The Ransomed Crown

by Wayne Grant

  As the shore drew near, he climbed down from the low sterncastle and made his way below decks to the tiny corner that was his spartan quarters for the voyage. He gathered his weapons and kit to prepare for landfall and returned to the deck. It was a beautiful day and that lightened his mood a bit. With a bit of luck he would be home in three months.

  Home.

  He had managed to keep thoughts of Catherine from driving him mad during the long years of war, but now he let himself picture her—as fresh and beautiful in his mind as the day they had met. He thought of his daughter. Millie would be near grown by now—no longer his Little Lady. The thought left a lump in his throat.

  He watched the sun glint off the cobalt water as the shore drew near. The day was indeed beautiful, but he could not shake off a sense of foreboding about this journey and a nagging thought would not leave him.

  I should have sailed with my squires aboard the Sprite.

  Game of Spies

  Millicent de Laval clucked to her horse as she passed through the Newgate and into London as the sun was setting behind her. The arched gatehouse and the street just beyond were jammed with people and the animal was nervous. She was as well. The summons from Walter of Coutances had given her little indication of what he wanted with her and she did not like being in the dark.

  Flanking her was William Butler, the one-legged soldier known to all as Sergeant Billy. Three other men from the Invalid Company rode with them, all veterans of the crusade. The Earl of Chester, her mother, and Declan O’Duinne had all insisted that she have a strong escort for the six day journey to the city and there had been a near fistfight amongst the Invalids to determine who would be her protectors on the trip.

  Two of the men under Sergeant Billy’s command had been with the Invalids from the start. The third was the youngest of the men chosen. Jamie Finch had arrived at the gates of Chester just a month before. Sergeant Billy picked the lad because he had grown up in the back alleys of London and knew it better than any man in the Company. He also wanted to see how the new man handled himself.

  Finch was hardly more than a boy, but he was a boy with a past. He had an ugly scar along his neck and folks assumed it had come from wounds sustained on the crusade, but Sergeant Billy knew it was from a barroom brawl in the dives of London. The boy had got it long after he’d returned from the killing grounds of the Holy Land.

  Jamie Finch had brought a reputation as a drunkard and a hothead with him when he arrived in Chester, but that was no bar from joining the Invalid Company. Sergeant Billy himself had been barely sober that cold day when he and his mates had formed up outside the walls of Oxford town to ride to the relief of the Earl of Chester.

  In the month he’d been at Chester, Finch had touched not a drop of spirits. For reasons only he knew, the young veteran had pulled himself out of the gutters of London and ridden alone across half the breadth of England to join their ranks. The scar on his neck might be a reminder of bad times and bad judgment, but none of the Invalids were saints. Few ever saw the true badge of Finch’s service—a nastier scar on his left side where a Saracen blade had almost taken his life at Acre.

  As they travelled down Watling Street from the Newgate, the looming bulk of St. Paul’s cathedral appeared on the right, one side laced with scaffolding attesting to the continued expansion of the enormous structure. Two blocks on, they turned north onto Wood Street, which led up toward the Cripplegate. There were precise directions in the Archbishop’s summons that led them to a rather shabby two-storey house near the London Guildhall.

  Millicent dismounted, stiff from the long ride. She knew she must be a sight. Her light traveling cape was covered in the dust of the road and her hair had been blown into wild tangles. She absently combed at a few knots with her fingers as Sergeant Billy hammered on the front door of the place.

  After a long wait, the door opened a crack. Whoever was inside took their time assessing the visitors, but then swung the door open. A bent old man stood in the entrance and looked right past Sergeant Billy to stare at Millicent for a long moment. He spoke something Millicent couldn’t hear and Sergeant Billy stiffened. He hurried back to where she stood.

  “He only wants you to come in, my lady.”

  Millicent furrowed her brow.

  “You will come with me, William, regardless of what he may want. Have the others wait here.”

