By King's Decree

by Shari Anton

  Gerard tamped down the blood rush that prepared his body and mind for battle. He resisted the urge to grab his sword and reduce Basil’s body to a bloodied corpse.

  Henry wanted to” pass judgment, inflict punishment Given Henry’s penchant for devising gruesome penalties, killing Basil outright might equal a show of mercy.

  “Irked by a bit of snow, is he? Well, we shall soon make him forget his cold fingers and damp garments,” Gerard promised dryly. “Inform Kester we are ready for our audience with King Henry.”

  Thomas obeyed swiftly.

  “I suppose this means I must again don monk’s robes,” Richard grumbled.

  “Not for a while yet, and then only for a short time.”

  “So long as it is the last time,” Richard remarked as the door opened again.

  Stephen entered, picked up a goblet and filled it with wine. “The last time for what, Richard?”

  “For subjecting my body to the torture of haircloth. Where is Basil?”

  Stephen warmed his wine with a hot poker from the fire, took a sip, then turned to face his brothers. “We may have a problem, Gerard. The palace seneschal refused Basil rooms in Westminster.”

  Basil’s rank entitled him to space within the palace. By rights, the seneschal should evict a lesser noble to make room if need be. Only by direct order from the king would the seneschal dare the insult.

  “How did Basil react to the affront?”

  “He threatened the seneschal with dismemberment. The seneschal calmly told Basil to take his complaint to the king, then assigned Basil to a commandeered merchant’s residence.”

  “So now Basil knows he is not in Henry’s good graces,” Gerard growled.

  Richard voiced the question nagging at Gerard. “Will Basil heed the insult as a warning and leave?”

  “I think not,” Gerard mused. “Basil must know he should stay to soothe Henry’s ire, whatever the cause. But we must guard against the possibility of Basil’s sudden departure. Stephen, assign a few men—”

  “Done. Corwin and two others watch the house. I told Corwin to keep to the shadows.”

  Gerard lifted his goblet in salute. “Well done, lad.”

  But Stephen didn’t return the salute. His hand tightened on his goblet. “I am no longer a lad, Gerard.”

  Since arriving in London, Stephen had spent little time in Wilmont chambers. He and Corwin had caroused, drinking and wenching into the wee hours of the morn. Gerard had no idea where the two slept or even if they slept, nor did he care as long as they minded their duties.

  Gerard suddenly felt older than his six and twenty years. That his little brother had become a man irked. Damnation, how would he feel when his son, a mere toddler now, stood tall and sure, proclaiming his manhood? How he missed the tyke!

  “You are right, Stephen. I will try to remember.”

  King Henry had decided to make an example of Basil of Northbryre by judging Wilmont’s case before the entire assembly of nobles. Ardith and Bronwyn watched the proceedings among the crowd in Westminster Hall. Garbed in holiday finery, the nobles of England gathered for the formal ceremony of placing their hands between King Henry’s palms and swearing to serve crown and kingdom.

  Gerard had been among the first to utter the oath. Now he stood near Kester, a few steps to the right and a bit behind the throne. Ardith could feel Gerard’s tension, though he strove to appear relaxed.

  Richard leaned against the wall in a dark corner, the cowl of his monk’s robe pulled forward to hide his face. Ardith tried to find Stephen and Corwin, but couldn’t.

  Finally, Basil of Northbryre waddled toward the throne and knelt before the king, presenting his prayer-folded hands. By rote, Basil mumbled the oath.

  “Liar!” Gerard’s voice tore through the chamber. Noble heads snapped around to the sharp outburst. Shocked gasps punctuated the charge, then faded into silence.

  Ardith wished she could see the accused’s face, assess his reaction, but could see nothing of Basil save the back of his head. King Henry released Basil’s hands and slumped back into his throne.

  “What is Gerard about?” Bronwyn whispered.

  “Hush,” Ardith said impatiently.

  “A serious accusation, Baron Gerard,” the king commented.

  “And totally without foundation,” Basil stated, struggling to gain his feet.

  In two strides, Gerard reached Basil and pushed him down. “Stay on your knees, the better to beg the king’s mercy.”

  “I have no need of mercy!” Basil flung out an entreating hand. “Sire, Wilmont’s audacity is an affront to the crown. I demand an apology for this outrage.”

