The Ransomed Crown

by Wayne Grant

  “I’m happy to meet you, my lady,” she said brightly. “I’m Mary Cullen. The Archbishop tells me you’re from Cheshire. I am from Normandy, so we are both fish out of water here in London!”

  The girl voice had an infectious note of high spirits that was contagious. Millicent smiled back and found herself hoping that the Archbishop of Rouen would frequently find himself out of London. This girl would be much more interesting to conspire with than the churchman.

  “So I am to help you put together a rich girl’s wardrobe, I’m told.”

  Millicent flushed a little.

  “The Archbishop thought it necessary.”

  Mary Cullen looked her up and down.

  “Yours is a perfectly presentable frock, my lady, though a little worn.” She winked at Millicent. “And since the Archbishop is paying—so much the better. It will be fun!”

  Millicent didn’t think so, but thought it churlish to object.

  “Very well, Miss Cullen. Let’s see if you can make a pheasant out of this country partridge.”

  Mary Cullen clapped her hands.

  “I know just the place! And please, my lady, call me Mary.”

  ***

  The draper’s shop was a long way from the Archbishop’s town house, but Millicent welcomed the chance to walk through the teeming streets of the capital after days on horseback. She had a long stride and Mary Cullen had to hurry along to keep ahead of her. Finally, she touched Millicent’s arm.

  “My lady, forgive me if I give you a small piece of advice,” she said, her cheeks reddening. “Your gait, my lady, is most…unusual. The fine ladies hereabouts don’t tend to stride along at such a pace. It will draw attention to you.”

  Millicent felt her temper flare, but she checked herself. It did not profit a spy to be noticed and Mary Cullen was simply doing her job to point that out. And the poor girl was clearly embarrassed. She gave her a warm smile.

  “Think nothing of it, Mary. I will try to mince along like a proper noblewoman hereafter.”

  Mary Cullen beamed at her, clearly relieved. They resumed walking—at a more refined pace. The two made their way up Wood Street then turned right to pass by the sturdy bulk of the Guildhall. They had almost reached Broad Street when the trade sign for the draper came into view. They entered the shop, which seemed quiet and cool after the heat of the August sun. Arrayed on tables and in bins around the walls were rolls of fabric—some plain, like the dress Millicent wore, but many of much finer quality.

  Mary Cullen summoned the shop keeper and immediately began pointing out rolls of fabric she wanted to inspect. Millicent watched with interest. She had never been in a draper’s shop and as the man brought forth roll after roll of fine cloth she marvelled at the rich colours and the sheen of the fabric.

  She had seen good quality cloth before—when she had served as lady-in-waiting to Lady Constance, Earl Ranulf’s wife, but that woman had always chosen drab colours. These rolls of cloth were anything but drab. Mary Cullen handed her a bolt of shimmering green. The cloth felt like the fine coat of a thoroughbred horse when she ran her hand over it.

  “That colour suits you,” said Mary, smiling brightly. “The green—it sets off your eyes quite nicely.”

  Millicent looked back down at the fabric.

  “But what does it cost?”

  Mary giggled.

  “Too much for us—but not the Archbishop!”

  ***

  For three days Millicent waited in the Archbishop’s town house while a seamstress prepared her new wardrobe. The spymaster and Mary Cullen paid her a visit on the third night.

  “Do you have any final questions, my dear?” he asked.

  “No, your excellency, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be—except for the new wardrobe, which I understand arrives tonight.”

  The Archbishop made a sour face and rummaged through his robes before producing a chit with the record of the cloth purchases from the draper’s shop.

  “You have expensive tastes, my dear!”

  From behind the churchman, Millicent heard Mary Cullen speak up, with just a hint of censure in her voice.

  “The fabric matched her eyes, your excellency.”

  ***

  At his townhouse on the Strand, Archdeacon Poore listened to the report from his most trusted agent in London.

  “They suspect we have a spy near Marshall.”

