Who are you? He said more to himself than to her, “When she let you go to return to me, she had to know she would never gain the silver coins. Why then did she let you come back to me? It makes no sense.”
Merry only shrugged.
“Do you not remember just a week ago, no more than that, you feared her in equal measure that you hated her? Do you still deny her part in the murder of so many of Wareham’s people, and all because she wanted the silver?”
“You make it sound like she wielded a sword. She did not, she merely gave advice and counsel to Jason of Brennan. She had no idea what he would do, the lengths he would go to. I will tell this to the king. Jason of Brennan must confess his lies about her, as will Sir Halric.”
He regarded her silently for a moment, then asked her, his voice curious, “Do you really believe them lies, Merry?”
“What do you care what I think? You are nothing, Garron, nothing but a guard.”
Oddly, he wanted to laugh. He realized her blow didn’t hit deep, and, he supposed, if it had come from the Merry of only days before, it would have crippled him. “A royal guard, Merry, a royal guard. When you came back to me, you kissed me and told me you wished to be my wife. Was that only because you still believed I was an earl with wealth and a valuable holding? Did you ever care for me?”
“Aye, I did, but I must look forward now, not back. You speak of caring, my lord, look to yourself. We could have wedded anytime during this past week, but we did not. I would have wed you, but you made no mention of it. And why is that? Why?”
And there it was, in the open space between them. What could he say to her when he himself only knew in his gut that he simply hadn’t wished to? “Tell me, Merry, do you wish to wed with Jason of Brennan if the king lets him walk away whole hide?”
She gave him a cool smile, tossed her beautiful hair. “Jason has only one ear. Who would want to wed with a man with only one ear?”
“Still,” Garron said, his voice utterly emotionless, “if Lord Ranulf convinces the king his claim to the silver is valid, if he offers the king a royal share, then mayhap the king will give Jason over into his father’s keeping. If Lord Ranulf allows Jason to live, why then, will he not be his father’s heir? Aye, would Jason not be rich and titled upon Lord Ranulf’s death?”
He gave her a humorless smile. “What is one missing ear given all that?”
“I will think about it,” Merry said, turned on her heel, and walked away.
Garron stared after her, wondering how a man’s life, how his very world, could collapse so completely in such a short time. This girl he’d cared for more than he cared for himself but days ago, had become a stranger, a stranger he no longer even liked. Who are you? What are you? What did your mother do to you?
Imposter?
He very much hoped the king would destroy Helen of Meizerling. If not, he hoped the king would allow him to kill her; only then would the world be safe from her. He saw again her tower in the forest, saw it whole, then saw it abandoned, as if it had been gutted decades before. Her power was astounding. And because he could not explain it, something deep within him was very afraid. And he thought of how Merry had tried to escape Jason of Brennan because she’d sensed evil in him, as she’d once sensed evil in her mother. But now—
His head hurt.
51
LONDON
It was a fine day in June when Garron stood before the King of England, the queen at his right hand, Burnell at his left. Merry had moved to stand with the queen’s ladies along the far wall, which was covered with beautiful tapestries sewn by Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine herself in the last century.
The piles of silver coins were safely locked in the king’s coffers. Jason of Brennan and Sir Halric were in the dungeon.
Edward said to Garron, his voice weary, “There is such strife in the land. The Welsh and the Scots are eagerly slitting any English throats they can catch, and destroying English lands.” He sat back in his throne, crossed his long legs, and tented his fingers. “After the Holy Land, I never believed life could become so grim again, but it has. And now you present me with problems that will doubtless fill my royal craw to overflowing.” His vivid blue eyes lightened a bit. “At least you bring me enough silver to equip my army so I may crush the Scots, then the infernal Welsh. Very well, let us deal with this. Robbie has told me the substance, but now I require all the needful details. What say you, Garron?”
“I thank you, sire, for convincing Jason of Brennan to tell you where he was holding my brother. I only pray he did not torture Arthur beyond recovery.”
