Chapter 32
Easter came in mid-April that year, leaving less than a fortnight for Rafe to gather any witnesses he could find to support his case, travel to Northampton, and prepare a defense before an audience with the king himself. He was not optimistic.
Fortunately, however, he was no longer alone. Alric and Octavian both helped him. In addition, Luc was sent for. Luc’s family was close with the king, and Luc could advise Rafe on what to say—and not say.
Luc did even more than that. He arranged for some of the group to stay with his own family in Northampton, and assured them that he’d help in any way he could. Rafe could hardly believe it.
“Why are you doing this for me? After what I did?”
“What are friends for?” Luc replied. Then he grinned. “Besides, it wasn’t me you impaled during a practice session.”
“Be serious.”
“I am serious, Rafe. We practically grew up together, and I know the truth of what happened—Alric told me the whole story. So stop dwelling in the past. You’ve got a problem in the present, and that’s the only time we can affect our fates. So let’s get to work on mounting a defense against whatever accusations the Yarboroughs will make.”
“They will accuse me of theft and kidnapping, and possibly murder. I should have taken care of Ernald back at that farm.” Rafe walked from one end of the room to the other and back again, full of energy he couldn’t get rid of.
“You can’t solve this with a sword, Rafe,” said Alric. “How will you being executed for murder help Angelet?”
“She’ll be safe once Ernald is dead.”
Luc put a hand to his head. “Rafe. For God’s sake, stop pacing. We’ll find a way through this. And blood will not be involved.”
“Otto must have already spoken to the king,” Rafe said worriedly. “He’ll have lawyers, local friends, and witnesses. I may as well give up now.”
“You have the truth on your side,” Luc said. “That counts for something. Usually.”
A group left Cleobury for the town of Northampton, arriving a few days before Easter. Both Robin and Goswin had to stay behind at Cleobury, and both complained bitterly about it. Yet they were children, and Cleobury was the safest place for them.
Angelet rode most of the way in a carriage with Lady Cecily, which must have been more comfortable for both of them than a horse would have been. But it separated her from Rafe, which annoyed him. He liked to see Angelet as often as he could.
When they arrived, the group went directly to the home of Luc’s family. The house they came to was impressive, but not cold. Indeed, the whole family—father, mother, and daughters—welcomed them as if they were all old friends. They fussed over Cecily’s expectant condition and chatted with Angelet as if she’d always been part of their circle. Rafe had always been somewhat in awe of Luc and his noble upbringing. He had access to the sort of life most people never even dreamed of. Yet Rafe was welcomed, and that was before his true parentage was even revealed.
“Luc has told us something of what’s happening, Sir Rafe, but I’d like to hear more,” the Lord of Braecon said.
So Rafe told the story as best he could. It was not the final retelling either. As it happened, wheels were already turning, and an agent of the king was conducting something like an investigation before the king held an audience with them all. He was interviewing all parties, trying to discover what really happened.
The day after they arrived in town, Luc took Rafe to meet the man at an inn close to the center of town. “Be careful what you say,” Luc told him before they entered. “I’ve met Lord Drogo before. You don’t want to antagonize him.”
“Sounds charming,” Rafe muttered.
The man waiting for them was anything but charming. He was an ascetic-looking man somewhere near fifty. He had a thin face and deep-set eyes that seemed to miss nothing. His clothes were very fine in quality, but in dull, drab colors. He’d fade away in most rooms filled with people. Rafe suspected he liked it that way.
“Sir Rafe,” Luc said, “may I present Lord Drogo. He has been tasked with investigating this whole matter, as an impartial servant of the king.”
Drogo invited them both to sit. “I’ve spoken to several other people involved in this matter. Lord Otto and his son Ernald have leveled very serious accusations. And their description of Sir Rafe was not flattering.”
“My description of them won’t flatter, either,” Rafe said, before Luc put a warning hand on his arm.
“Let’s stick to facts. Drogo, what do you need to know from Rafe?”
“Everything. Let us begin with who you are.”
That Rafe could now answer with pride. “My name is Sir Raphael Corviser. I have served the de Vere family, who swore allegiance to King Stephen very early in his reign.”
“Corviser…”
“My father was Sir Michael Corviser. He died in service of the old king.”
“Yes, Corviser. Good king’s man,” Drogo muttered approvingly. “Sterling fighter, was Sir Michael. Never knew he married.”
“It was only a few months before his death,” Rafe explained, skipping over the details. “To Lady Clare of Beaumont, who has also now passed away.”
“What brought you to the manor of Dryton?”
