Rhiannon (6 page)

“Well, I will write to him whether Isabella does so or not,”
Ian said. “Do you think I want to take the chance that he will be surprised by
such news when he comes to court?”

“Why should he come? Possibly he will think this summons
will be canceled as the last was,” Sybelle pointed out.

“Do not be such a goose,” Geoffrey replied. “This is the
third summoning. If he does not come, that will be considered open defiance.”

“But I thought he had already defied the king last winter
when he convinced so many not to come to the first council,” Simon said.

“That was a warning, not defiance,” Ian stated. “Richard—all
old William Marshal’s sons are honorable men. I know Richard does not wish to
come to blows with the king. This was one way, after his protests and
explanations did not move Henry, to show the king how many men agreed with him.
I did not go to the first summoning, nor did Norfolk, nor Ferrars, nor even
Geoffrey.”

“Then why—”

“Simon, I have shown our disapproval by silence. At the
second council I wished to speak it aloud. I suppose Richard did also, but the
council was canceled. This time, he has no choice. You know as well as I that a
man may be outlawed without trial if he does not come to a third summoning.”

“Yes, but does he know it is a third summoning?” Adam asked,
his mouth grim. “If the second was canceled by the king, Richard might think
this is only the second summoning and decide to try passive resistance again.”

Geoffrey shuddered suddenly. “No, I do not think that device
will be used. I fear more and more that what you said the other day, Ian, is
true. I fear Winchester has seen too clearly. If Pembroke is removed, there
will be no man strong enough around whom the barons could rally.”

“Then it is not war, but an end to Richard Marshal’s
meddling that is desired,” Adam growled.

“What do you mean?” Simon asked.

“If Richard cries out against this—would that not be a
reason to seize him? If Richard were kept prisoner like de Burgh, is there
another of sufficient courage and stature to oppose Winchester?”

There was an appalled silence. Geoffrey’s lips moved as if
to protest that Henry was not as treacherous as his father, but he did not say
the words. Henry had gone to pray with Hubert de Burgh, had kissed his lips and
said he was all his strength and only on him could reliance be placed—and a
week later de Burgh was a prisoner. It would not be
open
treachery to
take Richard prisoner if a shadow of a reason could be presented, and, in the
heat of argument about the “wrong” done Bassett, no doubt more than a shadow of
defiance and rage would be shown.

“He must be warned,” Simon cried, leaping to his feet.

His own ties with the Marshal family were closest since Lady
Pembroke had died, ending Alinor’s friendship of many years. Simon did not know
Richard very well because the Earl of Pembroke’s second son had spent most of
his life in France; the French estates were to be his. Nonetheless, Simon could
not ignore the possibility that his former master’s brother would fall into a
trap.

“Yes, he must be warned,” Ian agreed, “but I have not the
faintest idea of where he is. I had intended to write to Pembroke keep, from
where my letter would be sent on, but this is more urgent than mere news.”

“Perhaps Isabella will know,” Simon suggested.

“Ride over and ask,” Geoffrey said, “and do not be afraid to
tell Isabella everything. She will not fall into a fit.”

This second daughter of Isobel of Clare was very like her
mother, soft of voice and manner, gentle, but not weak. She listened to Simon
quietly, and, although her voice trembled, she wasted no time on useless cries
nor did she exaggerate or belittle what was a real possibility but not a fact.
Still, she could not be of help. All she knew was that her brother was definitely
expected in London by the end of July.

“He will be on the road by now,” Isabella said, “but I have
no idea which way he intended to come. He might even stop at Wallingford to
talk to Richard—my husband, I mean. It is so confusing to have a brother and
husband both named Richard. And then they might come by river. But, Simon, I
think he would come anyway, even if you warned him.”

Since Simon himself would have come anyway, he did not
contest this conclusion. He accepted Isabella’s assurance that she would tell
her husband of Adam’s suspicion as soon as he arrived home and would let Ian
know as soon as either Richard—Cornwall or Pembroke—came. But he was
dissatisfied and restless, and, at last, Ian suggested that it would do no harm
if he and Walter rode out toward Wales for a few days. Nothing more could
happen, Ian said, until August first when the third summoning must be answered.

