The Princess

by Elizabeth Elliott

  Walter began to make sounds that I eventually realized were sobs. His innocence was possible but not probable. If no one confessed to the Roland murders or explained Aleric’s part in this plot, Walter would be judged by the company he kept.

  “Were you Aleric’s lover?” I asked. “Is that how he set you on such a bloody path? Or were you and your husband promised riches and power?”

  Blanche remained silent, her head still bowed, but I could tell she was listening to me.

  “Do you see Aleric in this room? Do you think he has enough power in this country to rescue you from your fate?”

  Her head tilted a little to one side and she started to look up at me, but then caught herself and put her chin back down. That telling gesture made me wonder.

  “It should be obvious by now that no one is coming to your rescue. Whatever Aleric has promised you is not true. If his plot succeeded, he would not allow three people to live who had murdered one of the king’s children, accomplices who knew he was behind the plot. There is only one way to ensure that none of you would repeat the tale, or try to blackmail him.” I gave an exasperated sigh. “You would be as dead as me, had you succeeded.”

  Faulke put his hand on my shoulder when I took a step forward, but I shook my head slightly and his hand dropped away. Blanche was no longer a danger to me.

  “The most you can hope for is a quick death,” I assured her. “That is your best hope. The alternative is unending torture until you confess to what you could tell us right now. My father is outraged by this plot, and he has given us leave to judge and execute you all. You have already been found guilty. The king did not say how quickly we had to execute you, and I did not lie about Chiavari. He knows how to keep a person painfully alive. Whatever my husband does to you, Chiavari will make sure it is not fatal, and he will undo just enough damage so my husband can torture you again and again. Your suffering will be unending.”

  I looked up and down the row of prisoners, making certain they saw the resolve in my eyes.

  “I will confess!” Walter shouted, between sobs. His voice was remarkably clear.

  “No!” Blanche cried out. “We are dead either way. Do not betray him.”

  “Be silent,” Faulke hissed at Blanche.

  At the same time, I saw Richard go to the door and motion the two guards inside. The more witnesses to a confession, the better.

  Blanche’s voice had been shrill enough that Crispin stirred awake. He turned his head to look down the wall toward his brother-in-law, but his eyes were dull and lifeless. I wondered how much of Sir Crispin was actually left in there.

  “You were his lover, not me,” Walter spat to Blanche. He actually spat. The spray was bloody. I took a few steps backward. “Crispin came up with the idea of poisoning Roland. We met Roland at a public house that he often visited where he met with his daughter’s husband, and we befriended him with the tale that we had also competed for his post. The sweetmeats were a gift of congratulations from the losers.”

  Oliver approached Walter as soon as the young man stopped talking. He gave Oliver a resigned look, but Oliver had nothing more deadly than a cup of water in his hand. He held it to Walter’s lips and the young man drank greedily. So greedily that I wondered when the prisoners last had anything to drink. It was a strange thought. Caring. I had once cared for these creatures…to a certain extent. I pushed those emotions away. If they could endure torture, I could endure hearing their confessions.

  “Continue,” Faulke bit out.

  Walter gave a weary nod, but his voice was not as strong. He had given up. “You were right. The earl promised us lands of our own and powerful positions at Almain if we killed the princess after the wedding, and made certain no one could trace the murder back to him. He was the one who suggested poison, whenever the time was right. Aleric said that everyone would suspect the Segraves.” He shook his head, his expression hopeless. “I knew his promises were too good to be true. I knew it, but Crispin and my sister were certain they were clever enough to accomplish the deed.”

  “What reasons did he give you for the plot?” Faulke asked.

  Walter’s gaze went to Faulke. His voice had enough heat that I knew Walter believed everything he said. “Aleric said you were a traitor, that the king wanted you dead but could not find enough evidence to order your execution. Aleric was aware of the betrothal negotiations from the start. King Edward wanted his council on the terms, since Aleric had managed all the princess’s properties when she was in Rheinbaden. The king wanted to know their exact worth. Aleric showed him a false set of records.”

