Warden of Time (The After Cilmeri Series Book 8) (21 page)

“Yes,” I said, and the last letter came out as a hiss. “The traitor’s name is Lee.”

Geoffrey’s brow furrowed. “Not the Lee whom I met at court a few months ago?”

“The same,” I said shortly.

“He is from Avalon,” Geoffrey said.

“I am aware of my own culpability in this matter,” I said. “I will deal with him according to his crimes when we find him. The key is to find him.”

Geoffrey said, “Sacré Dieu,” in an undertone.

“My sentiments exactly,” I said.

So far, our conversation had been more than cordial—and was resulting in a far longer interaction than I’d ever had with Geoffrey. We were still feeling each other out, but I was coming to realize the more we talked that I should have sought him out sooner instead of being worried about his loyalties. Having been stabbed in the back only yesterday, I needed to be careful where I placed my trust, but trusting Geoffrey and respecting the advice he gave me weren’t the same thing.

He was also an important and powerful member of the older generation of barons. They’d given Edward their loyalty as a matter of course. Maybe I needed to stop feeling afraid of what they thought of me.

After a careful glance in my direction, Carew said, “The king believes Lee was ejected from Avalon because of his transgressions. Unfortunately, that means he is now able to wreak havoc here. We must find him and stop him before he does any further damage.”

Carew was making this up completely, but Geoffrey’s brow furrowed. “If he had the power to destroy Canterbury, he cannot be allowed to roam freely to act again.”

“We agree,” I said.

“It has also come to the king’s attention that Lee’s motivations derive from a hatred of the Norman presence in Ireland,” Carew said. “It may be that he will attempt to journey there.”

 “Would it be in keeping with King Philip’s character to ally himself with an Irish lord or two in an attempt to undermine my rule—and yours?” I said.

Geoffrey licked his lips. “Sadly, yes.” The pretenses that had formed a barrier between us continued to drop lower. Geoffrey didn’t know that I, like Lee, regretted the Norman presence in Ireland, even if I was the country’s ruler. “And I can see why he might view such an alliance as useful.”

“Which brings us to our current predicament,” Carew said.

Geoffrey bowed for an unprecedented third time. “My lord, if you will allow it, I would speak to your prisoners now.”

Chapter Twenty

F
or all that Dover Castle was massive, with endless towers, two curtain walls, and a deep moat that was part of its outer defenses, it didn’t have a classic dungeon the way my modern self might have expected (or wanted). Movie-making aside, there were no caverns, heavy oak doors, or instruments of torture lining the walls. Dover did have basements in the keep and under every guard tower along the wall, however, and Sir Stephen, Dover’s constable, had put them to good use. He kept his rooms in the upper level of the massive double-towered gatehouse, and it was beneath the ground floor guardroom that the two Frenchmen were being kept, to keep a better eye—and ear—on them.

Like many men who’d achieved middle age, Sir Stephen had developed a paunch and a slower step, and I’d heard he had something of a severe and inflexible outlook. There’d been some discontent among the representatives from Dover’s port at his heavy-handedness in his dealings with them. I’d wondered at Mortimer’s reappointment of him, since Stephen had been the constable under Edward too, but so far he hadn’t said or done anything that had upheld my initial concerns.

After a brief conference as to the specifics of the Frenchmen’s capture and the circumstances surrounding it, just to bring Geoffrey and me up to speed, Sir Stephen led us down the spiral stone steps. The single holding cell at the bottom did, in fact, conform to my expectations. Floor-to-ceiling iron bars formed a wall between the prisoners and us. As we entered the small guardroom in front of the cell, the two Frenchmen, who’d been arguing with each other in low voices, broke off and looked in our direction.

At the sight of what were obviously men of standing, one of the Frenchmen came to the door and put his hands around two bars. He had black hair, dark eyes, and olive skin, making him look more Greek than French. However, he spoke in French to Geoffrey and his words were urgent. “We have done nothing! Have mercy!”

