trust was breached. His friend Jonathan was dead, which left Robert isolated and with few allies he could truly rely on. Who had planned this strategy – and why?

  ‘Who sent you to me, cousin? Was it de Montfort?’

  ‘He called the meeting, but someone else brought me the commission – but I may not answer your question for I took an oath. I shall only say that I think you have an enemy – someone who hates you.’

  ‘I dare say I have made many enemies.’ Robert frowned. ‘Will you stay? I planned a feast for this evening, but now there seems nothing to celebrate.’

  ‘I cannot stay. I must report that the message was treated with disdain. You were offered the chance to mediate with the King and perhaps bring peace, cousin. You have refused it and I think it will not be offered again.’

  ‘Will you take my hand? Let us at least not be enemies, Hopton.’ Robert offered his hand to his cousin, but as Hopton made no move to take it, his mood darkened. ‘You have made your position plain. Go then, our friendship is at an end.’

  Hopton inclined his head, then turned and strode from the room. Robert stared after him, holding his temper by a thin thread. How dare they send his cousin to him? Surely they knew that he would refuse such a request? Had it been anyone else but Hopton, he might have put a sword through the messenger.

  Yes, of course. It was for this reason that Hopton had been chosen. Whoever had sent him on this impossible mission had known that it would anger him, but been sure enough of his reaction to gamble that he would not lift his hand to strike down his own cousin.

  As yet Robert could see no reason for any of it. Surely they must have known that he could not be so easily swayed. Hopton said that he had been given his chance, which meant that the next thing might be…an attempt on his life?

  He knew Hopton would never attempt murder. He felt that this had been a warning – as if someone wished to throw down the gauntlet, to let him know that he was being challenged. Robert sensed a dark force behind what had taken place here this day and shivered. For a moment he seemed to hear mocking laughter but dismissed it as imagination.

  The whole thing had been a mere trick to make him ill at ease, and in part it had succeeded. He frowned as his steward came towards him, no doubt to inquire if he still wished for a feast that evening.

  ‘My lord, I have been told that John of Hopton and his men are leaving. Shall the feasting go ahead?’

  ‘The food has been prepared, let the men enjoy themselves this night – and what is left may be handed to the village and any beggar that comes to our door for alms.’

  ‘You are generous as always, my lord.’

  The steward bowed and walked away, leaving Robert to stare moodily into the fireplace. What he needed was a good lay but Joanne did not satisfy his needs. He wanted a woman who could match him for fire and his thoughts turned first to his wife, who had once been such a woman and then to the girl in the wood.

  Melloria was cold to him. She looked at him as if he were nothing and even if she allowed him to love her, she would lie there like a dead thing – but the girl in the woods…even as she’d struggled he’d felt her lips respond.

  Mayhap he might find her there again. His blood quickening as he thought of what he wanted to do with Mistress Alfreda. Dismissing his cousin’s warnings as spite, he strode from the hall. It was colder today but still dry. If he found her he would take her down on the dry bracken and enjoy the sweet juices that he was sure would run between her thighs when he loved her.

  21

  Hearing the angry words, Melloria opened the door of her chamber and looked at the scene in the family hall. The chimney-breast at the far end of the roam was painted a dark blue and scattered with gold crescent moons and silver stars. Its painted surface had grown dull with the smoke of several winters and she had ordered it scrubbed recently so that now it was restored to its former glory. Sitting on the carpet before the fire, Harry’s hound lay with its muzzle resting on its paws, and the children sprawled carelessly close by.

  At first glance it was a charming scene. They were both dressed in the earl’s favourite colours of blue and silver, the boy as fair as his father with the same blue eyes, the girl a miniature of her red-haired mother. Some folk feared a red-haired woman, for it was said to be the sign of a witch.

  As Melloria watched, Harry tugged viciously at Iolanthe’s hair and she screamed and punched him in the arm. Harry yelled and threw himself at her, treading on the hound his father had given him for his birthday and sending the poor creature yelping into retreat.

  ‘Children, children,’ Melloria chided as she saw her daughter and Robert’s son fighting. ‘This is not seemly. Why do you always quarrel?’

  ‘Harry says that he is the heir and more important than me,’ Iolanthe said with a sulky look at her mother. ‘He is hateful and cruel and I don’t want to be his sister.’

  Melloria had no doubt that it was his nurse Joanne, who had put that thought into Harry’s mind. Iolanthe was merely Harry’s half-sister but she would not tell her that until she was older. Robert insisted that Harry should believe he was her child and in this at least she could obey him, though she wondered what might happen when the boy grew old enough to know the truth. It was certain that he could not remain in ignorance forever.

  ‘Harry is the heir to the earldom. You must accept this, Iolanthe, but one day you will marry a rich man and be a countess or a lady so you are just as important in your way. Now play together and be happy. If you are good I will ask Cook to make some sweetmeats for you.’

  ‘For both of us?’ Harry asked and looked at her as if he thought she would favour Iolanthe. Melloria smiled at him, because she felt guilt in her heart. It was not possible to love him as much as she loved Iolanthe, and sometimes she thought he knew that she favoured her daughter.

  Iolanthe was so precious
to her. Whenever she looked at her daughter she could not help remembering the happy times she had known after her birth. Nicholas had been so kind to her. She had felt loved and had loved in return. Nicholas had spoiled Iolanthe, taking her everywhere with him and giving into her slightest whim. Indeed, he had played his part in spoiling her and forming her character. It was hardly surprising that she still remembered and pined for him, that she would not accept Robert as her father.

  Melloria knew that Robert was angered by his daughter’s fear of him, but there was nothing she could do. Iolanthe stubbornly refused to go to him and if he tried to touch her, she ran to her mother in tears. Naturally enough, Robert favoured his son, who loved nothing more than to be taken up on his father’s horse and had a sturdy pony of his own. As yet Iolanthe had only been allowed to ride pillion behind one of the grooms, which was not fair, because she was the elder.

  ‘Yes, for both of you, Harry. You will both have sweetmeats if you are good.’

  Harry turned to his sister and grinned. He had his father’s smile and would one day charm the ladies as easily as Robert always had when he chose. Melloria had been charmed by his smile until she learned that behind the smile and the easy manner was an arrogant and selfish nature.

  ‘Harry want Lanthe stay here and marry him,’ he said suddenly all smiles and charm.

  ‘I’m your sister, silly,’ Iolanthe retorted. ‘You cannot marry your sister, can you, Mama?’

  ‘No, that is against the law. ‘It was a kind thought, Iolanthe. You should be grateful that your brother thinks of you with fondness. Now be good and you shall both have a treat.’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’

  They looked like little angels, so innocent and beautiful, sitting together on the carpet in front of the fire in the hall. Melloria wondered how long the good intentions would last once she left them to amuse themselves.