  She approached the open door with Sergeant Billy in tow and locked eyes with the man standing in the entrance. She may have answered the Justiciar’s summons, but she was not going to be ordered about in this manner. The man was quick to read the look in her eyes. He shrugged in defeat and waved them inside.

  “Yer just as his excellency described ye,” he said, as Millicent came through the door. “Please, let me take your cloak.”

  Millicent shrugged off the garment and handed it to him.

  “Is this the Archbishop’s house? Is he home?” she asked.

  “Oh, heaven’s no, my lady. Heaven’s no! This is a place we use—on occasion—when his excellency wishes to meet with someone…discreetly. He was not sure when you would arrive, but I see you have made good time. You may wait here,” he said gesturing to a small parlour off the main hallway of the place. “I will fetch the Archbishop immediately. He has been anxious to see you!”

  Millicent nodded and found a nicely stuffed chair to sit on. It felt good after five hard days in the saddle. Sergeant Billy sat on a bench opposite her and fidgeted.

  “What do ye reckon this churchman wants with you?”

  It was a question he had raised a half dozen times on the ride in from Chester. She smiled at him. He knew she did not know and he did not expect an answer. It was just his way of saying he worried about her.

  “We’ll know soon enough, William.”

  Soon enough came quickly. Within an hour, Millicent heard movement at the back of the house. She rose as the Archbishop of Rouen entered the room. He was a small man with quick, darting eyes that seemed to take in everything in a moment.

  “Your excellency,” she said, and did a quick curtsy.

  “My lady, I am happy to see you again. I apologize for this rather—mysterious reception, but it is for good cause.”

  He turned to Sergeant Billy.

  “I appreciate you safeguarding Lady Millicent on her journey, but if you could join your comrades in the street for a bit, I must speak with her alone now.”

  Millicent could see that Sergeant Billy wanted to protest, but she gave him a warning look and he simply nodded and walked out of the room. The old man opened the door onto Wood Street for him, then retreated to the rear of the house. She was alone with Walter of Coutances. He gestured to the chairs in the parlour and they sat.

  “You must be anxious to know why I’ve sent for you, Lady Millicent,” he said, his voice soft and solicitous. “Be assured, I would not have dragged you from your home and family unless the need was great. When we last spoke, I was most impressed by your quick thinking and courage in saving your Earl from a traitor’s death. You saved Ranulf and now—your King needs you.”

  The Justiciar had all of the charm of a kindly uncle, but Millicent de Laval had not ridden six days to be charmed.

  “Your excellency, let me speak plainly. I care little for what the King may need. He has already taken my father from me for two years and has left the rest of his kingdom to be preyed upon by traitors and villains. Why should I care what the man needs?”

  The Archbishop frowned, surprised by the passion of her response, but was not deterred. If flattery and charm did not work on this girl…

  “You’ve spoken plainly, miss, so let me do the same. Richard leaves much to be desired as King, I would concede, but if Richard’s crown is not preserved, then John will have it. And if John has the crown, your young Earl will once more be outlawed and people like you—and I—will be trampled underfoot. Is that plain enough for you?”

  Millicent did not flinch as the churchman changed his tone.

>   “Your excellency, I’ve left everything I love back in Chester to answer your summons. There is a good chance the city will be besieged soon and I feel my place is there, not here. But my father is the King’s man and out of loyalty to him, I am here. Tell me what you want of me.”

  Walter of Coutances did not allow himself to smile, though he wanted to. This girl would do very well indeed.

  “My dear, I’m afraid I need your talents as a spy once more.”

  ***

  They talked for an hour, then the Archbishop bid her goodnight and slipped out a back entrance of the house. In that hour, the Justiciar dropped entirely his façade of kindly uncle and bluntly outlined the role he would have her play. The spymaster was convinced there was a traitor among those nearest William Marshall—an agent in the pay of France who had done real damage to those defending Richard’s throne. She was to find the traitor.