  Henry smiled indulgently. “Do let the man rise, Gerard.”

  Gerard stepped back. Basil scrambled to stand. Ardith frowned. Did Henry sympathize with Basil?

  “Oh, dear,” Bronwyn said softly. “Basil is in deep trouble, is he not?” To Ardith’s questioning look, Bronwyn continued, “’Tis generally agreed one must beware the danger hidden by the veil of Henry’s smile. I have seen this smile of Henry’s but once before, just before he ordered two children blinded and dragged through the castle moat, as punishment for an offense by the mother.”

  Ardith fought to keep her voice hushed. “How cruel!”

  “Cruel indeed, for the little girls are his grandchildren, by one of his bastard daughters.”

  Blessed Mother.

  With an upraised hand, the king silenced the low murmurs buzzing among the nobles. “This man is our sworn vassal, Gerard. You charge he lies. Have you proof of disloyalty?”

  Gerard stated his grievances, which Basil countered with ready defense.

  Basil flatly denied stealing rents from Milhurst bound for Wilmont. Why would he steal from Baron Everart? Why risk Everart’s wrath for so paltry a sum?

  Covet Milhurst? Never.

  Lay siege to Milhurst with intent to overrun? Nonsense.

  “Sire, I really must protest,” Basil told King Henry. “I had heard the manor had been victim to raiders. I sent my men to observe. I merely wished to protect Wilmont interests until Baron Gerard could stir himself to reclaim his lands.”

  “Your men did not observe,” Gerard snorted. “They laid siege for two days, then attacked.”

  “An unfortunate incident,” Basil claimed. “When we discovered our mistake, we withdrew.”

  “You were driven off!”

  “Sire, obviously Baron Gerard does not believe I acted only with the best intentions. No words of mine will change his mind. I appeal to your superior judgment.”

  Gerard drew himself up to his full height. Hands that could so gently touch Ardith’s body to soothe or arouse, clenched into white-knuckled fists. Eyes that could spark with laughter or smolder with passion, narrowed to menacing slits. Gerard looked—lethal.

  Ardith feared Gerard would reach out and snap Basil’s head off. Instead, Gerard turned toward the doors and sharply nodded at the guards. Two liveried soldiers opened the doors. In strode a man, dressed all in black, followed by Stephen and Corwin, who sheathed their swords as they entered.

  The veneer of Basil’s composure cracked. “Once again, Wilmont violates the sanctity of the ceremony. He brings a mercenary into our midst! By all that is holy, I demand an accounting for this unpardonable insult.”

  Gerard ignored. Basil, motioning the newly arrived trio forward. The man in black didn’t move, until Stephen reached out and gave him a shove.

  “Sire, this mercenary captain is Edward Siefeld,” Gerard said. “You may remember him from Normandy. He and his band served knights’ duty for Basil of Northbryre.”

  Edward Siefeld bent a low bow to the monarch. Out of the corner of her eye, Ardith caught movement—Richard, moving from his shadowy corner.

  “And fought with distinction, I am told,” Basil said.

  “Aye, he and his band fought well,” Gerard conceded. “Had he confined his fighting to battles, I would have no quarrel with Siefeld. But he also chose to follow your
orders Basil, orders given him before he left England’s shores.”

  Ardith moved to get a better view. Hands clasped behind his back, feet slightly spread, Siefeld stood stoic, as though uninvolved in this quarrel between barons. For the benefit of the attending nobles, Ardith supposed, Gerard chronicled the events leading to Richard’s wounding in Normandy. He then formally accused Siefeld of attempting outright murder on a member of the nobility, at Basil of Northbryre’s command.

  “Oh, come now, Gerard,” Basil censured. “Your bastard brother was wounded in battle and died of those wounds.”

  “Did he?” Gerard said, a feral grin spreading.

  Siefeld shifted his weight, then looked hard at Basil.

  “All England knows he died!” Basil said, waving his arms in exasperation. “You made a spectacle of bnnging the man home and burying him at Wilmont. Sire, I demand atonement for enduring this outrage! Gerard seeks to slander my name with charges he cannot prove.”

  Gerard gave another hand signal. Richard stepped forward and pushed back his cowl.

