by E. M. Powell
Yet Stanton preened like he was their protector.
Theodosia didn’t seem to have noticed. ‘Oh, Hugo.’ She took one of his hands in both of hers. ‘God be praised you are finally here.’
‘Such a welcome.’ His blue eyes flashed and he bowed again. ‘I am deeply honoured.’ He brushed Theodosia’s hands with his lips.
She released him with a smile.
Palmer wondered if the fine-clothed little toady would be honoured by a thump in the face. ‘What news, Stanton?’
‘His Grace trusts he finds you well.’
‘We are, Hugo,’ said Theodosia. ‘And his Grace?’
‘He is hale and is still in his rightful place.’
‘Oh, God be praised.’ Theodosia gave Palmer a glance full of delight. Of relief.
‘You see?’ said Palmer. ‘All’s well. I told you it would be.’
Stanton didn’t meet his eye as he pulled out a rolled parchment from under his heavy cloak. ‘Please read this.’ He handed it to Theodosia.
She opened it out, and peered at it in the weak light. ‘No.’ The word came sharply.
‘What is it?’ Palmer squinted over her shoulder, knowing full well the swirls of the writing would mean nothing to him.
‘Orders. For you, Benedict.’ She lowered the letter and raised her gaze to his. ‘You are summoned.’ She swallowed. ‘By the King.’
It made no sense. ‘Me? Summoned? What for?’
‘It does not say. Hugo, what does this mean?’ Theodosia held the letter out.
‘I don’t know, my lady. His Grace was very clear that Sir Benedict must come with me. Immediately.’
Nothing for months. And now this culch. ‘Then Theodosia is coming too,’ said Palmer. ‘And our children. I’m not leaving them.’
‘I’m afraid they can’t.’
‘Don’t you tell me what to do, Stanton.’
Stanton bowed quickly at Palmer’s tone. ‘I’m sorry, Sir Benedict. But his Grace was adamant. I cannot say why. Only that it is too dangerous.’
‘Benedict, if it is so dangerous, then you should not be going either.’ Theodosia returned her dismayed gaze to his.
He put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Stanton, stop carrying on like a gossiping maid and frightening my wife,’ said Palmer. ‘What kind of danger?’
‘I am sworn to secrecy by his Grace,’ said Stanton. ‘But Lady Theodosia and the children are safe where they are. And you must come with me. At once.’ His voice firmed. ‘Your orders are in that letter. You cannot disobey them.’
‘He can if they are wrong.’ Theodosia’s reply came fierce. ‘Nonsensical.’
‘Theodosia. Stop.’ Palmer had to keep his own shock hidden. It would do no good to show her. ‘You know I have to serve my King.’
She shook her head, kept shaking it.
‘It’s my duty,’ he said, ‘as it is yours. You promised the King we would fight for him again if he ever called on us. Remember?’
‘Yes. But we fought side by side. Together. Not apart.’ Her voice cracked in her disbelief. ‘This is all wrong.’
‘It’s wrong to be wrenched from you like this.’ He pulled her tight against him, kissed her forehead. ‘But not if it keeps you safe.’
‘Wrong,’ she repeated, the word muffled in the coarse wool of his tunic.
‘We need to go.’ Stanton’s tone came dangerously close to an order.
Palmer looked at him long and hard. ‘When I’m ready. And not until I’ve said goodbye to Tom and Matilde.’
‘And what if someone sees you?’ asked Stanton. ‘Or me? This is risky enough as it is.’
‘No one will see—’
‘There is Joan, Benedict.’ Theodosia broke from his arms to raise eyes full of anguish to his.
‘Who?’ Stanton frowned.
‘Tell him.’ Theodosia loosed herself from Palmer’s hold. ‘He has to know.’
Palmer gave Stanton a terse, brief version. The messenger didn’t need to know his private heartbreak.
‘His Grace must hear of this,’ said Stanton.
‘I’ll make sure he does,’ said Palmer. “Soon as I’ve said goodbye to the children.’
