Justice of the Root

by Abby Gordon

  Her sigh of relief, plus her concern, gave him more hope. It may not be much. Not what Root Anna has found with her Shield, but we can both find a peace, a comfort in life.

  Stopping on the path, he turned her to face him. “So, Meggie? Will you marry a man you met only this noon? And come with me to a country that is not yours?”

  Her eyes lifted to his and he marveled at the quiet strength in her.

  “Aye, Phillipe,” she whispered. “I will.”

  Gently framing her face with both hands, he lowered his head and pressed her lips to his.

  Watching from the windows, Root Anna sighed in relief. “Well, that’s Meggie taken care of. Now, what shall I do about the rest of them?”

  Rose grinned. “Don’t ask George. He’d suggest you put them all in the middens.”

  Even the Roots chuckled.

  “I can’t do that to all of them,” Anna commented, turning from the window and going to her seat. “Edward is a special problem. He risked his life to get word to the Queen. Yet was an ass in dealing with Celeste both then and this morn.”

  “When did you plan on Justice?” Raoul wondered, sipping his wine.

  “I had thought three days after our arrival,” she replied. “But given what’s happened today, I think tomorrow.” Her gaze went to Etienne. “We dare not risk word reaching Perpignan.”

  The Norman Root rumbled a bit at that and Anna bit her lip.

  “If Marianna is alive,” she started. “And if she will not be welcome in Rouen or Bayonne as my savior, then –”

  “She will always be welcome at Berwyn,” stated Owain. “Any Catalan Rose can come to Wales. For surely, some survived and are hiding even from other Roses. Put out word that they are to come to us. Especially Marianna. If not for her courage and Maria’s, if not for their sacrifice, the Scions would have continued searching for Anna. And not even Alicia would have been able to protect her from their numbers.”

  “Marianna and I were betrothed,” Etienne stated firmly. “We loved each other. I was calling her my ‘wife’ at Catalan.”

  “She was thirteen,” Raoul reminded him. “And you’ve no idea if she is alive. Or what the Scions have done to her.”

  Etienne stared at his father. “If we find her alive, and I take her as my wife, would you then reject us?”

  No one in the room moved. Anna didn’t think anyone breathed. It was one thing for Phillipe to take care of Meggie who was innocent, but what Etienne was stating was of far greater magnitude. If she’d survived, if she was still alive, Marianna would have been with the Scions for a decade. There was no telling what they’d done to her, or even if she wanted to be rescued.

  “You must find her first,” Raoul finally answered.

  “Will you accept her as my wife?”

  “You don’t know if she’ll want to be your wife,” his father told him bluntly.

  “She won’t want to if she thinks you’ll reject her. If you’ll reject us,” his son retorted bluntly.

  “Etienne, I loved her as a daughter, you know that,” sighed Raoul. “But the injuries to her body and mind might be too much for her to bear. Find her. May God be merciful, I pray she has survived the hell the Scions have taken her to. But it may be God’s mercy that she did not.”

  “We have to know,” Etienne insisted. “We have to try. For her. For us. For Marco.”

  “Oui,” the Root sighed, nodding. “You have not chosen an easy path, my son. I hope you are strong enough to find your lost Rose. And that she is strong enough to overcome what she has been through.”

  “She will have my strength,” vowed Etienne. “All of it until she has her own again.”

  For a long moment, they were quiet. Finally, Anna shifted. “Etienne, it might help her when you find her, if you can tell her that her words that day came true. And by your hand.”

  Etienne stared at her. “Ma souer?”

  “Justice,” she smiled. “Armand, Charles Black for Maria. Etienne, Thomas Black for Marianna.” Their smiles widened as their eyes glittered. She turned to Raoul. “Oncle, Gray for arranging the madness at Catalan.” She stood and smiled. “Talbor is mine for killing Root William and my uncles.”

  Root and Heirs pounded on the table in agreement.

  ◆◆◆

  Bayonne

  Watching the sunrise, Griffin felt impatient as they entered the port. After that conversation on the first day, Hawkins had said little to him during the voyage. Griffin had been quite content with that and had spent his time reviewing everything for the mission ahead. First, he was to stop by the manor of the Root of Gascony to tell him.

