Unbroken in Time

by Sarah Woodbury

  This had to be about David’s escape, and Christopher was impressed that Philippe could fake being angry so well. For once, Nogaret didn’t appear to be coming out on top, and he signaled to the diners at the tables closest to the dais to clear off, which they did without protest. Apparently Philippe—or perhaps it was Nogaret—wanted to eat his breakfast in peace.

  The conversation around the table resumed, with some subdued comments about the weather and the food. Clearly everyone was on their best behavior now that the king sat among them, and nobody wanted to rock the boat with a discussion of what might have happened to David.

  That is, until Nogaret cleared his throat. “Sire, if I may make an observation, likely this is the work of the Jews.”

  Philippe had been taking a sip of wine, and he set down his cup before answering. “Looking to deflect blame, Guillaume?”

  Nogaret’s comment appeared to be part of an ongoing conversation, in that there had been a pause in the way the king answered that implied they were picking up where they’d left off earlier.

  “Pardon me, sire, but it stands to reason.”

  “Explain.”

  It was an order, and Nogaret took it as such. “It is well known that King David loves the Jews. Because of that, any Jew in Paris would be loyal to him rather than to you.”

  “He has given them haven in England and Aquitaine.” This came from the Duke of Burgundy, who so far had said and done little. He was the Lord High Treasurer, however, which gave him enormous power over Philippe’s money and in court. “It would be more surprising if they weren’t loyal to him.”

  “We evicted them from Brittany decades ago, of course,” John Sr. said.

  “I am aware,” Philippe said in something of a wry tone, again as if the conversation was a repeat or continuation of one they’d had before.

  “Perhaps it’s time Paris did too.” Flote spoke a little too casually for Christopher’s comfort.

  “This time, it should be for good,” John Sr. added.

  “We could even do it tonight,” Flote said, still in that casual tone. “It’s Friday, their Sabbath. They’ll be in their homes. In matters of treason, one must strike back quickly.”

  King Philippe looked from Nogaret to John Sr. to Flote, his gaze passing over Christopher without seeing him.

  It was a one in a million chance, and Christopher took it, leaning into John Jr. and whispering, “Templars.”

  All he got from John Jr. was a confused expression that made Christopher want to throttle him. Meanwhile, John Sr. turned his head, as if he’d heard something of what Christopher had said but wasn’t sure what it was.

  It was at that point that John Jr. woke up, lifting his head and actually meeting his father’s eyes. “The Templars have the manpower and authority to accomplish such a task in a single night. It could all be over by morning, and Paris would be rid of the Jews forever.”

  It was an amazingly bold suggestion coming from someone who wasn’t even a member of the court—not to mention someone as timid as John Jr. sometimes was. Christopher would have cheered had it not been a sure way to call attention to himself. Instead, he kept his eyes on the serving dishes in the center of the table and worked on looking insignificant.

  John Sr. sat back in his chair, his eyes on his son and a look of astonishment on his face.

  “Out of the mouths of babes, sire,” Nogaret said. “It could impact that other matter we were talking about earlier.”

  Christopher would have loved to know what that other matter was, but Nogaret didn’t appear to need to speak of it. Philippe had his lips pressed into a thin line. Christopher was trying to look at everyone at once without seeming to. Because of that, or maybe despite it, he almost missed Nogaret’s nod towards where Flote sat next to John Sr.

  Into the pause, Robert of Burgundy gestured to a lute player, who’d been standing in the corner the whole time, and he instantly began to play, filling the room with music. Christopher took a drink of his wine and smiled at John Jr, who, emboldened by how well his suggestion had been received, had the wherewithal to make a joke about English cooking.

  “Brittany might just have given us the key,” Flote said into his cup of wine. As before, it was as if he didn’t want to claim his comment. “In the past, the Jews have been arrested on a Saturday, in the synagogue. Doing so again has the disadvantage of not including the ill, the women, and the children.”

  “A Saturday is so public anyway,” Mornay said. “The boy is right that Friday night is better, when they are all in their homes.”

  To cover up his horror and the fact that he’d overheard and understood what they were saying, Christopher leaned forward to ask John Sr. if the grape harvest was going better in Brittany this year as everyone hoped. John Sr. immediately launched into a long explanation of wine-making in his duchy, probably more for John Jr.’s benefit than Christopher’s.

  For his part, Christopher found his hands clenched in his lap. He thought he’d seen evil before, but not like this. Today, it was sitting right at the table with him.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Day Two

  Cassie

  Morning had come, but an assault had not.

  “The question is why they haven’t attacked.” Cassie covered her yawn with a hand. Like everyone else, it had been after four in the morning when she’d fallen asleep, and now it was nine. Not an awful deprivation, but not enough sleep either. “They know we took their master weapon. They have to.”

  “They’re waiting for approval from a higher authority.” Hugh poured himself a cup of wine and picked up a pastry. Though in Cassie’s opinion it was a little early for drinking, she had to admit that, even in the thirteenth century, the French knew how to mix butter and flour and come up with something delicious.

  “Wouldn’t Paris have sent a pigeon?” Bridget asked.

