Unbroken in Time

by Sarah Woodbury

  By the time they got back to the corridor, it was empty.

  “Stay close and follow me.”

  “Are you sure about this?” Joana was like a black cloud roiling behind him, but he supposed he couldn’t blame her for worrying that she had gone from the frying pan into the fire.

  “Your husband has been held hostage as much as you have,” David said. “It’s time you were both free.”

  David peered down the narrow flight of stairs they’d come up—not the main staircase that led from the anteroom, but a smaller, servants’ stairway. He took it down the first flight as quickly as he could without upsetting Joana or the children, passing the floor where Nogaret had received them, and then went down one more. They arrived somewhat breathlessly into the kitchen, behind a cook chopping vegetables on his large worktop. Three more servants were involved in other aspects of meal preparation, perhaps for the morning.

  Near the fire, three French guards were leaned forward, their heads resting on their arms. David froze at the sight of them, but then he realized they were truly asleep. From the looks of the food and drink spread around them, they’d indulged extensively in what was offered. Close by, a servant boy lay curled on the floor, also sound asleep, his arms wrapped around his broom.

  David took the situation in with a sweeping glance and then led the way through the kitchen. So far, none of the kitchen workers had said anything, showing a remarkable ability to keep their heads down and work.

  “Have you done this all by yourself?” Joana finally asked.

  “Not quite.” Instead of going through the back door, which he would have done if he had reason to escape, he led her back into the main part of the manor.

  Michael was waiting for him in the entryway.

  “How did it go?” David said.

  “Like a charm. They drank the wine. They fell asleep. They will wake in a few hours and have no idea what happened.”

  “Who will wake?” Joana asked. “What is happening?”

  Michael spread his arms wide. “Vincennes is yours, madam.”

  Joana gaped at him.

  “We have subdued all the men Nogaret used to imprison you,” David handed her back the baby, “along with the Templars who brought me here as prisoner.”

  “Master Norris himself is sound asleep with his fellows in a room off the audience chamber,” Michael said. “Just in case they didn’t get along when they awoke, we put the Templars in one room and Nogaret’s guardsmen in another. We’ll finish up with Vincennes’ guards shortly.”

  “There are three in the kitchen,” David said to Ieuan as he came down the stairs from the audience chamber, Darren and Venny at his side.

  “We’re on it,” Ieuan said, and the three of them disappeared back the way David and Joana had come.

  “What do the Templars have to do with this?” Joana asked.

  “Nothing,” David said. “Nogaret used them to capture me. You can release them if you see fit, but I would not release Nogaret’s men until you hear from your husband.”

  It was only now that Joana was realizing she was free. Rather than looking happy, she swayed a bit.

  David put out a hand to steady her, but she took in a breath and waved him off. “How can I ever thank you?”

  David paused for a beat before saying, “Next time, encourage your husband and his advisers to give me the benefit of the doubt.”

  Joana swallowed hard. “I will do that.”

  David bowed and, with Michael at his side, left her as she stood by the front door, surrounded by her children. He’d done what he’d come to do, and anything more would lead to questions he didn’t care to answer.

  The rain was still falling with a steady rhythm that implied it would keep on all night. Constance and Cador stood on a different part of the wall-walk, watching for danger. Rhys was waiting under the shelter of the gatehouse, holding the reins of a carthorse. David and Ieuan joined him.

  After a wait of another fifteen minutes, occupied with David explaining how it had gone with him, the rest of David’s men appeared from all directions—the barracks, the front door of the manor, and from around the back—several dressed in the livery of palace guards, taken from the men Nogaret had brought with him.

  Mathew was among those who wore French gear, and he carried Nogaret’s body over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. Having crossed the courtyard, splashing through the deepening puddles on the way, he dumped his burden into the bed of the cart. By then, Matha was sitting on the seat with Venny beside him, both also dressed as Frenchmen. Mathew settled himself in the back.

  “You know what to do?” David asked Venny.

  “Never fear, my lord. You can leave him to us. God keep you.”

  David raised his hand in a respectful salute and gave the appropriate reply. “Godspeed.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  Day Three

  Philippe

  Philippe had found the army where David’s man had said it would be, and along the way they’d seen no sign of either Templars or Jews. The young man, Roger, had worked miracles it seemed. No surprise David trusted him with so much. Philippe needed to find a man like him for himself—one who did his bidding rather than the other way around.

  Once John Jr. had arrived and pledged his fealty, Philippe had taken him from room to room, rousting his other advisers. Philippe had begun with Archbishop Romeyn, who had risen with alacrity and even now was personally seeing to the cleansing of the palace of anyone whom he knew to have been in Nogaret’s thrall. Romeyn had the same intelligence Nogaret did, and while Philippe was well aware where his loyalties lay, he was honest. One knew where one stood with him. It was quite startling to know such a man could still exist.

  Philippe had gone next to the room of John Sr. and made short work of his bluster. The others, Robert of Burgundy and Bishop Mornay, Philippe had outright threatened with prison—and insisted that they ride with him to Bobigny so they could see what their machinations had wrought. They’d sworn by St. Peter they hadn’t known what Nogaret had done. He didn’t think he believed them.