  The churchman gave a soft chuckle.

  “Well, we do. I would have been disappointed in the Archbishop if he failed to notice his secrets were being compromised. In any event, I would rather they fix their attention on Marshall’s associates than probe elsewhere, though I’d hate to lose a man that close to the Justiciar.”

  “They’ve brought in a girl—from Cheshire, excellency. They’re sending her to watch Marshall’s men.”

  “A girl, you say? That might be a clever move. Women have a way of inducing loose talk from men, I think you’d agree.”

  “I would, though I doubt our man would be susceptible. Should we warn him or dispose of this girl?”

  “As for our spy, give him no warning. It would only make him nervous—and if he’s nervous, he will give himself away.”

  “And the girl?”

  The Archdeacon shrugged.

  “I hardly think a girl from Cheshire will be much trouble.”

  Marshall’s Men

  Five days after arriving in London, Millicent de Laval rode up to the house of William Marshall. It was on a rise north of the Tower and she could see the bulk of that enormous fortress off to her right. She wore a frock of shimmering green, fitted and sewn for her by the seamstress Mary Cullen had provided.

  There had been heated arguments over who would remain behind with her, but in the end it was agreed that Jamie Finch, native of London, would become her servant. Sergeant Billy had argued for himself, but Millicent had gently pointed out that he hardly knew London at all and that, with his natural air of authority, he would not likely pass as a servant. With the issue decided against him, he turned to young Finch and fixed him with a menacing look.

  “Master Finch, if a hair of Lady Millicent’s head gets mussed on your watch, there are eighty Invalids who will hunt you down—understood?” There was no humour in his voice.

  “Aye, Sergeant Billy. I’ll keep ‘er safe,” the young veteran said.

  All four of her escorts rode with her to Marshall’s house. It was just past noon when Sergeant Billy climbed the stairs in front, his wooden leg tapping at each step and rapped on the door. An armed man cracked it open. There was a round of discussion accompanied by a bit of pointing in Millicent’s direction. The man at the door nodded and Sergeant Billy returned to help her dismount. She could have easily managed that but her escort thought it unseemly for her to simply slide out of the saddle on her own—at least in sight of folks here in London.

  “They are expecting you, my lady,” he said as he helped her gently to the ground. He had a grim look on his face.

  “Don’t fret, William. I will be in good hands here. Why, they even have an armed guard at the door.”

  Sergeant Billy scowled.

  “I’d like it better if we saw to your safety, my lady.”

  “As would I, William, but we all have our duty to attend to and yours is now back in Chester.” As Jamie Finch was securing her baggage, she turned to the other men who had ridden with her all the way from the west country.

  “Thank you all and God go with you. I think Chester will need you more than I.”

  These men had been there on the road from Oxford when this young woman had first won the hearts of the Invalid Company. She had come, unbidden, to their camp to greet them, outcasts and broken men all. Her simple decency had touched them deeply and from that night onward, they had all acted as though they were her favourite uncles.

  The men helped her carry her things into the house. The young man at the door beckoned to one of his fellows who directed Finch toward the servant’s quarters, then showed Mil
licent to her room. It was bigger than the one she had at Shipbrook. He told her that the Earl was out, but would meet her at the evening meal. Then he backed out of the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

  For a moment, she stood there in the middle of the room, then she walked over to the window that looked down on the street below. She saw Sergeant Billy and the rest of the Invalids mount their horses and ride west, back toward the Newgate and Watling Street—back towards Chester and home. She felt a tightness in her chest.

  She was on her own now.

  ***

  Millicent heard a soft tapping on her door. She had sat alone in her room all afternoon and was beginning to wonder if she had been forgotten. She walked over and opened the door. A tall, fragile woman of middle years with a flushed face was standing in the hall and did a quick curtsy.