With a smothered laugh, I realized the man thought Geoffrey was the highest ranking nobleman here. I couldn’t blame him for thinking it. My shirt was sweat-stained from the ride from Canterbury to Dover, and while my borrowed tunic was in respectable shape, I still wore the breeches—much the worse for wear—that I’d put on at Canterbury Castle in the middle of the night. My boots were well and truly scuffed (Jeeves was going to have a heart attack when he saw them), and because it wasn’t raining, I’d shucked off the cloak I’d worn from the Archbishop’s palace.

I looked nothing like a king should, particularly as a Frenchman understood it. King Edward had been a warrior and the very definition of a man of action, and my style was similar to his. I tried to minimize the little traditions and rituals that had become ingrained in my court. King Philip’s court, on the other hand, was known for its ornate ceremonies and formalities, and Philip sweated only in private.

What I wasn’t wearing was my armor—and my Kevlar vest,
damn it!
—with the usual long surcoat emblazoned with my crest over the top. My wardrobe was buried under several tons of rubble back at Canterbury. I’d see what kind of condition the armor was in if and when the site was cleared and it was recovered. I had faith in Sir Thomas that he would get to work right away, but he had only hands, rather than heavy machinery, to help him.

Geoffrey must have realized the Frenchman’s mistake too, and in the same split second, decided to play his part. “Clear the room.”

Carew bent his head, his eyes flicking quickly to me. I tapped one finger down by my thigh to indicate that he should play along too. The two soldiers, who’d been guarding the spies and might not actually know who I was, bowed themselves out the door. Geoffrey and I hadn’t discussed how we would play this, but I was very much content for him to take the lead. If his plan was to make the Frenchmen think I was nothing but a servant, he’d hit upon an idea that might get them to talk.

I found a chair next to the table, sat in it, and kept my eyes on the stone floor. I tried to make myself small and inconsequential, which is hard to do when one is six foot two. Fortunately, Geoffrey kept the Frenchmen’s attention on him by saying, also in French, “I am Geoffrey de Geneville, Baron of Trim. Tell me your names.”

I looked up in time to see the faces of both Frenchmen fill with eager hope, indicating they recognized the name. If they were connected to the French court, they should have known who Geoffrey’s brother was.

The first Frenchman, who continued to lead, said, “We are brothers, Jacques and Piers de Reims. We are here on commission from our father, seeking English wool for weaving into fine garments.”

Geoffrey studied them for a moment, one eyebrow raised, probably noting, as I had, that they looked nothing alike. Piers, Jacques’ supposed brother, had sandy brown hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. Piers was shorter than Jacques, too, by several inches.

“You were stopped on board a boat that did not depart from the harbor,” Geoffrey said. “You had no certificate to show you’d paid the mooring fee or had your ship inspected.”

“An oversight. Please let us pay the fine, and we’ll never break the rules again.” Jacques affected a sheepish look, which I found ironic given his purported business. Besides, no reputable trader would risk losing his cargo for lack of a few pence to pay the port master.

“Your ship contained no samples. You had no papers on your person indicating your business,” Geoffrey said.

“We found no wool that pleased us, and we lost our papers overboard during our arrest,” Jacques said.

He had an answer for everything, but Geoffrey was having none of it. He made a chopping motion with his hand. “You and I both know that you are not merchants. I can help you, but you have to be honest with me about your true business in England.”

I returned my eyes to the ground and stilled my leg, which had been bouncing up and down under the table—a habit I often couldn’t help when I was sitting. Above all, I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. Jacques hadn’t asked who I was, and by now I hoped that he’d forgotten I was even in the room. He would never talk if he knew I was the king, other than perhaps to beg for his life.

Jacques glanced at Piers, who, after initial interest, had spent the conversation sitting on the floor. Now Piers got to his feet and came forward to stand beside Jacques. It occurred to me that his disinterest had been feigned, and that it was really he who was the leader, rather than his brother.

Piers said, “I have been to your brother’s court. He speaks well of you. You have been a friend to France.”

“I have. My brother and I are very close. I was at King Philip’s court last year, and we discussed matters of—” Geoffrey’s paused, and I gave him credit for not glancing towards me, “—mutual concern.”

“Then you know what a difficult few years this has been since the loss of—” Piers stopped, and this time he did look at me.

I’d been watching him out of the corner of my eye as he spoke, pretending to study my fingernails. I didn’t move, hoping Piers was assuming now that I was one of Geoffrey’s English lackeys and didn’t speak French well. Or at the very least was uninterested in their conversation.