  She and Peter had spent the last six months living with Cassie and Callum, in much the same way Bronwen and Ieuan lived with Lili and David. While Peter had been acting as Callum’s lieutenant, Bridget had been manning the short-wave radio, in between nursing their three-month-old daughter, Elspeth.

  Cassie and Callum’s son, Gareth, had just turned two, so he was fully capable of eating by himself. Even so, he was managing to shred one of the rolls across half the table. Cassie leaned over and systematically put the pieces that could be rescued back on his plate.

  “Pigeons can go astray.” Hugh ate half of the pastry in one bite and spoke around a full mouth.

  Callum sipped his cup of tea, which he took with a teaspoon of sugar, homegrown here in Aquitaine in their up-and-coming sugar beet industry. It was still in its early stages, and thus expensive, but if any moment called for a little expending of resources, this was it. “Cassie’s point is well taken, Hugh. Robert d’Artois would know David was to have surrendered Aquitaine tonight, not last night. We have his Avalonian weapon, yes, but he has five thousand men. Why not attack? Why wait for the official moment, given the distances involved?”

  “Maybe he knows what awaits him on the battlement,” Cassie said. “Thanks to Christopher, we know about George. He could have told Artois about all sorts of things.”

  Hugh pursed his lips. “He does not appear to be afraid. If he was afraid, he would retreat.”

  “But he might be wary.” Cassie waggled her head back and forth. “Maybe Artois is waiting to hear that David not only gave up Aquitaine but has signed the order commanding us to surrender. Not that we would do it, especially after last night, but Nogaret might think he loses nothing by waiting a day and might gain a great deal.”

  Callum scoffed. “That being Aquitaine without a fight.”

  “What did King David say?” The fact that Hugh had waited this long to ask showed either remarkable patience or reluctance to engage more than necessary with what had to be a disconcerting—and perhaps frightening—technology.

  “He agrees with our assessment that the fact they haven’t yet attacked us or retalia
ted after the incident last night indicates the limits of their communication network. He also told me the name of the traitor.” Callum’s tone turned grimmer, imparting a bit of news he hadn’t shared with Hugh earlier. “He’s one of our own.”

  “You mean he’s English?”

  “Avalonian.”

  Hugh nodded sagely. “It is a most trusted friend who has the ability to stab you in the back and hurt you the most. Better not to trust.”

  Callum cast him a sardonic look. “I hope you’re wrong.”

  Hugh returned the look. “One name: Gilbert de Clare.”

  Callum ducked his head. “Yes. You are correct that Clare’s betrayal was disappointing to say the least. That said, we suspected George of deceit months ago. And while King David gives his trust to many people, George was never one of them. His presence in court was forced upon us because he came from Avalon as a companion to someone we trust to this day.”

  “I’m glad to hear the king was not deceived again. Clare’s betrayal continues to resonate throughout not only his kingdom but all Europe. If Clare could be so false, anyone could.”

  As King Philippe’s brother had been in league with Clare, Hugh wasn’t wrong. Callum glanced at him again. “You do not resent your duke’s activities here in Aquitaine?”

  “Duke David has brought stability and wealth to Angoulême. No, I do not resent him.” Hugh openly laughed. “I will be the first to admit I was skeptical when David explained what he thought would happen with France. I’m not anymore.” He had moved on to his second pastry. He was a large man, but even with his build, Cassie couldn’t figure out where he put everything he ate and drank.

  “David was right about what was going to happen and what we needed to do about it,” Cassie said softly. “I think we’re going to find he was right about a lot of things.”

  “You were doubting him?” Hugh frowned. “He’s your king. As far as I can tell, the man is never wrong. I would not bet against him.”

  “Nor I, believe me,” Callum said.

  “It isn’t true that he’s never wrong, though,” Cassie said. And then at Hugh’s surprised look, she put out a hand. “I don’t say this to criticize. You yourself just said he placed his trust where he shouldn’t have.”

  “Are you saying he’s merely lucky to have achieved so much in so short a time?” Hugh looked offended.

  Cassie realized she wasn’t explaining herself very well. “Of course he’s lucky, and that’s why he decided he had to deal with Philippe—and Nogaret, as it turns out—head on. He knows he can’t be lucky all the time, and eventually his luck will run out. So he needs to make his own luck.” She paused. “As do we.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Hugh now downed the rest of the wine in his goblet.

  “What if we didn’t have to fight at all?”

  Hugh almost spit out his last gulp. “How might that be?”

  Bridget, meanwhile, laughed. “You had better explain quick, Cassie, before we expire.”

  Cassie grinned at her friend. “Like David, this is our opportunity to play the fool.”

  Callum stared at his wife. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “You and Hugh, and whoever else wants to go, should welcome Artois to Aquitaine and invite him to dinner at the castle—or in a pavilion on the field if that makes him more comfortable. And do it now, before he hears anything from Paris, one way or the other.”

  “I’m still not seeing your intention.” Hugh’s usual mask of dry amusement was slipping.

  Callum was still staring at his wife, but then he slowly began to nod. “She’s right, Hugh. Let’s give Artois a chance to explain himself.”

  Hugh’s jaw dropped. “You can’t think he’s that naive. He can’t possibly think we are.”