Edward did not particularly care, truth be told. “We will see. Lord Ranulf will be here shortly, as will Abbess Helen of Meizerling.”
Garron nodded. “You asked me what I have to say, sire. I say that once you have assembled all the players, then our mystery play will begin, and hopefully all will become clear, to both of us.”
“Only the final act, Garron, only the final act. I wish to speak to you first for I have never known you to lie or twist the truth for your advantage, unless you have changed. Have you?”
“No sir, I have not changed, even though I was an earl for a short time.”
The king gave him a sour smile. “Come with me. Robbie, you wait here.”
A servant scurried forward and pulled aside a rich velvet curtain behind the king’s throne. The king walked into a small opulent chamber that held a beautifully carved table he’d brought back with him from Sicily, four magnificent gilt chairs, gifts from the Doge of Venice, surrounding it. There were no windows. The walls were covered with vivid Flemish tapestries. It was the king’s sanctuary, perfectly silent and private. The king motioned Garron to sit. “Robbie tells me you have willingly given up claim to wed the heiress of Valcourt.”
“Aye.”
“I believed, as did Eleanor, that you would make a fine lord for Valcourt. However, given what has happened, Valcourt will be administered by one of my men until—well, until there is a new Earl of Valcourt. But the fact is, Garron, if your brother lives, you will no longer be the Earl of Wareham. You will no longer have a title or holdings, you will no longer have any wealth at all since you spent it all on Wareham. All this—if your brother lives.”
The king rose and began to pace the room. His legs were so long it did not take him long to turn and stride back. “So what should I do about you, Garron, if your brother is indeed still alive?”
Garron realized he really didn’t much care. “I suppose there is nothing to be done. I ask but one favor, sire. I wish to fight Jason of Brennan. I want to kill him for what he has done. The witch? I would also slit her throat if you agree to it.”
The king poured two goblets of fine wine from the Rhineland, and handed one to Garron. He looked at him closely as both men drank the sweet red wine.
“I will certainly let you question the abbess since you have intimate knowledge of her. Then we will see. As for Ranulf, I know him well, as did my father. He will tell me the truth.” He added, smiling fiercely, “And then we will see about Jason of Brennan’s future.”
52
MEIZERLING ABBEY
The king’s men, led by Sir Dancy of Archencourt, were conducted to the chamber where, they were told by the Abbess Helen of Meizerling’s master-at-arms that she was within, conducting her work. He was not happy, but had no choice but to obey the king’s command. He feared his very fine world was teetering, given the severity of Sir Dancy’s expression, the harshness of his words.
Helen sat at her vast worktable, a quill poised in her hand above a sheet of parchment. When she saw the men enter, she slowly rose.
Sir Dancy could but stare. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but this incredible creature with her golden hair uncovered by a nun’s wimple, and milk-white skin, eyes the color of a foggy sky, was not it.
“L-Lady Helen? Abbess Helen?”
Helen heard his surprise, his admiration, and smiled. She took a graceful step forward. “I am Abbess Hel
en. How may I assist you, sir?”
Sir Dancy bowed. He remembered Garron’s words, remembered how he’d not really believed him: Be careful, Dancy, do not ever be alone with her, keep your men around you. Do not take any drink from her. She is more dangerous than I can say.
And Sir Dancy thought, staring at her, feeling lust rise in his blood, This glorious creature is dangerous? Surely not.
“I arrive from the king, madam,” and he handed her a rolled parchment. It never occurred to him to ask her if she could read. He watched her unroll the parchment, her hands so white and graceful, and read what Robert Burnell had written from the king.
After a moment, she looked up at Dancy. “I require two hours to prepare.”
Dancy nodded. “I am instructed to accompany you to your bedchamber, madam.” He remembered Garron’s words and nodded to all his men to fall in behind him.
So many men, she thought, too many. Ah, but she would have the king alone. Surely she could bring that to pass.