  With a knowing eye given the time he’d spent on ships the past six months, he watched as they approached the dock and the sailors readied the ropes. It was nearly mid-morning before he could disembark. With a wave to Hawkins on the quarterdeck, he headed down the plank. Seeing two men wearing the peach rose, he strode towards them.

  “That boy is going to get himself killed,” muttered the lieutenant, joining the captain.

  Watching him, Hawkins chuckled. “Beaten, not killed. Ready?”

  “Aye, captain,” he nodded, handing him the pouch he’d gathered from the man’s quarters.

  “You there,” called Griffin, gesturing at the two men.

  They glanced at him, at each other and back. “Oui?” one asked.

  “I’m Griffin ap Llewellyn ap Tudor,” he introduced himself. “Sent by Sir Francis Walsingham to see the Root of Gascony.”

  “Ah,” murmured one.

  “Well?” Griffin grew impatient. “Take me to him.”

  “Ah, oui,” the second nodded. “We can take you to him.”

  “This way, monsieur,” the first gestured along the road.

  “That’s better,” smiled Griffin.

  They’d walked nearly a mile when the first punch was thrown. Stunned, Griffin couldn’t block that nor the second. Fury filled him and he fought back as best he could, but knew he wasn’t damaging either man.

  Finally, he lay bruised and bloodied on the dusty road, staring up at them.

  “What?” he gasped, spitting out blood and grateful he still had his teeth. “Why?”

  “You have no manners, Englishman,” sneered the first.

  “I’m Welsh and a cousin to the queen,” snarled Griffin.

  “A cousin to the queen should have better manners,” the first insisted. “Are the Roses of York such pigs?”

  “Pigs?” protested Griffin, trying to sit up.

  The second pushed him back down. “Aye, pigs,” he jeered. “Root Anna will have none left if they are all like this one.”

  “My brother is her Shield,” Griffin told them.

  “What?” They stared at him.

  “She married my brother and named him her Shield,” he elaborated, wondering if that would help him or get him killed.

  For a long moment, they glared down at him, then the first sighed. They debated a bit in French, but finally they both reached down, grabbed him under his shoulders and hauled him up to his feet.

  “We shall take you to see Root Bernard,” the second stated. “But if your manners are not what is respectful to our Root, then we shall kill you and toss your remains in the middens.”

  “And send a very sorrowful note to your brother saying that he should have taught you better manners.”

  Griffin started to open his mouth, caught the fist already rising and closed it again. Nearly two more miles they passed a gate guarded by four men.

  “Hey, Pascal,” one called out. “What did you find in a ditch?”

  “A rude pig, Antony,” the first replied. “He claims to be from Walsingham but that his brother is Shield to Root Anna.”

  “So, is he from Walsingham or Root Anna?”

  “Walsingham,” Griffin stated, starting to realize what he’d been sent into. Walsingham, you bastard. How could you do this? You had to know what the other branches were like and you said nothing. No wonder Anna was so upset. Even
Mary understood. And Hawkins. He let me walk right into this.

  The Frenchmen stared impassively. Paschal shrugged.

  “We still need to take him in.”

  “Aye,” Antony agreed, unlocking the gate.

  After a few more minutes’ walk, they reached the fortress of the Root of Gascony. Griffin stopped and stared at what could have passed for one of the queen’s castles. His reaction earned him chuckles from the two on either side of him. Paschal murmured to a Rose at the second gate who nodded to another to unlock it before striding across the courtyard. Watching the man disappear through the double doors, Griffin swallowed. Suddenly this was not the grand adventure he had thought all those months ago.

  They reached the doors in time for Griffin to see the man step away from a high-backed chair near the hearth. The man bowed and gestured for Griffin to be escorted closer. When they were just out of arm’s reach, the Root turned and the look in his eyes halted Griffin mid-stride.

  “Why does Walsingham send you and not Root Anna?” came the demand.

  “I do not know,” Griffin replied.

  Paschal promptly clouted the back of his head.