‘Benedict, I fear you cannot.’ Theodosia clasped her hands in his. ‘Think. What would Joan make of your departure? And while Matilde might not even wake up . . .’ She shook her head. ‘Tom would be from his bed in an instant. He . . . he is too small to keep a secret, but he is too clever to trick.’ Her firm gaze met his. ‘He would be bound to say something to arouse suspicion.’
‘She’s right,’ said Stanton.
‘I don’t need your prating.’ Easier to be angry with Stanton than show his loss for his children. He squeezed Theodosia’s hands in return. ‘But you judge it as it should be done. As you so often do.’
Her silent nod told him she knew what it cost him to agree.
‘If you’ll pardon my interruption.’
Stanton kept a more respectful eye on Palmer as he reached beneath his cloak again. “My lady, his Grace asked me to give you this.’ He handed Theodosia a small leather purse. ‘While Sir Benedict is away.’
Palmer recognised the weight of coins. Knave that he was, brief relief shot through him. It would meet the tax collection.
Theodosia paid it no mind. She still held him with one hand, scanned his face with grey eyes full of turmoil. ‘So what shall I tell the children? Your sister? People in the village?’
Yesterday, he wouldn’t have had a reason. Today, he did. ‘Tell them I went on pilgrimage to my family’s graves.’ He drew in a long breath. ‘That the shock drove me to go at once.’
Theodosia put a hand to his cheek. ‘I cannot use your pain as a lie. I will not.’
Worse pain to leave her. Yet he mustn’t tell her. ‘You will.’
She dropped her hand and nodded, her misery a stab to his heart.
He pulled her into his arms again, pushed her hair cover aside to kiss her hair, drank in her sweet, familiar scent. ‘You must be safe, the children must be safe. And I’ll be back to you. I swear it.’ He crushed her harder to him. ‘As God is my witness, I swear it.’
His loyalty was being tested to the limit. Henry’s urgent call had better be of the highest importance. Nothing—but nothing—less.
Chapter Six
‘Palmer, Palmer, Palmer.’ Henry advanced with firm, fast treads across the wide wooden floor in his chambers at Woodstock Palace, stepping past a grouping of empty highly painted chairs and an abandoned lyre.
Palmer bowed, not allowing his eyes to rest on the huge bed that was only partly private behind a gaudy picture-filled screen. ‘Your Grace.’
‘My boy.’ Henry extended his short arms and shook Palmer by one hand with vigour, pounding him on the chest with the other. ‘It’s good to see you!’ He released Palmer. ‘Wine—we must have wine.’ He went to a nearby table that held the remains of a meal and a large jug.
‘As your Grace wishes.’ Palmer would rather have eaten or cleaned up from his days and nights on horseback to reach the King’s side here in Oxfordshire. But Henry was never a man to be crossed.
Henry filled two goblets as Palmer joined him. ‘See, Palmer? Waited on by a king. Not many men could say that.’
‘It doesn’t feel right, your Grace.’
Henry drained one of the goblets with a loud smack of his lips, then refilled it again before holding the other out to Palmer. ‘No, it isn’t. But I wanted to see you alone.’
Palmer accepted the wine with another bow.
Henry jerked his head. ‘Come to the window. Only a bat or a bird could overhear us there.’
Palmer followed him over to where early afternoon sun gave good warmth and a yellow light. Closer to, he could see the King had aged. His hair had more grey, and the lines around his eyes had deepened.
> ‘How is my beloved Theodosia?’ Henry’s usually loud voice dropped abruptly.
‘She is in good health, your Grace.’ Palmer drank, the good wine a wave of warm luxury to his innards.
‘And the boy?’
‘Young Thomas caught the pestilence but is over it.’
Delight lit Henry’s face. ‘Strong little beggar, is he?’
‘Very. Especially in will.’
‘Matilde?’
‘As sweet as Tom is a beggar.’
‘Good to hear. Apples drop near their tree, do they not?’
‘Indeed, your Grace.’ Palmer took another drink, waiting for the real reason he’d been called on. He’d turned it over in his mind a thousand times on his way here.
Henry’s good cheer disappeared. ‘I would have brought them here too, but I couldn’t take the risk.’ He gave a hunted stare around the empty room, leaned forward to peer out the window. When he spoke again, he lowered his voice even more. ‘Did Stanton pass on the money I sent to tide Theodosia over?’