When I didn’t look up or give any indication that I was listening, he added, “—the loss of King Edward. He and Philip’s father might have had their differences, but he was the rightful heir to Aquitaine. Now—”

“Now it is a mare’s nest of claimants, none of whom have clear title, especially King David,” Geoffrey finished for him.

“And yet, he is obviously the most powerful adversary Philip faces,” Jacques said.

Jacques and Piers let Geoffrey think about that for a minute. So far, they hadn’t entirely given the game away, though they were close. Geoffrey was proving to be a masterful questioner, and I was glad he was on my side today. I was pretty sure I knew what matters of mutual concern he’d discussed with King Philip last year, even after he’d bowed to me and sworn fealty. He’d been speaking the truth about that. In a way, I would have been disappointed to learn that Geoffrey wasn’t playing both sides against the middle.

“King Philip must be very disturbed indeed by King David’s claim to Aquitaine if he sent you,” Geoffrey said. “It was bold of him to enlist the papal envoy to assist him.”

“You know about that?” Jacques said before Piers’ hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

Geoffrey picked at his lower lip with the nail of his pinky finger. “I have my spies too. What isn’t as clear to me is the pope’s hand in all this.”

Jacques and Piers exchanged a glance, but neither replied.

“I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me,” Geoffrey said. “If I’m to stick my neck out for you and lie to the king, I need to know everything you know. I hate surprises—and I would hate to discover after the fact that you were keeping something from me that would have made the difference between success and failure.”

Piers hesitated for another few seconds, but then finally he said, “We don’t know.”

“If our companion hadn’t been captured by King David’s men, we would have been able to tell you more,” Jacques said.

I managed to control my startled reaction. Geoffrey, for his part, canted his head and said, “He was imprisoned by King David?”

Piers snorted in disgust. “It had been determined that it was too dangerous to speak with the papal legate directly, so Acquasparta arranged to arrest Guillaume as a heretic. They would have had plenty of time to talk, and nobody would have thought anything of the attention the legate paid him. But the plan went awry, and Guillaume ended up in King David’s custody instead.”

My God.
The heretic was a plant. I could still see the fear in the man’s face and the blood on his head. At the time both had appeared completely genuine. Certainly the crowd had been. What a debacle.

“You abandoned him?” Geoffrey said, allowing disdain at this dishonorable behavior to enter his voice.

“The mission is the most important thing,” Piers said. “We were due in France and time was of the essence.”

Jacques looked eagerly into Geoffrey’s face. “Can you free us?”

“I need to know first about your contact within King David’s court,” Geoffrey said. “A man named Lee, I believe?”

Piers made a guttural sound at the back of his throat. “If you already know it all, why are you asking me? Nothing I say should come as a surprise to you. Is the news from Canterbury true? The king is dead?”

“The castle is destroyed,” Geoffrey said, as if he hadn’t heard about it only a half-hour before. “I can’t say about the king.”

“Ah,” Piers said.

“How did you know what happened in Canterbury if you left yesterday? No word of anything that happened there last night had come to me before I spoke to the castellan here,” Geoffrey said. “Did you hear about it from Lee?”

“No.” Jacques ran a hand through his black hair. “But he swore it would be done, and we overheard talk among our jailers in the last hour that the castle had, indeed, fallen.”

Piers nodded, more to himself than to Geoffrey. “King David must still be alive. That is why Sir Stephen gave no sign of discomfit, and the flag still flies above the gatehouse.”

“Perhaps,” Geoffrey said.

Jacques pushed away from the bars, clearly frustrated. “Lee failed.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” Geoffrey said. “He did bring down Canterbury Castle.”

Piers tapped a finger to his lips. “But the king wasn’t in it. King Philip should hear of this as soon as possible. Lee reached too far beyond his abilities.”

“He has betrayed us!” Jacques’ color was high and his mouth in a grimace. Somehow a switch had been flipped inside him, and he was in a rage. He clutched the bars of his cell, twisting his hands as if he could wrench them apart. “You must get us out now! Whether or not the king is dead, Canterbury Castle is no more. Sir Stephen might believe we had a hand in it and keep us here.”