  Bronwyn screeched—then promptly fainted. Ardith quickly caught her collapsing sister.

  Bedlam reigned.

  Gerard ignored the gasps of disbelief, the flurry of hands making swift crosses over chests, the paling of faces and the women who succumbed Basil stared at Richard, unable to speak. Much to Gerard’s delight, Edward Siefeld reacted to Richard as hoped.

  Siefeld uttered his thoughts aloud. “Nay. ‘Tis not possible. You are dead, damn you. You are dead!”

  “A much exaggerated notion,” Richard answered flatly, then addressed the king. “Sire, ‘twas Edward Siefeld who thought he made the killing blow. Indeed I might have died had it not been for the good care of your physicians.”

  Basil recovered from the shock. He cleared his throat and dusted his robes, as though wiping away the taint of any wrongdoing associated with his person. “Since no murder was done, I see no point in continuing this bit of drama. The bastard was only wounded, therefore—”

  Gerard took a step forward and planted his fist squarely in Basil’s face. Blood spurted from a broken nose as the man crumpled to the stone floor. “My apologies, sire, for spilling blood. I will gladly pay to have the floor cleaned.”

  Henry smiled wryly. “Aye, you will.” Then he shouted, “Basil of Northbryre stands accused of crimes against Wilmont and the crown. Will any man in this assembly stand witness for his character?”

  Not a soul breathed a word.

  Henry summoned guards, instructing them to haul the prisoners off to White Tower. “We will let them contemplate their deeds and punishment from the dank hole of the subcrypt.”

  Henry stretched an arm toward Kester, who placed a scroll, tied in red ribbon, in the king’s hand. The king, in turn, gave it to Gerard. “We suspect you will be pleased.”

  Gerard bowed. He knew this scroll listed the Northbryre lands the king bestowed as restitution. Though eager to read the list, Gerard resisted the impulse. “My thanks, sire.”

  The king stood. The room became quiet. “Richard, come forward. Baron Gerard feels you worthy of knighthood, and we agree. Before this assembly we will bestow the honor.”

  With pride and a sense of completion, Gerard looked on as Richard knelt before Henry and, with strong voice, took the vow to serve crown and country. The ritual completed, Gerard shoved the scroll into Stephen’s hand. “Guard this well. Within is your future.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “More wine!” Gerard bellowed as another group of nobles pushed into the sitting room. Finding herself in the awkward position of playing hostess, Ardith hoped the procession would end soon. At least the fates had proved kind. The nobles all but ignored her in favor of Gerard and his brothers.

  For the greater part of the day, Gerard had wallowed in the accolades of earls and barons, minor nobles and courtiers—anyone who cared to cross the threshold of Wilmont’s chambers.

  That many came to gape at Richard bothered Gerard not one whit. Nor did the curiosity vex Richard, who chatted with all as if it were common to have risen from the dead. Stephen told a spirited tale to all who cared to listen, and many did, of how he’d found Richard after the attack and borne him to the safety of camp and into the care of the king’s physicians. Corwin stood by, adding facts Stephen missed in the telling.

  Gerard received the praise for a show of power and favor rarely displayed in court.

  “I wish you luck in trying to control that man,” Bronwyn said tightly. Ardith smiled. Poor Bronwyn. Fainting at the sight of Richard had embarrassed her sorely.

  Control Gerard? The idea had never entered Ardith’s head. She might voice her opinion, but Gerard did exactly as he pleased with a tenacity that could be terrifying.

  Like now. Gerard chose to celebrate. His spirits high with victory, he called for wine and food, slapped peer and inferior alike on the back, accepted praise from the sincere and the fawning with equal aplomb.

  Low murmurs suddenly replaced boisterous laughter. Ardith turned toward the door to see the cause.

  Lady Diane de Varley stood in the entry and, as though the woman possessed the power of Moses to part the Red Sea, the crowd shifted, clearing her path to Gerard.

  Ardith’s firm sense of duty quickly squashed the personal wish to avoid the woman. Grabbing a goblet of wine, she faced Diane at midchamber.

  “You honor us, milady,” Ardith said, holding out the goblet. “Wine? Or mayhap you would prefer mead.”