  Walter of Coutances did not have to convince her of the gravity that such a threat posed for the kingdom. She had seen the damage that a single French agent could do when Chester had been taken by surprise and its Earl charged with treason. Father Malachy had brought down one of the most powerful men in England through guile, and only daring, luck and the lives of scores of men had restored Ranulf to his Earldom.

  “Make no mistake, the French fear Richard and want John on the throne and they will stop at nothing to achieve that,” he had told her, his voice sharp. “Some of our closest secrets have been compromised and if they are privy to our every move, they will win in the end.” He stopped abruptly and looked intently at the girl.

  So young.

  “I give you fair warning, my lady—they know the value of this spy and will use any means to protect him—any means. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, your excellency. If they discover I am hunting their man, my life will be in danger, so I must fly a false flag and be on my guard. I have been a spy before.”

  “Indeed you have, my dear, and a good one. Will you do it?”

  The Archbishop watched her carefully. The girl had an unsettled look in her eyes. She stood and turned away from him. For a moment the spymaster thought she was going to refuse him, but Millicent turned back, the unsettled look gone now. She simply nodded to the older man.

  “How am I to become attached to Earl William’s household?”

  Walter of Coutances realized he had been holding his breath and now released it in relief. His instincts about this young woman had not been wrong.

  “I have spoken with the Earl. You are to present yourself as the daughter of his cousin, come to London from Cheshire to escape the troubles there. Did you know that William Marshall has a distant cousin married to the Baron Malpas, one of the richest nobles in Cheshire, my dear?”

  “No, excellency, I did not.”

  “That’s because it’s a lie, but none here will know that. To the people of London, Cheshire might as well be the moon. Many will know who your Earl Ranulf is, but of the other provincial nobility, they will be ignorant. You are to be Lady Millicent of Malpas, the daughter of Earl William’s dear but distant cousin, Matilda, who is married to the Baron. I’ve chosen this particular deceit, my dear, because a Cheshire accent is quite distinct and you have one.”

  Millicent frowned.

  “Then why cannot I simply be myself? As you say, I am from Cheshire, and if no one in London knows of the Cheshire nobility, then one noble family from there should be as good as any other. My father is a noble. Why can I not just be Millicent de Laval?”

  The Archbishop steepled his fingers beneath his chin.

  “Because there is one French agent who certainly knows your name.”

  For a moment Millicent did not take his meaning, then it struck her.

  “Malachy!”

  “Aye, your Father Malachy. I had a man, near to the Earl of Derby, who reported that this Malachy creature had disappeared not long after de Ferrers lost Chester and hasn’t been seen since. Grievously, my man is now dead, and I’ve had no further word on the whereabouts of this false priest. He might even be in London. I’ve alerted my own watchers and given them the description you gave me in Oxford, but this city is overrun with priests. It would be easy for him to hide in plain sight. If he is here, we cannot risk your name coming to his attention.”

  “I see,” said Millicent. “So I am to be a distant cousin to Earl William Marshall—a country bumpkin sent to the city for safe keeping. What does my famous cousin think of all this?”

  The Archbishop shrugged.

  “He is not happy, but has agreed to my request. He is convinced that his people are loyal, but understands my need to be certain. You will stay here for a few days, then you will present yourself at William Marshall’s London quarters in the east of the city—as though you have just arrived from Cheshire. You will need considerable freedom of movement and a noblewoman alone on the streets of London would draw unwanted attention. So Marshall agrees that you may keep one of your men, who will pose as your servant. Once you take up residence with the Earl, you may keep him informed of your work, but will report anything of note to me. There is a beggar who sits each day at the northeast corner of Saint Paul’s. If you have information, drop a coin in his hat and I will meet you here an hour past sundown.”

  Millicent nodded.