  They, however, might be redeemable. Nogaret was not, and he couldn’t wait to see his face when he confronted him. But first, he had Bobigny to deal with.

  The army’s commander was a man Philippe had never seen before, not local to Paris, but nonetheless he bowed before Philippe, practically blubbering with fear when he learned Nogaret had lied to him.

  “What was the original plan, the one Nogaret recruited you for?” Philippe glared down at the man, who was still on his knees in the mud. It was continuing to rain, though perhaps not as hard as before.

  “We were to b-b-burn the homes of villagers who hadn’t paid their taxes. Lord Nogaret said you would be confiscating their lands for the crown.”

  “Why were you dressed as Englishmen?”

  The man plucked at his surcoat, which still displayed David’s red dragon. “He said it was better not to have the crown associated with such acts, even as they were necessary.”

  Burgundy was off his horse in a heartbeat, striding up to the man and lifting him to his feet by his gear. “You believed the king could be so cowardly?”

  “I did-did-did as I was told!”

  His second-in-command, whose name was Justin, was also on his knees, and he said, “We’d heard of the army marshaling in the south to march on Aquitaine. We thought you wanted to start a war with England.”

  Philippe motioned that Robert should release the captain, and he dropped him to his knees. Meanwhile Philippe directed his attention to Justin. “Stand up.”

  Justin did so, and though he tried to disguise his height by hunching, he was a good four inches taller than Philippe. He also had prematurely balding red hair and something of a squint.

  But he was smart and told the truth. All of a sudden, Philippe liked that.

  The man also had no loyalty to Nogaret.

  Philippe liked that even better.

  “Get these surcoats off. We’
ll burn them before we go. Find some dry kindling.”

  “But sire—” The protest came from Mornay, as it would.

  Philippe swung around. “Were you going to suggest I keep them? That they might be useful for some later deception?”

  That was clearly what Mornay had wanted. But under Philippe’s glare, he was frozen to the ground, despite the warm rain.

  Philippe swung out an arm. “Nogaret’s new orders were for them to descend upon the Jews and murder them, along with their Templar escort—and England blamed for it all!”

  “I realize that—”

  “And you a priest.” Philippe made a tsk of disgust. He would do what was necessary, always. Murdering women and children, however, was not to be condoned, even five miles outside the city. “I owe David that at least.” Then he turned back to Justin. “Get on the bishop’s horse. He can walk back.”

  Doing the right thing was proving to be exhilarating. He had missed feeling like a king.

  With his new palace guard at his back and his new captain Justin riding at the army’s head, Philippe swept into Vincennes an hour later at nearly three in the morning.

  Having called to the guard on the wall-walk for admission and finding no response, Philippe made Brittany dismount and walk to the gate. A single push swung it open on greased hinges.

  John Sr. looked up at Philippe. “Sire?”

  Philippe made a motion with his hand to Justin, who, with a jerk of his head, summoned his men to move past those mounted and into the courtyard of the manor. None of the guard appeared to be having trouble with the change in leadership. Their old captain was walking, his wrists tied to the end of a leading rope attached to John Sr.’s saddle. Mornay hadn’t been tied. Nor had he been able to keep up.

  After a quick perusal of the grounds, Justin, who was growing into his new role by the moment, leapt up the steps to the main door. He disappeared inside but returned almost immediately, loping to where Philippe waited, still mounted on his horse.

  “The queen awaits you, sire.”

  Philippe’s heart was in his throat. “She ... is here?”

  “Yes, sire. In the receiving room. She is alone but for your sons—and unharmed.”

  Philippe frowned. “Where are the guards?”

  “According to the queen, they are captive.”

  “And Nogaret?”

  “She does not know. Other than King David and a few of his men, she neither saw nor spoke to anyone. Everything was already arranged by the time she left her room.”

  Until this moment, Philippe had hardly dared believe David would succeed. But then, it was David who’d sent his man through the passages, effectively engineering Philippe’s freedom and the recruitment of a new personal guard—one that could have taken Vincennes on its own, as it turned out.

  Philippe frowned internally, wondering how David had managed it. It seemed he had plans within plans. Philippe wasn’t sure what to make of it.

  “Sire?” Justin’s face was upturned and wet from the rain.

  Philippe had been hesitating on his horse, but now he dismounted and ran up the front steps of the palace, and then up the steps again to the receiving room.

  At which point he stopped short, taking in the scene. The wetnurse rocked a sleeping baby Charles in a chair near the low-burning fire. Joana sat across from her in a cushioned chair, a blanket covering the large mound of her belly. Philippe and Louis lay sprawled on blankets at her feet, also asleep.

  Philippe’s heart filled with joy at the sight.

  Then Joana turned her head to look at him and smiled the sweetest smile he had ever seen. “Welcome to Vincennes, my love.”

  Chapter Forty-two

  Day Three

  Callum

  “Lord Artois.” Callum halted at the French general’s bedside. “How are your injuries?”

  “Apparently, I am to live.”