‘He did, your Grace. She’s very grateful, as am I.’
‘I’ll wager she is also not best pleased at being left alone?’
‘True enough.’ And neither was he. At all. ‘But my sister is with her, which will help.’
Henry’s goblet paused halfway to his mouth. ‘A sister? Where did she spring from?’
‘Not seen for many years. Or the rest of my family.’ Palmer gave a brief account of his loss.
‘A sad tale.’ Henry frowned. ‘And one that concerns me. You should never have been found.’
‘My thoughts too. But in truth, I haven’t been. I was found as Benedict Palmer, the cotter’s son sent away as a squire. No one has the first clue of my knighthood. Joan found me through a man from Wattick I remember well. As for Lord Ordell and the Abbot Remigius, they have ruled our village for years.’
Henry drank deep. ‘Not among any who have helped the rebellion.’
‘And her first act was to save Tom when she thought he was drowning.’
‘She saved the boy?’
‘Without a thought for herself.’
‘That speaks of your stock.’ Henry’s frown lifted. ‘But she can never know of your real past. You hear me?’
‘That’s Theodosia’s worry too. I give you my word that’ll never happen.’
‘Good. And we will find ways to ensure it once this present crisis has passed. In the meantime, I will ask Geoffrey to write to the local abbot at Wattick and purchase indulgences. The least I can do is aid the passage of your family’s souls through purgatory.’
‘Geoffrey?’
‘My bastard son. Came from the womb of Ykenai, one of the finest whores that ever lived. He stood shoulder to shoulder with me during the rebellion. I’ve made him Bishop of Lincoln.’ Henry grinned to himself. ‘Though I think he’d rather wield a battleaxe than a cross.’ Henry’s look darkened again. ‘But I have a more pressing matter, the reason I summoned you. Have you heard talk of my putting the Queen aside, my annulment?’
Palmer nodded.
‘I thought as much. Tongues wag daily about it. I tried to keep my letters to Rome a secret, but I didn’t succeed. A pope is never brought to heel by a king, though I would love to see that day.’ Henry struck the windowsill with a clenched fist. ‘You know it is for Amélie?’
‘I guessed, your Grace.’
‘I also have a mistress, Palmer.’
‘I had heard idle talk, your Grace.’
‘Nothing idle about it. Rosamund Clifford is delightful. She has loins that could warm a corpse.’
Palmer had no reply so drank instead.
Henry began to pace.
Palmer steeled himself. He’d seen this before. The King’s pacing usually led to a roaring rage.
‘Yet some knave has decided that she should come to harm.’ He turned, paced back. ‘Some bastard of a diseased whore has tried to kill her. My mistress! Here!’
‘Who, your Grace?’
Henry’s high colour deepened. ‘I don’t know. All I have established is the person was robed and came in through her window. Armed with a knife, Palmer.’ He kicked out at the lyre, sending it spinning on the floor. ‘He meant to slay her. And that is what worries me. People think Rosamund is why I am appealing for my annulment. I believe somebody is trying to kill her for that reason.’
Palmer’s spine prickled. It starts again. ‘I have a guess at who that might be, your Grace.’
Henry nodded hard. ‘Eleanor. I’d stake my life on it. She’s locked up, but she still has supporters on the outside to make sure an annulment never happens. Her reach is like a serpent, sliding through cracks and crevices to strike without warning.’ He stopped to refill his goblet again. ‘I know why it is happening, but I do not know who is behind it. There is only one man I completely trust to find the truth’—Henry pointed at Palmer—‘and that is you.’
Palmer bowed. ‘Thank you, your Grace. I am happy to be revealed as a knight called to fight for you—’
Henry cut him off with a wave. ‘No, no, man. Not for fighting. At least not yet. I have many warriors, including my bastard son Geoffrey. Even they were not enough to put off the attack. And people know who they are. Nobody here knows you.’ Henry paused to refill his goblet again. ‘I have told the lady Rosamund that I will build her the finest bower and labyrinth in the kingdom, a consolation for the dreadful attack on her.’ He raised his goblet to Palmer. ‘Yes, I have summoned you as Sir Benedict Palmer, recently returned from a long crusade. For your loyal service to me, I have asked you to help her design and oversee the building of her gardens.’ Henry drank. ‘You can be at her side, and no one will think anything of it.’