  “Other than myself and Marshall, only my most trusted assistant, Mary Cullen, will know your secret, my lady, and even Mary will not be told your true identity. I am often out of London and on those occasions it will be Mary who will be your contact. I will be sending her to meet you tomorrow. I believe she can be of assistance in preparing you for this task.”

  “Assistance, your excellency?”

  The Archbishop looked slightly abashed.

  “My lady, you will need a new wardrobe if you are to be the daughter of the richest man in Cheshire. Mary knows a good draper—one who caters to the wealthier families here in London. I’ll provide her funds to buy new fabric and to hire a seamstress.”

  Millicent looked down at her frock and frowned. She had never thought much about her clothes, but she had to admit her dress was a bit faded and it was the best she had brought with her. She might dress like a noblewoman, but a very poor one indeed. It struck her that there might be some advantages to this new role she was being asked to play.

  Perhaps something in green…

  ***

  Father Malachy closed the book of ornate Latin text and rose wearily to his feet. As a boy in Ireland, his local priest had taught him a little of the ancient language, perhaps hoping that his young student would follow him into the priesthood. But then the English had come to their village and he had been left an orphan with no place in his heart for a priest’s grace or for Christian mercy—only hate for the people who had killed his father. He wondered what that parish priest would think if he could see him now in these robes memorizing the words of the Mass.

  For three years he had masqueraded as a man of God. It was a simple subterfuge and one that granted him access to men of power. The Earl of Derby had recognized his talents and had given him important duties to perform, but rarely expected him to function as a churchman. Now it was different. He had been called away from Derbyshire to take up the position of priest at the small chapel within Westminster Palace.

  The order had come from Archdeacon Poore. Poore was no counterfeit priest, having served for years within the hierarchy of the English church. The churchman knew full well that Malachy’s priestly guise was a sham and that the Irishman was an agent of the French. He knew this for the simple reason that he was as well. The Archdeacon of Canterbury had been in the pay of King Philip of France for years and had slowly built the French spy network on the island. He was not driven by hate, as was Malachy, but by greed. Archdeacon Poore had very expensive tastes.

  Poore had promised Malachy that his new post would offer him the opportunity to strike a blow against the English that would send them reeling, but had provided no specifics. The Irishman had waited e
agerly for instructions from the spymaster for over a month, but none had come. With no guidance from the Archdeacon, he had focused on establishing his bona fides at the palace. With Queen Eleanor decamped to France to bolster the Norman defences there, only a few regular attendees came to his masses in the small chapel. Even so, he could ill afford for them to be suspicious of his status. Therefore he studied the words of the Mass and practiced them aloud in his room. But it was frustrating.

  He was determined to wait until he received a summons from the Archdeacon, but after another fortnight he could not stand the idleness. He waited until dark then found his way to the fine house on the Strand that was Poore’s London residence. A servant answered his knock, but before he was well inside the door, the Archdeacon appeared in the hallway. He seemed surprised but not unhappy to see his agent.

  “Malachy! I was just thinking of you yesterday and here you are! What brings you to my door this night?”

  Malachy had rehearsed what he would say to his master, but Poore’s obvious pleasure at seeing him left him slightly flustered.

  “Your excellency, it’s been almost two months since I took up my post at Westminster and I have absolutely nothing to report. With the Queen absent, there are only clerks and servants about and they know nothing of value.” He could not keep a note of frustration out of his voice.

  The spymaster put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  “My son, this game we play rewards the patient as well as the bold. I have been at it for two decades and, if I’ve learned anything, it’s that everything has its time. Rush a thing, and it slips right through your fingers! I know you chafe, Father Malachy, but I see noble deeds ahead for you. Believe me, you have not been forgotten, but, for now, you must wait—until your time comes round.”

  Malachy bowed.

  “I will try to be patient, your excellency.”

  ***

  It was midmorning when Millicent heard a key turn in the rear entrance to the house. A young woman, only a little older than her came through the door and saw her standing there, Sergeant Billy at her side. She gave them both a sunny smile and did a quick curtsy.