  Artois was in his mid-forties, but he looked older. The years had been harder on him than on Callum, for all that they’d both been soldiers for half their lives. He put out a hand. “Help me to sit up.”

  Callum gripped his hand tightly and, between the two of them, managed to get him leaning forward enough to pack a few more pillows behind his head and back. Then Artois relaxed back into them.

  Callum pulled up a stool and sat.

  Artois sighed deeply, his eyes closed, before turning his head to look at Callum. “What are the casualties?”

  “Half your army dead or wounded, the rest scattered.” He didn’t see any point in shading the truth.

  Artois’ upper lip lifted. “Good men, many of them. Not all, of course, but many.”

  Callum might have said he was sorry, but that would have been conceding something he was not willing to concede. It had to come from Artois, if it came at all.

  Artois licked his lips, which were chapped, and Callum helped him sip water.

  “What is to become of me? Ransom?” Artois paused. “Death?”

  “It’s up to David. Much depends on you.”

  Artois gave a deep sigh. “I have much to live for and would prefer it. What do you want to know? I will talk if it doesn’t betray my king.”

  “Are you aware that your presence in Aquitaine was not at the behest of Philippe?”

  “Is that what you think?” Artois’ brow furrowed. “I would never have said so. My orders were written in his own hand.”

  “We have learned that the king was under duress, being blackmailed by Nogaret.”

  Artois grunted. “I heard this from your men, and that Philippe has returned Aquitaine to David.” Callum heard puzzlement in Artois’ voice. “How long had Nogaret been controlling the king?”

  “Since the death of his daughters.” To a degree, Callum shared that puzzlement. Then again Nogaret’s fingers had corrupted every pie.

  “I am in no position to argue against what you’ve been told, but Philippe and I spoke last Christmas about Aquitaine. He told me to be prepared for orders to invade, so I was not surprised when they came.” He snapped his fingers towards his purse, which lay on the table next to him, seemingly more concerned they thought Philippe was weak and not controlling his own destiny than that he himself might give away information he shouldn’t. “Help me with that, please.”

  “Are you looking for this?” Callum unrolled the tiny letter he’d been holding, of the type carried by a homing pigeon.

  Artois relaxed again with a grunt. The letter had been found in Artois’ belongings, though not by Callum. He probably wouldn’t have searched Artois’ purse unless he’d had a very good reason to do so—but the Aquitaine soldiers who’d found Artois and brought him to the hospital had gone through everything he had on him, and one of them had brought the letter to Callum.

  It was dated a week earlier and carried Philippe’s personal seal. Callum read it out loud: “David arriving on schedule. Aquitaine will be ours. Attack as planned/”

  Artois leaned forward to point to the slash at the end of the last sentence. “Philippe and I developed a code years ago, known only to us. The slash meant this was his true thoughts, and he wasn’t under duress. Nogaret could not have known about it unless Philippe himself told him, which he would not have done.”

  Callum rolled up the scroll, thinking first that he and David should have thought of a similar arrangement, though they exchanged more words than notes these days. They had agreed that if either talked about eating potatoes, the other was to know they were in danger or captive.

  His second thought was that, while there were genuine indications Philippe had been under Nogaret’s thumb, there was good reason to wonder about the true nature of Philippe’s and Nogaret’s relationship.

  Who really had been manipulating whom?

  Chapter Forty-three

  Day Three

  Lili

  Cold and wet weren’t quite the words to describe the bedraggled people who surrounded Lili. Four miles hadn’t sounded like all that much when they were talking about it at the
Paris Temple, but it was quite another matter to have slogged that distance in the rain and the dark before finally reaching the boats moored along the Seine.

  Now, many hours later, one of the former prisoners, a young woman, reached out her hand as Lili moved among the refugees, offering water to whomever would take it. “You’re the Queen of England, aren’t you?”

  Lili didn’t see any point in denying it. “Yes.”

  “Why are you with us? You could have traveled home another way, in comfort.”

  “I could have, but my family was threatened by Philippe too. We are three of hundreds here. Just like you.”

  “Not just like me.” The young woman shook her head. “Thousands of people travel the roads every day. Horses could have taken you anywhere you wanted to go, and King Philippe would never have been the wiser.”

  Lili had tried one truth, the one that felt most immediate, and now she tried another. “Do you feel safer knowing I’m here and that the Queen of England and the heirs to the throne share your fate? Are you less worried about what you will face when we arrive in England?”

  The young woman hesitated, a questioning look still on her face. “Yes.”

  “Then that’s why.”

  Neither the young woman nor her mother, who’d been listening, seemed to know how to answer Lili, but then Aaron, who was sprawled just behind them, and whom Lili had thought asleep, rose up on his elbows and said dryly, “Told you that’s what she would say.”

  During the long walk from Paris, the caravan had stretched over nearly a mile, only a few torches shining here and there amidst the mass of moving bodies. The former prisoners had joined them, the covered wagons driven by the Templar sergeants arriving from the north, having apparently taken the long way around the city walls to seamlessly merge with the line of people moving west. Most of the former prisoners had been sleepy still, and many were starving and ill. But now that they were out of the prison and on their way to safety, they had real hope for the first time in a long time.