Rhiannon (4 page)

“Men do vent their rage when they can,” Ian remarked. “Thus,
if they have not come, it is fear, not rage, that restrains them. I have heard
the lesser men say that there is a plan to seize those without strong
overlords, to disseisin them, and to send Poitevins or other foreigners to take
their lands.”

“That is ridiculous,” Geoffrey said.

Walter nodded. “Cornwall and Ferrars are worried, but not
about such a thing as that. They talk to Henry and he wavers toward giving
assurances that he will proceed only according to strict law. Then the Bishop
of Winchester gets at him and tells him that he will be a laughingstock,
forever shamed as a weakling, if he yields. But there is this shadow of a
substance to the fear you mentioned, Lord Ian. Isabella tells me that there are
foreigners in court—men with considerable retinues, although what they live on
is a puzzle—and they flatter Henry and tell him that they would not so defy him
if they were his vassals.”

“This is madness,” Ian sighed. “Henry is behaving like a
child—”

“Which is not exactly unusual,” Sybelle snapped, thrusting a
goblet of wine into Walter’s hand.

Walter was so surprised by her interposition into the
conversation that his hand almost failed to close, but Geoffrey and Ian, the
two who had the most right to correct her, merely shrugged in a jaundiced way
in agreement with what she had said.

“It is not Henry I blame,” Ian went on. “Peter des Roches
must know that he is pushing the king down a dangerous path. What is wrong with
the man? Tomorrow I will go and talk to him.”

“Ian—” Geoffrey and Adam said together, and Simon cried
simultaneously, “No, Papa.”

“Winchester may have forgotten much, but I do not think he
has forgotten me,” Ian said grimly, ignoring the protests. “My very presence
here is a testimony to my loyalty. Moreover, what can he do to me when all of
you are here waiting for my return?”

“And what can we do if he holds you and threatens you?” Adam
asked angrily.

“He will do no such thing,” Ian said calmly, and would not
be moved from his decision.

He did not have it all his own way, however. Adam and Simon
conspicuously escorted him to the Bishop of Winchester’s lodging, fully armed
and with a large troop of men. More ostentatiously still, they would not go in
but sat on their horses a bowshot from the gates. Simon’s Welsh archers
unlimbered their bows and strung them, although they did not pull any arrows
from the long quivers slung across their backs.

In spite of this, Ian was not denied access to the bishop,
which many claimed was hard to obtain these days. Peter des Roches’ black eyes
narrowed as Ian bowed to kiss his ring. Unlike many churchmen, he had not
become portly with age. He had dried until he looked as hard as the rocks for
which he was named. Yet he was no ascetic; his intensity and activity burned
away what he ate and drank. “Why do you come here with such an escort, Lord
Ian?” he asked.

He could not have seen or heard the troop, but Ian was not
surprised that he knew. Winchester had not reached his past and present
eminence by having stupid servants or by being uninformed.

“My sons,” Ian said quietly, “think I am too old to defend
myself. And it is true that London is overfull of roistering men who take what
they want when they think they have a sufficiently weak victim.”

Winchester’s lips tightened, but he did not answer directly.
“What brings you here?” he repeated, but the emphasis was different. There was
almost relief in his voice because he thought Ian had some specific complaint
about the lawlessness in the city.

“Memories,” Ian replied. “When John was king, you and I
thought much alike. We desired a peaceful realm where king and barons both knew
their roles and carried them out with honesty.”

“I desired peace, yes,” Winchester responded, but his mouth
and eyes had gone hard. “And I still do, but neither this realm nor any other
will ever be at peace when authority is torn and divided. It is the role of the
king to command, that of his vassals to obey.”

“In war, perhaps, but for day-to-day life, my lord, that
would make all except the king slaves. Even the serfs have their small rights.
There is the law—”

“The king makes the law,” Winchester interrupted sharply.

“Only in council with the approval of his barons,” Ian said.
“That was signed and sealed at Runnymede, and Henry swore to the charter both
when he was crowned and again when, no longer a child, he took the reins of
government into his own hands.”