Merry listened to Sister Maude and Sister Alice speak outside her cell door. They brought her food twice daily and waited until she had finished, then removed the tray, saying nothing to her, no matter how innocent her questions. They must really fear her mother to obey her exactly. But now, now—the king had sent men to take her mother back to London, and the sisters were whispering about it. Were they pleased? Did they hate her as much as Merry did, or were they more afraid of her than anything else?
She remembered standing at the edge of the forest, near the old woman’s cottage, the meat in her hand, when she’d heard that loud whooshing sound. She could see herself whirl about, but there was no enemy, only the dark forest in front of her. And then something had slammed down on her head and she’d collapsed. Had she heard an old woman’s cackle? Was it the woodcutter’s widow who’d struck her down?
And she’d awakened here in this small cell. Yet again, her mother had bested her, and she’d wanted to weep at her failure.
The king had ordered her mother to come to London, to him, and she thus had no choice. What had he found out? Had Garron uncovered the truth? What had happened?
Now she had another chance.
The witch is leaving. She smiled into the dim light and readied herself.
53
LONDON
Garron looked from Abbess Helen of Meizerling to Merry, who now stood beside her. He watched Merry slip her hand into her mother’s. He watched Helen look down at her and give her a faint smile. Beautiful, vibrant Merry, who wasn’t his Merry, and he knew in that instant that the witch had done something lasting to her own daughter—or was it something else? Was she an imposter? But how could that be?
Lord Ranulf stood straight as a soldier and watched with no outward emotion as his son and Sir Halric were brought into the king’s chamber. Jason saw his father and started forward, but a guard grabbed his arm and held him back. His father nodded toward Sir Halric, which made Jason hiss like a snake.
Garron looked at the man responsible for so much death and misery, the man who’d tortured his brother, and thought, I shouldn’t have cut off your damned ear, I should have stuck my knife through your neck and been done with it. Would the king allow him to take vengeance? He knew in that moment he would fight him, it didn’t matter what the king said.
Robert Burnell, at a nod from the king, said to Lord Ranulf, “You will step forward, my lord, and you will tell us who Arlette is and how she gathered such a huge number of silver coins. You will not speak nonsense about Druid priestesses and curses. You will tell the king the exact truth.”
Garron studied Jason of Brennan’s father, Lord Ranulf, Earl of Carronwick. He was tall and sturdy, well muscled, very fine of face, just like his son. He wore a black tunic and mail, dusty from his travel to London. He said in a pleasant, deep voice, “Sire, I wove a fantastic tale for my son because he was just a lad when he first saw the silver coins, and would not have understood the truth. I threatened him with curses and punishment to ensure his silence, and he did remain silent until he lost his wits in drunkenness, and told Arthur of Wareham.
“Arlette was no Druid priestess, she was my mother. I was sixteen when she first showed me the silver coins. She told me they came from Philip, King of France. He’d sent her newly issued English round farthings to pay out amongst John’s barons to overthrow him, and back Philip’s claim to the English throne. Later, however, when I had gained more years, she told me Philip of France had indeed paid her in silver coins, but it was payment for her to poison your grandfather. She told me her father, my grandfather, had sent her to the court in Paris as a young girl. Even at fourteen, she had great maturity, charm, and wit. She became King Philip’s mistress. She told me he came to trust her completely.
“As you know, most believe your grandfather, King John, died of dysentery in the fall of 1216, only a year after signing the Great Charter at Runnymede.”
Burnell said, “Lord Ranulf, why did the King of France believe your mother could get close enough to King John to poison him? What was she to John?”
“In truth, she was also King John’s mistress, sire. Arlette herself told me King John was so ill he could not gain bodily satisfaction from her, but he loved to have her close to him, to look at her, to stroke her. She gave him comfort.
“I remember as a boy I heard people marvel at her beauty, but I paid no particular attention because she was my mother. A few years ago I found a small rendering of her, and saw that her beauty was indeed remarkable.”