  Walter hesitated, at last wondering if he had said too much.

  “ ’Tis all right, boy,” Oliver said in a soft voice. “This is the king’s own daughter. He would never condone her murder, under any circumstances. You are bearing witness against the true traitor. Go to the grave with a clear conscience, son. God will forgive you.”

  I wondered if that was true. Not that it mattered. Walter would die either way. He had simply chosen the time of his passing. These were his last words.

  I swayed a little, and Faulke’s arm was instantly around me. It was a relief to lean against him. I was still weaker than I realized from the poison, and hearing how my cousin plotted to murder me was taking its toll. Knowing these three people would soon die as a result seemed surreal, a dream, but I knew it was horribly real.

  Faulke leaned down to whisper in my ear. “Do you wish to leave?”

  I shook my head. I would listen to everything Walter had to say. Oliver continued to coax the young man, speaking to him as if they were friends.

  “Aleric has been collecting more than his share of the princess’s wealth over the years,” Walter said at last. “No one expected that she would ever return to England. The records were carefully falsified so that her eventual heir would have no questions. There would likely be a new king on the throne by that time, one who did not know that the estates were worth far more than Aleric reported each year. And then Prince Hartman died. Soon after, Aleric was called to court to produce copies of his records for Maldon and all of Princess Isabel’s estates. That was when he decided to act.”

  Walter’s voice was growing hoarse, and Oliver brought him another drink of water. The look of gratitude in Walter’s eyes chafed at me, that he could be grateful to one of his torturers for something so simple. Poor Walter. I wondered how he had been so misled. His soul was surely black before this business began, but there was sin and darkness in every man’s soul. No one had to act on that darkness. Walter’s downfall was his willingness to be led astray.

  I tried to harden my heart again, but the amount of torture that had taken place in this room was starting to affect me, to seep through my defenses. I didn’t need my imagination to wonder what these three had already endured. The evidence was before me. I prayed that Walter finished his confession soon, or the meal Faulke had insisted I eat would be on the floor.

  Dante summarized what Walter had just told them. “So the princess was to die to conceal Aleric’s embezzlement.”

  Walter nodded.

  “What else?” Chiavari asked with a subtle glance in Faulke’s direction. Faulke’s nod was just as subtle.

  “N—nothing,” Walter whispered. “That is the whole of it.”

  What happened next was so fast that I would have missed it if I had blinked. A knife appeared in Chiavari’s hand and a red smile appeared on Walter’s neck. The young knight never saw it coming.

  I gave a little gasp of alarm and Faulke pulled me to his side to tuck me beneath the shelter of his arm. I couldn’t keep my horrified gaze from Walter. Chiavari held one hand in a tight hold on Walter’s neck to stop the spray of blood. The other hand was curved around the young knight’s head in an almost fatherly grip as Walter’s head fell to Chiavari’s shoulder. Walter jerked and thrashed a little in the throes
of death, but he was already weakened by three days of being chained and tortured. His body didn’t put up much of a fight. Chiavari made comforting hushing noises as Walter began to twitch less and less, and then finally slumped over, dead.

  Chiavari was covered with blood when he stepped away from the dead man. Armand handed him a cloth and Chiavari cleaned himself as best he could. His face was completely expressionless, even when he turned toward Faulke.

  “Crispin knows something more,” he said, nodding toward the now-conscious knight who had not seemed to react at all to Walter’s death. “I could see it in his eyes when the boy spoke. If Crispin knows, his wife likely knows as well.”

  I glanced up at Faulke. Whatever he saw in my expression convinced him that I could not put on a hard face for the prisoners again. I was done interrogating them. The room reeked of blood and death.

  “Why do you dislike me so much?” Faulke asked almost conversationally as he turned toward Crispin to await an answer.