“Ridiculous! A charter extorted by force from the father,
and pushed upon a child who knew no better until the man was made to believe—”

“You were beside him then and beside the father when he
first swore!” Ian exclaimed, his voice rising as his temper erupted.

“Both oaths were under compulsion, and you know it, Lord
Ian,” Winchester said more calmly. He realized it would do no good to make Ian
angry. “And you also know the Holy Father absolved both John and Henry of that
pernicious oath.”

“It was not pernicious. It was necessary so that the barons
would know what was their right and what belonged to the king to decide as he
willed. My lord, I beg you to reconsider. You know I am no rebel. You know that
I held by my fealty to King John when others did not. You see I am here, in
answer to the king’s summons—”

“Indeed, I know you to be a true man,” Winchester agreed,
smiling, “which is why I care nothing if your sons sit outside and glower.” The
smile faded. “True men have naught to fear, but too many are unlike you, Lord
Ian. Bethink you, as an example, how the French lands were lost because of the
narrow vision of the English lords. When the king called for men and money for
war, all he received was argument—how it was no man’s duty to serve outside the
realm; how foreign wars were not to be laid on the backs of the English
vassals. If the king had been obeyed, half of France would still be in Henry’s
hands.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps there would have been more money and
more blood lost and the result would have been the same. God knows, John was no
soldier, and…” Ian paused, then shrugged. “Henry is no better.”

“That is not true—or, at least, it was not the cause of the
defeats. They were largely owing to the need for dependence on the disloyal
vassals of Anjou and Poitou. It was treachery, not lack of military skill, that
lost the French lands.”

There was more than enough truth in that to make Ian abandon
that line of reasoning. He sighed. “You may well be right, my lord, but I still
beg you to think again and to urge the king to moderate his ways. There is long
custom in this land supporting the right of the barons to take part in the
king’s decisions. I believe this to be just, but I did not come to contest with
you over our differing opinions of absolute right or wrong. All I wish to tell
you is that—right or wrong—the lords of England will not endure the abrogation
of Magna Carta. They will fight.”

“Are you threatening me?” Winchester asked softly.

“You know I am not,” Ian said. “I have given my fealty, and
I will support the king in all that is just. I am trying to explain how the
barons think—for I am one of them and you, forgive me, my lord, are not.
Moreover, you have been long away and you may not understand how things are.
You think you achieved a great victory when you overthrew Hubert de Burgh, but
that was accomplished because he was grown too powerful, and the lords would
not lift a finger to support him or even give him a refuge.”

“Yet he had been benefactor to many,” Winchester remarked
cynically. “Does this not prove that it is unwise for the king to trust in love
and favor? It is strength he needs.”

“There is not so much strength to be had in the whole world
as to tame this baronage while they believe they are wronged. My lord, can you
not see that the king’s strength lies in the habit of the lords of snapping and
snarling at each other so that he must settle their quarrels? Thus if a few cry
out unfairly that they are oppressed, all the others support the king. Believe
me, my lord, I am not threatening. I am warning you that what you are doing is
causing the barons to forget their private quarrels.”

Winchester laughed. “Oh, they will all curse and rage, but
the moment it comes to acting… They are all so swollen with pride that they
will fall to fighting over who should lead. Unless Pembroke—” He stopped
suddenly, having said more than he had intended, even to an old friend.

Ian pretended he had not heard the last words. “Do not press
them too far,” he urged. “Show only a little yielding. Say a few sweet words.
You are wise and subtle, my lord. These men can be led little by little to
where you want them to go, but if you try to drive them by force, you will
drive them instead to unite.”

“They will never unite.” Winchester sneered,
misunderstanding why Ian had ignored his reference to Richard Marshal. “If they
could not unite against John, who had such faults of person that he was hated,
they surely will not unite against Henry, who is not flawed as his father was.
Now you listen to my warning, Lord Ian. Henry will rule this land of himself,
without let or hindrance from his vassals, who, by God’s will, derive all their
power only from the king.”

“And where will the king’s strength come from, if not from
the support of his vassals?” Ian asked, lifting his brows.