  Diane’s ice-gray eyes narrowed. “You overreach your rank here. Get yourself gone from my sight.”

  Startled, Ardith lowered the goblet. “My lady, I—” She stopped at the feel of Gerard’s hand wrapping around the back of her neck.

  “Greetings, Diane,” he said in a low voice.

  Diane blinked, and in the space of it, ice gray melted to sultry smoke. “My lord Gerard,” she purred, dipping into a curtsy. “Your performance this morning was quite splendid. My compliments.”

  Gerard nodded an acknowledgment.

  Diane waved a delicate hand at the roomful of people. “And so many attend you. I just now heard of the gathering, or I would have come sooner. You should have sent for me, Gerard…But I am here now, and will set everything to rights.”

  “I had not realized anything amiss.”

  Diane smiled sweetly. “Of course not. You are so rarely at court you are not expected to know all the proprieties to be observed. And after what you did to Basil this morning, no one would dare snub you for the lack of a few niceties, those a lady would provide to save her lord embarrassment.”

  Ardith bristled at the woman’s audacity, knowing that every propriety had been observed—with help from Bronwyn.

  Gerard’s hand tightened on her neck. “My guests and I have no cause for complaint. Ardith has seen to everyone’s needs in timely and gracious fashion.”

  Ardith had never seen anyone blush quite so prettily as Diane managed to blush. She then placed her fingertips on Gerard’s arm and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “That may be. But my lord, one does not allow his leman to hold sway over guests of such noble rank. That is why I came so quickly when I heard.”

  “If you came to displace Ardith, you came for naught. She is not my leman, she is my betrothed, and as such will greet my guests.”

  “My lord, all know this betrothal doomed. And when it ends, you and I will wed. My place is here at your side, Gerard.” Diane’s fingers moved over Gerard’s arm in a slight but definite caress. “Truth be told, if you were to end this game you play, quit the challenge of filling her barren womb, I would gladly undertake the task of giving you the heir you seek.”

  Ardith’s hand tightened on the goblet. She fought hard to keep from tossing the wine in the woman’s face.

  “A generous offer,” Gerard said.

  Diane smiled brightly.

  Ardith thought to toss the wine in his face until he continued, “But I have no desire to marry you, much less share your bed.
I will if Henry insists, but will do my utmost to avoid so distasteful a marriage. Stay if you wish, but your presence here is neither needed nor particularly wanted.”

  Gerard’s rejection hit Diane like a slap across the face. Her smile disappeared. Her features twisted into confusion, then seething fury. Diane’s hand flew from Gerard’s arm as though she’d suddenly discovered him fatally diseased.

  “One day, Gerard of Wilmont, you will sorely regret having spoken to me so,” she vowed, and with the bearing of a royal princess, turned and quit the chamber.

  Ardith sighed with relief at Diane’s departure, but the sincerity of Diane’s parting words kept complete relief at bay. As a ward of King Henry’s, Diane held some power. Enough to truly harm Gerard?

  “You have made an enemy, Gerard.”

  He carelessly shrugged. “Pay her no heed, Ardith. Come, I want you to meet someone,” he said, dismissing the entire affair.

  For the remainder of the afternoon, Gerard kept her by his side, despite her wish to again fade into obscurity. Not until after the last of the well-wishers left did he allow her a measure of space when he hoisted his bulk up onto a table and waved Stephen and Richard into chairs. Legs swinging, smiling smugly, Gerard reached out a hand to Stephen. Stephen handed over a scroll.

  Gerard made a great show of untying, unrolling and reading it. He then took out his dagger and cut a strip from the top of the scroll.

  “Henry kept less of Northbryre’s lands than I thought he would.” Gerard waved the strip of parchment. “This is mine.”

  “Basil’s castle in Hampshire,” Richard guessed.

  “Very astute of you, Richard.” Gerard cut the remaining sheet in half and held the pieces out to Richard. “Choose.”

  Richard balked. “Stephen should choose. He is full brother.”

  “An accident of birth we ignore. Besides, you outrank Stephen. Rank does have its privileges.”

  “Were it not for Stephen, I would not have lived to rise to knighthood. Stephen should have first—”

  “God’s wounds, Richard!” Stephen broke into the argument. “Choose and be done.”