  “Ow,” he protested. “Dammit, stop that already.”

  In the courtyard there was the clatter of hooves and a familiar voice. Even as Griffin shook off the shock, a Gascon Rose appeared followed by Captain Hawkins and his lieutenant.

  The Rose quickly approached while the Sea Hawk and his junior moved at a slower pace.

  “Lord Root, Captain Hawkins begs a moment of your time this morning to convey the respects of Root Anna of York.”

  “I would be delighted to speak with Hawkins of York,” rumbled the Root.

  At the Gascon’s gesture, Hawkins approached but the lieutenant stayed still. Passing Griffin without a glance or hint of acquaintance, Hawkins went to the chair, saluted with right fist over his heart and bowed.

  “I am honored that you will see me, Root Bernard,” he said quietly.

  “It is good to see you again, Hawkins. How fares Root Anna?”

  “She is well and happy, my lord,” the captain replied, drawing a sealed letter from his jacket. “Two days before I was to leave London, I spoke with her and told her I would be at Bayonne. She asked me to wait so she could write to you. And she asked me to convey her great affection for the Gascon Roses.”

  The Root beamed as he took the parchment. Eagerly he opened it, then gasped and cried out loud.

  “Call the Roses.”

  Bowing his head, he wept while those in the hall scattered. Confused, Griffin looked about him as men, women and children came from all direction until there were nearly three hundred crowded in. The Root stood and now, as two Roses helped him walk to the platform, Griffin saw why he had not journeyed with his son to London. His right leg was braced by wood as if healing from a break.

  Standing at the center of the dais where Griffin imagined the high table was for meals, Root Bernard opened the letter.

  “I have a letter from Root Anna of York,” he began. “Brought to me by Captain Hawkins.” Hawkins bowed his head. “Oncle, I have both sorrowful and joyful news to convey. The sorrowful I must tell you first. Alicia, my beloved and true Protector, was killed by a Son of Scion.”

  Wailing came from all the Gascon Roses. Griffin was stunned before he recalled the Gascon Heir’s grief. She was from here. These people were her family. Still, quite a lot of emotion. The Root held up his hand and the sobbing diminished slightly.

  “There was an attack on the queen. A guard took her Majesty to safety while I delayed the offenders – six on horseback. I was taken.”

  Griffin heard the angry mutters.

  “Alicia and my maid Rose insisted on riding with the company lead by two of the Queen’s cousins. Alicia and Rose slipped into the keep to gain information. Alicia was caught by the Scion during the attack as we tried to leave. When the Scion realized he could not escape, he killed her. Enraged, I took one of the captain’s pistols and shot his lower body.”

  “She disemboweled and castrated him with one shot,” Griffin muttered, echoing what George had told the Queen.

  In the silence, his words were heard and repeated with some chuckling.

  “The bastard had killed one sworn to me. I had two Roses of York hold him, declared myself and claimed Justice of the Root.”

  There was silence for a heartbeat then every right fist pumped into the air – Justice!

  “I am going to build a center in London to ensure Roses are always near the queen. The Archbishop of Canterbury has graciously consented to consecrate a chapel and land that Alicia can be buried there so that her valor shall become legend.”

  Griffin saw the fierce pride and love in every face and was amazed. Root Bernard raised his hand for silence.

  “And now for my joy, oncle, which Alicia knew, thank the angels. I am married, to the Queen’s cousin and he is my Shield.” There were cheers that the Root had to quiet. “And, what will just be now known in England, my oncle, I carry my husband’s child.”

  There was no stilling the noise then. Griffin was deafened by the cheers and made his way to Hawkins.

  “Did you know?” he demanded.

  “Griffin, if Root Anna had told me, it would have been in close confidence,” the captain replied coolly. “She came here after Catalan. Though it was not discussed, all the Gascony Roses knew. They guarded her secret with their lives. She is as much of them as she is of Normandy.” Hawkins’ gaze swept Griffin’s battered and torn clothes. “Keep your mouth shut, your ears open and you might learn a few things that will keep you alive. Here in France the Sons of Scion are looking for Roses to kill. Their Primaries pay bounty for the life of a Rose.”