“From those who are paid to obey, who understand that the
king made them and can unmake them.”

“From where will the money come to pay them?” Ian asked
sardonically. Taxation was not in the king’s hands and Winchester knew that. In
the end it was that power which had to be seized, of course, but the country
would need to be reduced to abject surrender first and for that, money would be
needed before the surrender.

“From the dues owing to the king, which will come to him
instead of slipping into this sheriff’s coffers and that bailiff’s purse—or not
being paid at all through the taking of bribes or giving of favors.” This time
it was Winchester’s voice that rose in passion.

Ian did not reply. Again there was enough truth in the claim
to preclude a simple denial, and this was not the time for explanations and
qualifications that Winchester knew perfectly well.

“You will not achieve it.” Ian sighed. “You will bring us to
war—brother against brother, father against son.”

“If it must be, it must be,” Winchester said, his face set
like flint. “Lord Ian, we have known each other long, and I see that you mean
well. I am not blind to the selfish anger of the barons. It is they who are
blind. When all are obedient, the king will be a mild and just master. His word
will be law, and the whole land will obey and be at peace. If a brief war must
be fought to lesson those who will not accept that this is the Divine Will,
that one alone should rule, so it must be. Thus, there is only one God, one
Holy Father, and there must be one king for each realm.”

Ian stood up. “God gives man free will.”

Winchester raised his eyes to Ian’s face. “But those who use
this free will to transgress are cast into everlasting torment. On earth also.
Those who obey will flourish; those who transgress will be cast out.”

Once more Ian bowed and kissed the bishop’s ring. There was
no purpose in further talk. He had not had much hope when he came, for he knew
that Winchester was an astute man. However, Ian had not wished to ignore the
small chance that the bishop had failed to gauge the depth of feeling against
him and the strong possibility of a civil war. Even that faint hope was gone.
Plainly, Winchester saw the situation quite clearly and was convinced that the
rebellion could be put down both quickly and firmly enough to end resistance
once and for all.

When he came out, Ian’s face told the story to Adam and
Simon. They hardly had patience to listen to the report Ian gave Geoffrey,
crying out that they should go home and stuff and garnish their keeps for war.

“No, you will not!” Ian exclaimed. “This is all talk. So far
the king has done nothing—except for the dismissal of Rodune—that is not within
his right. That dismissal is a little thing, no cause for war. You must not act
in such a way as to give Henry an excuse to punish you. For God’s sake, do you
want to find yourselves opposed to me on a field of battle?”

“This is no time for hasty action of any kind,” Geoffrey
interposed quickly, seeing that Adam was about to point out that even Henry
would not be so foolish as to summon a man to attack his own sons, particularly
Ian, who was well known to be a doting father. “All is not yet lost. You should
have known, Ian, that Winchester could not be bent, but the king is not so
inflexible.”

“Not so inflexible, but more dangerous,” Adam pointed out.
“Winchester might have decided to hold Ian or may act against him in some other
way for political reasons, but he is not likely to fly into a fit of rage and
say or do something out of spite which, later, he cannot back away from.”

“I did not intend to go to the king—not at first,” Geoffrey
said. “If we have any hope, it will come from Richard of Cornwall.”

“But Cornwall has already done and said everything,” Simon
protested in disgust.

“He has done and said too much,” Geoffrey admitted wryly.
“You know his temper. He called Henry an ungrateful cur for being so harsh with
de Burgh and a long-eared ass when he dismissed the officers of the court. He
has bellowed like a mad bull in council, threatened violence, stormed out of
Westminster, and ridden back to Wallingford, refusing to speak to Henry at all…
No, I do not need to urge Richard to say more, but perhaps I can convince him
to say the same words in a manner that will not make the king too angry to
listen.”

Geoffrey went out in midafternoon, soon after dinner, but
returned almost at once accompanied by Walter, who had been staying with
Cornwall, whose wife, Isabella, was his brother’s widow. The earl, Walter
reported, had ridden away to attend the funeral of the father of a very close
friend.