  Bridget laughed again. “Sure he can. Even with all David has done, the French court thinks very little of him. Even I know that, Hugh, and I’ve never been there.”

  Hugh didn’t twitch at Bridget’s familiar use of his name. By now, he’d grown used to it—or was at least resigned to never being referred to as my lord when not in public. Of course, he’d joined the crowd calling David by his given name.

  “What do you suggest should be our approach?” Hugh asked.

  Bridget frowned, her eyes on Cassie. “Given that Philippe took David hostage, should we be worried Artois will try to do the same to Hugh and Callum?”

  Hugh was offended. “I am married to Burgundy’s sister! They wouldn’t dare attack my person.”

  “I think they would dare most anything.” Callum tapped a finger to his lip. “Still, I think both you and I must go. Artois needs to believe we welcome him—or, at the very least, are willing to talk.”

  “Now I understand why David himself agreed to go to Paris.” Hugh shook his head, something like awe in his voice. “His very presence gives weight to the lie, as will ours.”

  “Yes, that’s it exactly.” Cassie was pleased he truly understood her point. “Once you make an overture in Artois’ direction, one way or another we will know his true intentions. If he meets with you in peace, there’s still a chance we can avoid war.”

  “And if he attacks us?” Hugh said.

  “We run,” Callum said.

  Cassie spread her hands wide. “Those of us on the battlements will be ready.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Day Two

  Christopher

  After the very disturbing breakfast, Christopher had intended to go straight to the Paris Temple in order to relate all that had transpired. But as the meal was ending, John Sr. asked the steward for a room for them in the palace, and Christopher had been unable to extricate himself, even with a long trip to the loo. Rather than the fancy chamber that had been given to David, theirs was in the same building but on the ground floor, around a corner, at the back, sandwiched between two much larger rooms.

  From a study of the curve of the wall, it even seemed to Christopher that this particular room could have been a guardroom once, or even a latrine, which for some reason had been converted into a room so small it couldn’t quite be called a bedroom. There was one bed he and John were meant to share.

  Like that was ever going to happen. Not.

  “We have to get back to the Temple.” John Jr. had barely stepped into the room when he blurted out the words. Since it was exactly what Christopher had been thinking, he felt the same urgency, if not fear.

  At the same time, Christopher moved past him with quick steps, peered down the corridor, and closed the door. “The walls have ears.”

  John Jr.’s brow furrowed. “The walls have what?”

  “Ears.” Christopher made a dismissive motion with one hand, understanding the meaning of the phrase wasn’t immediately obvious. Now he said in a whisper. “You never know who could be listening.”

  John Jr.’s eyes widened, and he nodded. He’d heard about the secret passages in the walls of the palace, of course, even if he’d gone with Thomas and the children to the kitchen for the bulk of the conversation at the Temple last night. That Philippe was willing not only to rescue David and his family through his passages, but consequently make the English court aware of a secret he’d kept from his own people, revealed how badly he needed David on his side.

  Coming back to John Jr., Christopher said, “We don’t have to stay here every second, right? We’re not prisoners. Having rooms in the palace is supposed to be an honor.”

  John Jr. looked dubious. “You didn’t see the look on my father’s face as you walked by. He was staring at you, and he wasn’t smiling. I think he means to keep an eye on you as well as me.”

  Christopher didn’t like the sound of that. “Then I should go. With your father so highly placed at court, you’re in no danger. But one of us has to get to the Temple. I’ll just have to be careful I’m not follow—”

  A knock on the door interrupted the rest of his sentence. John Jr. seemed to have lost his courage again, though he’d done very well
up until now, and he took a step away, almost cowering behind the wardrobe like Christopher had done the previous night in Isabelle’s room.

  This time, however, Christopher was a lot less worried about who might be knocking. In the last hour, he hadn’t done anything wrong. So he approached, took in a breath, and lifted the latch.

  Isabelle stood on the doorstep. “May I come in?”

  “Please.” He gestured her inside and quickly closed the door behind her.

  At the sight of her, John Jr. looked like someone had bonked him on the head, like in a Daffy Duck or Porky Pig cartoon. Unlike when Isabelle had snuck Christopher out of the palace, for which she’d thrown on whatever she had to hand, today she was dressed in blue silk, which matched her eyes perfectly, and wore her blonde hair piled elegantly on the top of her head.

  She could have been any simpering lady of the court, but she didn’t mince her steps as she crossed the floor, and she sat on the end of the bed with hardly a flounce beyond what was necessary to keep her skirt wrinkle-free. “I’m glad to see you survived the night.”

  Christopher stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “That was in large part thanks to you.” He found himself speaking formally, like David might. “What can we do for you?”

  He’d said we, but with John Jr. entirely mute, Isabelle ignored him and looked directly at Christopher. “This time I’m hoping you can get me out of the palace.”

  Christopher blinked. “Really?”

  “I can’t stay here another hour. I need you to take me to my father. The guards would look askance at me leaving the palace unescorted.”

  “Even to see your father?”

  She shook her head.

  Christopher wet his lips. “Last night he said he was going to look in on you this morning. You’re saying he hasn’t?”