  “Oh, my lady! I’ve just learned of your presence here from the dolts downstairs. I am Elizabeth Armfield, Sir William’s…” The woman seemed to struggle for a moment with an explanation of her status. “I run the household here in London for Sir William. I was with the cook at the market and the young lads with the swords never thought to mention that the Earl’s cousin had arrived in my absence! I am so sorry, my lady.”

  The poor woman seemed entirely flustered by this oversight. Millicent reached out a hand and touched her arm.

  “Oh, please, Mistress Armfield, don’t fret over me. I’ve taken advantage of the quiet and had a nice nap. It’s been a long journey from Cheshire!”

  The woman seemed genuinely touched that Millicent hadn’t taken offense at her reception.

  “Oh, please, my lady, you may call me Elizabeth!” The woman furrowed her brow and glowered back at the stairs. “You can be sure I gave those ruffians a hiding for such rudeness! They will be on their best behaviour henceforth.”

  Millicent smiled at her.

  “Think no more of it, Elizabeth. I am from Cheshire, which is as far into the wilderness of the west country as you can get without stepping into the Irish Sea. I am more than used to a house full of rough gentlemen.”

  Elizabeth clucked in sympathy.

  “The Earl told me you were coming because of trouble near your home.” She sighed. “It seems the whole country is beset these days, but you will be safe here, my lady. The lads may be a rough lot, but they know their business.”

  Millicent nodded.

  “I am from Malpas, and when Father heard that these awful mercenaries might lay siege to Chester, he thought it best I come stay with Cousin William here in London.”

  Elizabeth Armfield beamed at her.

  “Well, you are most welcome, my lady. This house is far too full of men. They lounge about with their swords and track mud into the front hall. They pay me no heed, but perhaps having a lady present will improve their manners!”

  Millicent laughed.

  “I will do what I can, Elizabeth!”

  The woman now seemed entirely put at ease.

  “Thank you, my lady. I will be back in an hour to take you down to dinner. The Earl should be home by then. Please just call if you need anything—anything at all.”

  As the hour for dinner approached, Millicent prepared herself. She had met Marshall the previous winter when she had brought the news to Queen Eleanor that Earl Ranulf still lived. The encounter had been brief, but the man had made an impression.

  He was almost a head taller than anyone in the room that day and, while he appeared to be at ease, his carriage radiated the look of a man born to authority. She had been told that Marshall had bested over five hundred knights in tournaments during his youth and, though he was older now, he still had the powerful build and the graceful movements of a warrior. She knew he had resisted the Archbishop’s plan to place her in his household and hoped he would not make her task more difficult.

  As promised, Elizabeth Armfield arrived to escort her down to the evening meal. She had not been exaggerating when she called Marshall’s residence a house full of men, for there was not a woman among those who were gathered around the table. Eight men, mostly young, stood behind their benches on either side, trying to look courtly, but only succeeding in looking nervous. Mistress Armfield’s tongue lashing must have been frightful.

  Marshall sat at the head of the table and a gruff looking older man sat to his right. A place had been left for Millicent on the Earl’s left. Marshall was engaged in an animated conversation with the man next to him when Millicent entered, but broke it off when he saw her.

  “Lady Millicent!” he exclaimed, as he came around the table and took her hand. “Forgive me for not greeting you earlier, cousin. I’ve just arrived back here myself. Come, let’s take some refreshment and afterwards you must tell me all about your dear mother and the awful situation in Cheshire.”

  Millicent gave the Justiciar a quick curtsy as he approached and let him lead her to her place at the table. She felt a wave of relief. Whatever the man’s feelings about the job she had been sent here to do, he was at least making an effort to lend credence to her new identity. Before allowing anyone to sit, the Earl introduced her to each man in turn. She carefully memorized the names as she smiled at each new face.

  The last introduction was to a Sir Nevil Crenshaw, the man sitting next to Marshall who was his long-time friend and commander of his personal guard. Sir Nevil had charge over these younger men, all of whom were engaged in securing the home and protecting the person of the Earl, save one, a clerkish young man who handled the Justiciar’s formal correspondence.