Ian was wrong in his belief that nothing more would happen
until the council began, but he was glad to have Simon out of the way when
Gilbert Bassett arrived to complain at court the following week. Gilbert
maintained stoutly that the escheat of Upavon was settled on his father for
service to King John and that he had done nothing to merit being deprived of
it. He would plead his right and show that Maulay had not been unjustly
deprived. Gilbert offered to take his case before a judge, before the king, or
before God in judicial combat.

Instead of agreeing to any of the offers made, Henry called
Bassett a traitor and threatened that if he did not leave his court forthwith
he should be hanged like a dog. Not satisfied, the king also ordered that
Richard Siward, who had married Gilbert’s sister, should be imprisoned. The
crime was that the marriage had not been approved by the king. If true, Siward
and Bassett had committed an offense, but not the kind that merited
imprisonment. Failure to get royal permission to marry was a common occurrence,
to be satisfied with a fine—small or large according to the king’s temper and
the wealth of the perpetrator.

It was now obvious that Henry intended to use Bassett as an
object lesson. Richard of Cornwall had arrived, but he and Geoffrey could not
move Henry. The king had the bit well between his teeth. He cried furiously that
he was not a babe to be governed always by other men, that he would rule as a
king or not rule at all. If Cornwall’s and Geoffrey’s remonstrance had any
effect upon him, it was a bad one. The next move Henry made was to send more
messengers hastening out with a demand that hostages for the good behavior of
his barons be brought to him before the first of August.

Hard on the heels of this news, Richard Marshal arrived at
his sister’s house. He had come by the main road with only a few men-at-arms.
The small troop served the double purpose of making him inconspicuous and of
marking his “trust” in the king’s goodwill. Simon had missed him on the road,
but by chance they rode into London the same day and Simon arrived at
Cornwall’s house to ask whether Richard was there only an hour after he had
come.

Isabella had already told her brother of Adam’s suspicions,
but Richard only laughed and kissed her and called her a nervous goose. Thus,
when Simon’s name was brought to her, she bade her maidservant bring him into
Richard’s bedchamber, where he was soaking off the dirt and sweat of travel in
a tub.

“Tell him I am not making it up,” she cried, as Simon
stepped in and the servant closed the door behind him.

Simon bowed, a little embarrassed by the look of surprise on
Richard’s face. The Earl of Pembroke was a big man, as tall as Simon but
broader and heavier, his shoulders and arms seamed with the scars of combat.
The room was warm, redolent with the scent of the herbs Isabella had strewn in
the bath water. Somehow a sense of urgency and discussion of plots seemed out
of place. Although Simon was sure that danger existed and that Isabella’s
nervousness was justified, he felt his warning would sound ridiculous.

“My lord,” he said uneasily, “I am Simon de Vipont—”

“William’s squire! I remember you.”

“Simon, tell him! Make him believe it is dangerous to stay,”
Isabella repeated urgently.

“It is also dangerous to go,” Richard said, a little more
sharply. “Have sense, Isabella. If I am not here to answer this third summons,
Henry will have the right to call me a traitor. And I am not! I only want the
laws to be observed.”

“Then you want more than any man is likely to have, my
lord,” Simon said.

“That is a hard thing you have said,” Richard rejoined
cautiously. “I hope the bad response the king has had to his summonses may have
given him food for thought—”

“The wrong kind of thought,” Simon interrupted.

Richard sat more upright in the bath. “What are you talking
about?”

“You have not heard about Bassett’s land?”

“I know the king seized the manor at Compton on the excuse
that Bassett was de Burgh’s man and Compton was too close to Devizes where de
Burgh is imprisoned—”

“No. This is a new thing. Bassett was disseisined of
Upavon—”

“What? When?” Richard rose from the tub, splashing water in
all directions. Isabella hurried forward with a drying cloth, which he seized
from her and began to ply about his body hurriedly. “Why did you not tell me
this,” he said to her, “instead of that farrago about—” He stopped abruptly and
looked away from Isabella toward Simon.

“I thought you knew,” Isabella said, but Richard did not
look back at her.

“Tell me the whole,” he said to Simon.