  The heat in Crispin’s eyes was just a flicker, but it was there.

  “Do you really wish your wife to suffer for your secrets?” Faulke asked. “We will start again on her torture, if you do not answer.”

  “She is Aleric’s whore, not mine,” Crispin croaked. “He gave me Blanche to keep her close at hand. Do what you will with her.”

  I looked to Blanche, and then back at Crispin. He had been a household knight, and Blanche had been a well-born mistress to his lord. The arrangement was common enough. Crispin’s reward for the marriage was likely a handsome dowry and recommendation to my father’s service, to elevate Crispin from his brother’s shadow. And to involve him in this plot. I doubted Crispin took much convincing.

  What bothered me most about today’s revelations was that I had briefly met Aleric at court and I thought him trustworthy. He was a powerful earl in the west. He had the king’s ear. He was family. My judgment of him had been entirely wrong, based mostly upon the fact that he was family, I realized. Now I wondered at my stupidity, considering how many of my ancestors had conspired against one another.

  It was easy to lean on Faulke, but I was not a coward. I steeled my spine to address Crispin and stood on my own. “You grew up at Almain. You have known Aleric your whole life. Your loyalty is commendable, but you must know that Aleric is already a dead man.” I nodded toward the other men in the room, including the English guards. “The king will hear them testify to Walter’s confession. To conspire against me in my absence was to conspire against the crown. I hold lands and wealth in England through the grace of my father. Aleric was given the job of managing those estates, for fair payment in return. Instead he stole from me, which meant he stole from the crown. And then to plot my murder?”

  “No one will lift a hand against my lord,” Crispin said with some difficulty. “Aleric’s father was the king’s own brother, his grandfather was our king. The barons will stand with Lord Aleric. He has more sway in England than you and your traitorous husband, or that foreigner and his men.”

  That last was said with a glance at Chiavari. Apparently, Crispin was unaware of Chiavari’s true identity.

  “Aleric will never face a trial,” I agreed, “but he will not enjoy a long life. My father has other ways of punishing proven treachery.”

  Crispin stared at me until comprehension dawned in his eyes.

  “The king’s assassin,” Crispin breathed. A dreadful look of understanding crossed his face. Amazingly, he had no idea that he was in the same room with my father’s notorious hired killer. Chiavari was retired now, but I was certain that Mordecai had already found another to put in Chiavari’s place. There was always another.

  “Aleric and his supporters would certainly dismiss the word of those he considers beneath him,” I said as I gestured to the other men in the room. “But my father will listen to the truth and deal with treachery accordingly. I doubt Aleric will outlive you by more than a fortnight. So tell me,” I tried again. “Why do you and your lord hate my husband so much?”

  Surprisingly, Crispin answered. “Promise me mercy, and I will tell you all of it.”

  Apparently he finally believed my claim that Aleric was a dead man. I was fairly sure it was the truth.

  I looked up at Faulke. To promise Crispin mercy was to deny Faulke his revenge. His mouth was turned downward in a scowl, but he gave me a sharp nod.

  “You have my promise,” I said to Crispin.

  “Water first,” he croaked.

  Everyone waited while Oliver fulfilled that last request. There was so much hatred in Crispin’s eyes that I half expected him to spit the water at Faulke. I think it was in his mind to, but he was too thirsty and he drank as greedily as Walter had.

  “You were all fostered together at Pembroke,” Crispin said at last to Faulke. “That is where you first showed your true colors. You pretended to be Lord Aleric’s friend, but the entire time you were plotting against him. You conspired to steal his intended bride, Jeanne of Wentworth. You bewitched the girl, and then you killed her.”