  During the meal, Marshall engaged her in conversation about the family of Baron Malpas—people that neither of them knew. Millicent took some satisfaction in describing her mother, and Earl William’s cousin, as a scatter-brained woman with little knowledge or interest in things outside of the small town clustered around Malpas Castle.

  This seemed to amuse Marshall who played along adeptly. The young men around the table were on their best behaviour and more than one was overly solicitous of the beautiful young woman who had suddenly entered their circle. Once the meal was concluded, Marshall dismissed his bodyguard and led Millicent into a private parlour next to the dining room. He closed the door behind him and turned to face her.

  “I remember you from Oxford, my lady. We had little chance to speak on that occasion, so may I offer you my respects for saving the life of your Earl and seriously inconveniencing the King’s brother.”

  “Thank you, my lord. My father is the Earl’s man to his core, and I am my father’s daughter. I could do no less.”

  Marshall smiled warmly at her and gestured toward a chair.

  “I’ve never met your father, but I certainly know of him. I’m told he is a dangerous man in a fight and has risen to command the King’s heavy cavalry on this latest campaign. England needs men such as your father these days.”

  Millicent did not return the man’s smile.

  “My lord, my mother needs her husband and I have not seen my father for over two years. What England needs is peace, or men like my father will all be dead. Tell me that all of this,” she spread her hands, as though calling up all of her family’s sacrifices, “will bring us peace.”

  Marshall’s features, so warm before, grew pained.

  “Lady Millicent, in this world, only a fool or a liar would promise you peace. I won’t insult your intelligence by doing so. War is all around us and the best we can hope for is to keep bad men from winning the day.”

  “That is why the Archbishop has sent me here, my lord. He believes there is a bad man in your midst.”

  Marshall shook his head emphatically.

  “There is no traitor here, my lady. My friend, the Archbishop, is suspicious by nature, but I suppose that is his job at the moment.”

  Millicent nodded.

  “I hope you are right about your men, my lord, but secrets have been compromised, have they not?”

  Marshall scowled.

  “Yes. There is no other explanation for some of the Prince’s ac
tions. He has learned of our plans at critical times. But I do not believe he learned of them from one of my own.”

  “Perhaps my work here will lift that burden of suspicion, but I will need your help. For now I will do nothing but become familiar with your household and its routines. I will come to know everyone here and they will grow used to me. My hope is that I shall become such a part of the household that they will not notice I am watching them.”

  Marshall gave her a smile and a weary shake of his head.

  “If I know these lads at all, my lady, they will hardly fail to notice you, however long you are here.”

  ***

  Sergeant Billy raised an arm and reined in his horse. They were six days out of London and half a day from Chester, having left Whitchurch behind them at noon. He had seen something out of place far down the road and had long ago learned to heed such things. It was early afternoon and the day was blazing hot. The air seemed to dance on the horizon, making it difficult to see clearly across the distance.

  The road ahead swung down from the slight rise where they had halted and cut through a large cleared area. The fields had been ripe with grain when they’d passed this way a fortnight ago. Now there was nothing but stubble. On the far side, where the road left the open ground and rose up into a wooded slope, something was moving.

  Sergeant Billy stood up in his saddle and tried to get a better look through the shimmering haze. It could have been plough horses, but he thought not. He turned to one of the younger man mounted next to him.

  “What do you make of that?” he asked.

  The man stood up in his stirrups and shielded his eyes from the afternoon sun with his hand. He studied the horizon for a long time.

  “Those are warhorses!” he said, his voice eager. “And I see a bit of smoke above the trees. It won’t be one of our patrols. We’d never stop at midday like this.”

  Billy nodded. It would not have been a surprise to see some of their own men scouting out this way. Sir Declan had used the mounted troopers of the Invalid Company to screen the approaches to Chester ever since they had retaken the city. But having strangers camped athwart the road ahead could only mean one thing.