  “What?” Griffin stared at him. “Walsingham never—”

  “Walsingham and Danker are more caught up with their efforts to secure the queen,” Hawkins raised a hand. “Which I more than support. However, they often forget what is happening to the rest of Europe.”

  “Not entirely,” Griffin told him. “He did send me, remember?”

  “Like sending a babe into a forest of wolves,” muttered the Sea Hawk. “Come with me. Mind your manners and do what I do. If you’re not sure, bow and stay quiet.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to talk to Root Bernard and see if he can help you stay alive. Root Anna is fond of you for some reason.”

  The Root saw them and gestured them closer, beaming until he saw Griffin’s dishevelment.

  “Who is this?” he demanded.

  “My lord Root,” Hawkins bowed. Griffin quickly did the same. “This is Griffin ap Llewellyn ap Tudor. His brother is the Shield of York.”

  “Ah,” beamed the Gascon. “You were with him to rescue Anna?”

  “I was, my lord,” Griffin replied. “Alicia was courageous and valiant. There was not a drop of fear in her blood.”

  The Gascon Roses around them were silent and nodded at that. Bernard waved at him.

  “What happened here? Who fought with you?”

  Catching sight of the two he’d been with, Griffin swallowed.

  “The training of the Gascon Roses surpasses what we have been taught in England, my lord,” he explained. “If Root Anna hasn’t already taken steps when I return, I shall certainly recommend the improvement and much additional instruction.”

  There were many chuckles, relieved smiles from Paschal and his companion, and a nod from Hawkins.

  “Yet, you came from Walsingham,” Bernard scowled. “Not Root Anna.”

  The brown eyes held his and Griffin knew better than to lie on this account.

  “Aye, my lord. Training is not the only thing to be corrected in England. We’ve been so long without a Root that we don’t know how to behave.”

  “Heir Armand will take steps for that,” muttered a man.

  For a long moment, the Root studied Griffin who wondered briefly if the Gascon Root was the one who had taught Anna that trick of seemi
ng to read a man’s thoughts.

  “Bon,” the Root murmured. “Come, both you and Hawkins. Tell me what trouble Anna has been stirring up in England.”

  “This could take a while,” Griffin replied, garnering laughs. “I hope you have much wine. The first day, she nearly skewered me with her dagger through hedges.”

  “Few are better than she with a blade,” agreed the Root, gesturing for wine. “Sit, sit. Why did she throw at you?”

  “She was with the queen. Walsingham had told Owain and I to shadow them in the garden.”

  “But he didn’t tell Anna,” deduced the Root as wine was poured.

  “I don’t believe he did,” Griffin mused. “I’m realizing that part of it might have been to continue to conceal who she was, but—” He sighed. “He has also come to think that only he can determine threats against the queen.”

  “Such as sending the Root’s brother by marriage on a mission without consulting the Root or the Shield?” asked the boy pouring the wine.

  Uncertain, Griffin glanced at the Root who smiled proudly. The boy has the peach rose on his shoulder, but still, he is a child.

  “My grandson, Marc,” the Root introduced before speaking quietly to the boy in a language Griffin didn’t recognize. “He wonders if you saw his father in London and if he was well.”

  “Heir Armand? Yes, he was very well. The queen was quite charmed by him,” Griffin replied, eyes on the boy.

  “Everyone is charmed by Papa,” smirked Marc. “Except Mama.” Bernard tsked and the boy looked slightly abashed. “Tante Anna is happy? She is content and well?”

  Recalling what Hawkins had said about the Gascons considering her family, Griffin smiled and nodded. “She seems very happy married to my brother and stepping forward as Root of York. The Roses of London would burn down cities for her. Well, we did burn down a manor,” he grinned. “Oh, and Owain narrowly kept her from killing the Scots queen.”

  Marc nearly dropped the wine. “Why did he stop her from killing the Guise bitch?”

  Daring, Griffin pointed a finger at the boy. “I asked him the same question. He said because if she was corresponding with English lords or French then they were probably traitors to their crowns.”