A bower builder? Me? ‘Your Grace, you know me; I’m a fighter—that’s what I do best.’
‘And you may well have the chance to use those skills.’ Henry drank again. ‘Fighting is not only wielding a sword. You saved my daughter’s and my wife’s lives, with a quick mind as well as those muscles. The way to fight stealth is with stealth. Palmer, you must be my eyes and ears. You can be abroad here, seeking objects and plants for the gardens, hiring men. You won’t be suspected. You will find who has done this so that I can deliver justice upon that man’s head. That is my command.’
No matter how ill thought out this task, there could be no more argument. Henry’s piercing gaze told Palmer that. ‘I’ll serve you loyally as I have always, your Grace.’
‘Good. I leave for London in the morning. If you need to send a message, send Stanton.’
‘Your Grace.’ Palmer bowed. This mission was nothing he could have guessed at. And what if he didn’t succeed?
‘Camels. The same beasts from the Bible.’ Palmer’s breath misted on the chill of the early hour.
‘The very same.’ Geoffrey’s glower didn’t alter. The King’s son by a whore shared Henry’s high colour and red hair. But unlike the King, he stood near as tall and broad as a barn door. Henry had given Geoffrey the task of showing Palmer round the grounds at Woodstock, one he clearly wanted as much as a loose boot nail through his foot. ‘Are you also a man of letters, Palmer?’
‘No,’ said Palmer. ‘I rode camels in Palestine.’ An easy lie. He had ridden them in his days travelling as a fighting knight. In the days before Theodosia. His children.
‘Funny, I never heard of you during the rebellion,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Yet here you are, summoned by his Grace in an extravagant gesture for his wounded mistress. A summons he made without seeking my counsel.’
‘I never question his Grace’s decisions.’ Palmer held Geoffrey’s stare before bringing his focus back to the hump-backed creatures that stood behind the wooden fence. They stared at him as they chewed like cattle, but with teeth longer than any donkey’s. ‘As for the rebellion, I was fighting for Christ in the Holy Land. I’m not long return
ed.’ He shrugged and his thick cloak swung open. No mind. The fine set of clothes given to him by Henry kept the cold at bay.
‘Bit pale for a man burned by that fierce sun, aren’t you?’
‘The ice and snow trapped me at the port of Southampton for many months. No fierce sun there.’
‘No.’ Geoffrey still didn’t sound convinced.
One camel lifted its lip and spewed a stream of green at the ground.
‘Ill-tempered beasts,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Bite you, spit at you. Can’t wait to mount each other. Worse than any stallion, but without a fine foal to show for it.’ He walked on to the next enclosure.
Men hurried past, carrying bales of fresh straw, others dragging carts of foul-smelling droppings.
‘Why does his Grace keep such beasts?’
‘His Grace makes all kinds of decisions that one could question. Especially when it comes to his mistress.’ Geoffrey’s latest scowl at Palmer showed his employment by the King was definitely among them. ‘The camels are gifts from other rulers. It would be a huge insult for him not to tend to them. Like all the animals in his menagerie.’
‘Their number shows how he’s admired . . .’ Palmer stopped beside Geoffrey to take in the contents of the pen. Birds of brightest blue squawked and chattered. ‘How many are loyal to him,’ he finished.
Songbirds with tunes he’d never heard hid amongst the branches of small trees. Thin strands of metal sealed the top of the pen, trapping the birds. The droppings that a man swept up and shovelled into a pail stank, sharper and worse than any henhouse.
‘The loyalty he inspires is a wonder indeed. Though there are those that would smile to his face yet still betray him.’ Geoffrey held Palmer’s look longer than Palmer liked. ‘It is my greatest wish to find them, all of them. And carve those smiles off with my sword.’
‘As would be right.’ Fighting words from the Bishop of Lincoln. Henry’s description had been true. Geoffrey seemed more suited to be a warrior than a man of the cloth.
‘Geoffrey! Wait!’
Palmer turned from the cage to see where the young female voice came from.