  Faulke was slowly shaking his head from side to side, his expression a mixture of disbelief and outrage. His eyes locked with mine, and he spoke to me rather than Crispin. “I was never Aleric of Almain’s friend. I was too far beneath his notice until the girl he wanted to wed became fixated upon me. I did not encourage Jeanne’s attentions. She was spoiled and willful, and her father was willing to do as she entreated to make her happy. I knew Jeanne’s father as well as Aleric’s father would not be happy that I had ended their plans for a betrothal between their children. Alienating two powerful earls was not what I intended, but Jeanne said she would swear I had compromised her if I did not agree to the marriage.”

  I stared at Faulke in shock. That hardly sounded like the love match Avalene had once described. Somehow, I knew this was the real story of his first marriage. Jeanne and her father had forced him into it. Just as my father had forced him into our marriage. No wonder he had looked so angry that first day we met.

  “Your brat killed her,” Crispin hissed. “You had taken my lord’s woman, and then killed her. He had his revenge with your next two wives. If he couldn’t have Jeanne, then you were not allowed to have anyone. Not a wife, not an heir.” He looked at me then, his face beyond the ability to smirk, but I had the feeling that was his intent. “One of his spies will see to you, too.”

  Everyone stared at Crispin in silence as the implication of his words hit home. Faulke was the first to react. He grabbed Crispin by the neck and slammed his head against the wall. “Tell me a name!”

  Crispin managed to shake his head. His smile was truly gruesome. “I do not know the wench’s name, but you trust her with your children. Aleric said she came with them to London.”

  Faulke’s face went completely colorless. He stared at Crispin without seeing him, and I knew he was mentally cataloguing all the people who had traveled to London with the girls. At last he straightened and I knew he had thought of the most likely culprit. His gave Crispin’s head a quick twist, there was the sharp sound of bones breaking in Crispin’s neck, and then he turned toward me with a bleak look on his face.

  “I need to find our children.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The Truth

  “The king has delayed his journey to the Scottish border,” Faulke told me that evening as he read through the latest messages from the Tower.

  I looked to the place where Blanche used to sit with her hoop, and recalled how she would shout at Gretchen and Hilda when she tried to teach them French. Blanche could have been a good person, if not for Aleric’s poisonous influence.

  Everyone had gathered around the long table in my solar that night to discuss the shocking turn of events. Hilda and Gretchen, Richard and Gerhardt, Dante and Avalene, even Rami, who pretended to serve everyone ale while the pile of apples in the center of the table grew noticeably
smaller and Rami’s frame grew noticeably lumpier. The only soldiers standing guard were outside the solar doors. The men inside had somehow grudgingly come to trust one another.

  “Blanche and Merewald are to be taken into the king’s custody when we deliver our reports as to what took place here,” Faulke said. “He wants Isabel and each man who was present to bear witness to the confessions of the dead.” He glanced at me and I knew he would like to spare me that retelling, but there was no gainsaying the king.

  “What will happen to the women?” Avalene asked. “How is this Merewald person involved?”

  “Merewald was originally Faulke’s first wife Jeanne’s maid,” I told her. I exchanged a look with Faulke and continued when he gave a small nod. “Merewald came to Hawksforth with Jeanne when her mistress married Faulke, and then she took over the care of Claire when Jeanne died. She blamed Faulke for Jeanne’s early demise, and was somehow convinced that her mistress would have lived, if only Jeanne and Aleric had been allowed to wed.”

  Avalene huffed. “How could she be so misguided?”

  “Aleric had a spy in his pay from the start of Jeanne’s marriage,” I said, “a troubadour that visited Hawksforth every few months to collect information. He fostered a friendship with the maid, and we suspect he worked hard to poison her against Faulke. After Jeanne died, he even convinced Merewald that Faulke would marry Claire to some lowborn Segrave to ensure that his daughter’s inheritance stayed under his control. The troubadour delivered a promise from Aleric that Claire would marry Aleric’s heir to Almain. That would make Claire a great lady like her mother, and unite the houses as Jeanne’s father had once planned. Merewald would be the hero. All she had to do was push Edith from the battlements, and put a little poison in Alice’s food.”