By the time the story had been related, including Henry’s
reaction to Bassett’s attempt to obtain justice and the demand for hostages,
Richard was dressed and seated beside the empty hearth reflectively sipping a
cup of wine. Simon had remembered Geoffrey’s oft-repeated advice that too much
passion made the most solid fact sound suspect, so he had described the situation
more calmly than those who knew him would have expected. It was clear that his
temperate manner had convinced Pembroke.

“I am caught in a cleft stick,” Richard said bitterly, his
fine eyes bleak. “If I do not cry out against the king’s action and uphold
Bassett, I will not only violate what I believe to be right, but I will seem to
break faith with a long-time friend of our family. And if I do protest, I will
be playing into Henry’s hand, offering him an excuse to—”

“If you will give me leave, my lord, to say what I think—and
what Sir Adam, my brother, thinks—it is that it does not matter what you do
unless it be to yield entirely. Even then I am not sure the king will be
content. What he did to de Burgh seems to have given him an appetite for subduing
to utter helplessness every man in the land.”

“I told you, Richard—” Isabella interrupted.

“Hush, Isabella,” Richard said absently, his eyes fixed on
Simon. “What do Lord Ian and Lord Geoffrey say?” he asked slowly.

“My father says nothing, except that Henry does not
mean
evil. He remembers a golden-haired child bereft of a father and with a mother
who had no soul. Lord Geoffrey says nothing also, but—but he looks like death.
What
can
he say, my lord? Henry is his cousin and—and I cannot deny has
always behaved most lovingly to him. Even this spring when he dismissed all his
castellans and put his castles into the hands of those two—”

“Mind your tongue before my sister,” Richard said, half
jesting, but with the jest covering a warning as servants entered the room to
empty the bath water. Simon drew a breath; the servants belonged to the brother
of the king.

“My brother-by-marriage is tied with bond upon bond,” Simon
said. “He could no more fail to support the king than my Lord of Cornwall.”

Reminded of something that had been overwhelmed in his
sister’s excited greeting and then in Simon’s news, Richard asked, “Where is
Cornwall?”

“He had business with the king,” Isabella said, staring hard
at her brother and then letting her eyes slip to the servants and back again.
“I sent word that you had come. He will be here as soon as he can.”

Simon’s breath drew in again, but Richard’s eyes flicked to
him and he said nothing. As if the preceding question and answer were of no
importance, Richard said, “You were knighted before my brother died, were you
not?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Do you now hold, or have you taken over your father’s
meinie?”

“Papa is not so old as that,” Simon said. “In any case, the
lands are mostly my mother’s. They will be Geoffrey’s to worry about when— But
that will be many, many years.”

“Lord Geoffrey’s?” Richard asked, actually interested as
well as relieved to have an unexceptional subject to discuss while the servants
tidied the room. “How does that come about? Is not Adam your mother’s eldest
son?”

“Yes, but Adam inherited his father’s lands. My mother has
full power over her own, and chooses to leave them in the female line. My
sister Joanna will hold Roselynde and my mother’s other honors, and it is
already settled that the bulk of the lands will go after her to Sybelle, and
then to Sybelle’s eldest daughter.”

“You do not mind?” Richard asked curiously.

“God, no!” Simon exclaimed. “That is not to my taste at all,
to be tied to a seat of justice and an account book. My father has already
given me what I most desired. With Prince Llewelyn’s permission, he has ceded
to me his Welsh properties.”

“Welsh? You are vassal to Lord Llewelyn?” Richard asked,
leaning forward with sudden alertness.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Are you in good repute with him?”

“Very good.” Simon replied, and then, seeing it was
important for some reason, he added, “He has given me permission to seek the
hand of his natural daughter, Lady Rhiannon, in marriage.”

“Seek? If he desires you for a son—”

“Lady Rhiannon is not that kind of woman,” Simon said
stiffly. “She cannot be given away like a horse or a parcel of land.”

“Well, as soon as she sees your face, she will be lost.”
Richard laughed. “We can consider that bond as good as made.”