Edward said, “Some have said John’s ale was poisoned, others have said the poison was in some plums he ate. Mayhap your mother did indeed poison him.”
“Arlette told me she’d known John’s death would come soon enough, with no assistance from anyone. She said when he died, she was surprised when the King of France sent no one to take back his silver. She supposed he believed she had indeed poisoned John.
“Upon John’s death, Arlette married the Earl of Carronwick, left London, and took the silver coins with her. She did not spend them, she guarded them for future generations. My father died without ever knowing about the stash of silver coins.”
Jason of Brennan took a step forward, only to be pulled back by Whalen. “Father, why did you lie to me?”
Lord Ranulf slowly turned to look at his only son. “You were seven years old, Jason. How could I tell you the truth? You would not have understood.”
“I would have understood if only you had told me the truth! I could have drunk a barrel of ale and not said anything had I known this Arlette was my own grandmother. And I have been a man for many years. Why have you not told me the truth?”
Lord Ranulf’s expression was austere. “I did not tell you because I knew you were not to be trusted.” He turned back to the king. “Sir Halric is my man. When I discovered the coins were gone, when my son swore to me he knew nothing about them, I requested Halric to join my son to keep watch on him. He has been loyal to me, he tried to curb my son’s excesses. Unfortunately, this was not always possible, witness the so-called Retribution at Wareham brought by this Black Demon.
“When Sir Halric caught the heiress of Valcourt, he was bringing her to me. He did not realize it was Garron of Kersey who took her from him. I beg that you spare him, sire, for he has been loyal to me for many years.”
“What about me, Father?” Jason struggled and heaved against the guard, but it was no use. “The only reason I attacked Wareham was to find the silver coins so I could return them to you! I did nothing wrong!”
Ranulf said nothing, simply stood before the King of England, tall and proud, waiting for the sentence.
Edward desperately wanted to keep all those beautiful silver coins. Were his needs not greater than Ranulf’s? Were his needs not greater than any other of his subjects? Was it not his duty to protect England? And the good Lord knew it required silver. He tapped his long fingers on the arm of his throne and fought with himself. Aye, he would use the silver to help him crush those dam
ned Scots and Welsh—but Lord Ranulf had always been loyal to him, had always met his demands with soldiers and silver. And Ranulf had told him the truth, the entire truth, he knew it to his gut. What to do?
He found himself turning to Garron, a young man who had saved his life twice. “What say you, Garron?”
Jason yelled, “Why would you ask him? He is nothing!”
Garron said, “What I say, sire, is that the silver coins be returned to Lord Ranulf. In gratitude to you, he should pay you the same share I would have, had I been able to keep the silver. Mayhap too, Marianna de Luce de Mornay could wed with Lord Ranulf. Mayhap she can breed him a son with honor.” He saw Merry still holding the witch’s hand. Honor from a son born of that union?
Lord Ranulf gawked at him.
A lovely melodious voice said, “May I speak, sire?”
Garron, like every other person in the chamber, turned to Abbess Helen of Meizerling.
The king nodded. “Aye, madam, what is it you have to say?”
“I do not believe my daughter should wed Lord Ranulf, rather she should wed his son, Jason of Brennan, and the silver coins should be given to me as her dowry. In return, your majesty will have a just share of the silver, and Valcourt will have an excellent master, one forever loyal and grateful to you, sire. If you will forgive his youthful transgressions.”
The king turned to look long at Garron. “What say you?”
Garron didn’t want to say anything, even though he knew the witch realized well enough that if her daughter was wed to Ranulf, she would never see a single silver coin. What Garron wanted more than anything was to fight Jason of Brennan and run his sword through his damned belly. And, oddly, he wanted to laugh. In truth, though, nothing mattered except revenge, Garron thought, since he was again what he once was, and that wasn’t so bad, was it? “I have changed my mind, sire. I believe the heiress should wed my brother Arthur, the Earl of Wareham. He would keep the silver as reparation for Lord Ranulf’s son destroying Wareham and murdering scores of his people.”