He leaned back in the chair, his eyes fixed on nothing while
he considered certain possibilities uncovered by Simon’s willingness to save
him and the connection with Llewelyn. Thus, he missed Simon’s expression.
Isabella did not, and she bit her lip, hoping her brother would say no more on
the subject of marriage. She held her breath as Richard turned to look intently
at Simon again. The servants were leaving. When the last two were gone,
staggering slightly under the weight of the tub, which was still a third full
of water and would be tipped empty in the yard, he signed to Isabella, who went
and closed the door.

“Did you love William?” Richard asked unexpectedly.

“Yes,” Simon replied shortly, but his bright eyes misted,
and Richard was more assured of the depth of his feeling than if he had made a
passionate avowal.

“Then—” Richard began.

“Richard,” Isabella interrupted, “the reason my husband is
not here to greet you is that he does not wish to lie to his brother. If he
does not
know
you are here, he does not have to tell Henry. Will you not
take warning and go, dearling?”

Distracted from what he had been about to say to Simon,
Richard frowned. “But you just said you sent him word that I had come.”

“The servants! I sent him word not to come home,” Isabella
said with tears in her eyes. “Oh, Richard, it hurts me how much he suffers. In
his heart he agrees with you. He has done everything from pleading on his knees
to threatening to turn rebel himself—but he cannot do that, no matter how
wrong—”

“I am no rebel!” Richard thundered. “That I am here in
answer to Henry’s summons is proof I am a loyal vassal. I have a right, even a
duty, to complain of a breach of law and custom.”

“If you do, you will be taken prisoner,” Simon warned.

“And if I do not, outlawry will be cried on me,” Richard
responded angrily.

“It is better to be a free outlaw than an unoutlawed
prisoner,” Simon remarked cynically. “Think what has befallen de Burgh, who
yielded and threw himself upon the king’s mercy. My lord, I am young, and you
doubtless think I see all things as black or white. Let me ask Geoffrey and my
father to speak to you. You know both are loyal to the king, but—but neither
would betray you.”

“Yes, yes, please, Richard,” Isabella pleaded.

There was a little silence while Richard considered Simon’s
remark, the offer that followed, and the result of the action he would have to
take if Geoffrey and Ian confirmed that the situation was really desperate.
Then he said, “Very well, I would be glad and grateful. Before you go,
however—Isabella, will you go and tell someone to ready Simon’s horse?”

Her face whitened. “Do you no longer trust me, Richard?”

“With my own life, to the uttermost, sweet sister, but—but
if I leave this house without attending the council, as you have urged me so
strongly to do, it is most likely that, within days, your husband and I will be
enemies—”

“No, Richard, no!”

“Did you not just say he would support his brother? Now,
now, Isabella, do not weep. I know you will not do me, nor anyone else, hurt
apurpose, but there are questions I wish to ask that—well, if you never heard
either question or answer, no blush or look could give a hint to Richard that
you knew more than you were willing to tell him. There will be strains enough
between you and your husband if he and I… I do not wish to add to that. Go, my
dear.”

“It is monstrous,” Isabella whispered, but she was a
sensible woman and understood her brother was right. Her husband had enough
problems without adding the knowledge that his wife was concealing information
from him. She wiped her eyes and left the room.

Simon was puzzled. “I will tell you anything I can, my
lord,” he said, “but I do not know anything more than I have already said.”

“I do not want information. That was just for Isabella’s
ears. I do not distrust her purposes, but she might say something thoughtlessly…
She is only a woman, after all. I wish to ask you where you stand in this.”

“With you,” Simon responded at once, his lips tightening.
“Somehow the king must be constrained to obey the law.”

“Do you understand what you are saying, Simon? To stand with
me, if worse comes to worst, may set your hand against your own father and
brothers.”

“Not Adam,” Simon said, and then swallowed. Geoffrey would
certainly respond to Henry’s call to arms if one should be issued. Then relief
brightened his eyes. “And not Papa either. If I am with you, he will take the
excuse of his age to send his men out in Geoffrey’s care. I do not need to
worry about Geoffrey coming to blows with me. Wherever I am, he will not be.
Papa always said Geoffrey was too clever by half. He will manage to avoid me
somehow—if I cannot avoid him.”