Rafe told him the whole story from beginning to end, leaving out only the parts that would compromise Angelet’s reputation.
At the end of the tale, Drogo regarded him with those glittering eyes. “Much of the early part of your story rings true—up to the time of the initial attack on the cortège. I questioned another witness who confirmed it.”
“Who?” Rafe asked, puzzled.
Drogo gestured to Luc. “Go fetch him, please.”
Luc grinned at Rafe, then left the back room. He returned moments later, along with none other than Simon Faber.
“Sir Rafe!” Simon almost shouted. He surprised Rafe with an embrace that nearly cracked a rib. “It’s a miracle to see you again! I feared that you never got the lady to safety, and you both perished after the attack.”
“I thought the same of you,” Rafe said, after he got his breath back. “What happened? I assumed the thieves would have slaughtered every possible witness.”
“So they would have, but then they fell apart after you stole the lady away. Some wanted to go after you, some wanted to loot the wagons and flee north, and the others wanted to march back to Dryton and demand satisfaction from Ernald, who’d hired them. The few of us who survived the first round regrouped by the supply wagon and held off a second attack for a precious few moments. God be praised, another party came into sight from the north. It was a caravan of wool merchants, and they were well-guarded. The thieves scattered, and the newcomers came to our aid. We were able to take our dead and wounded to the nearest town.”
“What happened to everyone? Marcus? And Laurence?”
“Marcus was wounded but survived. He’s back in Ashthorpe. Laurence didn’t…” Simon took a heavy breath.
“I’m sorry.” Rafe knew all too well what it was like to see companions fall in battle. “But how did you come to be here? In this town?”
“That was my doing,” said Luc. “I had a few men go to Dryton and Ashthorpe in search of any witnesses who might be able to tell us something of what happened. And Simon was one who answered the call!”
“I’m not usually one for believing in miracles, but this is close to one. I never thought to see you again, Simon.”
“Ah, it would have been sooner, but they said I was not to talk to you earlier. Something about getting stories straight.”
“Indeed,” Drogo said. “I am most interested in where people’s stories diverge. That is always where it gets intriguing.”
“And you’ve learned something?” Luc asked.
“Many things. Someone is lying, and I will find out who it is. By the time this matter is brought before the king, I will know exactly what happened, and all that will be left is to decide the punishment.”
Rafe didn’t like the way Drogo looked at him as he said it.
* * * *
The days of the holy week preceding Easter seemed to drag for Angelet, who attended mass every day, but otherwise stayed close to the house. She usually had company, because with three other noblewomen and a number of female servants, there was always someone about. Angelet knew that everyone was subtly—and not so subtly—working to hide the extent of her relationship to Rafe while they were in Northampton. That was why he was staying in another house, and why they were not permitted to be in the same room alone together when he visited to meet with the family. She recognized the wisdom of it, but she hated it. After this, whether it ended well or not, Rafe and she would travel separate paths. Why did she have to be denied even the pleasure and comfort of being near him for these last few days? Though she tried to mask her feelings with the calm face she learned to use at Dryton, it seemed she wasn’t doing well.
“You’re melancholy,” Cecily told her one day.
“I’m worried about the audience with the king,” said Angelet. “I’m terrified I’ll say something wrong and hurt Rafe’s case. It’s the last thing I’ll ever be able to do for him. What if I fail?”
“Last thing?” Cecily asked, puzzled.
“I’m just being practical. We’ve no future.”
“You and Rafe, you mean? Why should that be?”
“It just is. He’s told me exactly that, again and again. From the very first time we met, Rafe made it clear that our meeting was purest chance, and that soon enough we’d be parted again….though when he first said that, he never could have envisioned how tangled our paths grew. Still, he said it.”
“Yes, but was he saying that for your benefit, or his own?”
“What do you mean?”
Cecily said, “Perhaps Rafe mentioned the end so often because he needed to remind himself of it…or else he’d start dreaming of another future. One with you in it.”
“No. He’s got his future…or he will, once the king hears his side of the story. Rafe will undoubtedly receive some sort of commission, or be granted a role in Stephen’s military, perhaps. He’s too good a warrior for the king to waste.”
“And what path will you take?” Cecily asked.
“I don’t know.” Angelet felt helpless as she pictured her future. “Otto will keep his grip on Henry more than ever now. I think my chance to be rejoined with him is gone.” The unfairness of it stung her. All she wanted was to provide her child with a home, where they could be happy together until he grew up. But she lacked the political power to do that. “I could go to Anjou—perhaps my family isn’t entirely lost, though unless we’re able to get an army together, there’s little chance we’ll be able to reclaim anything of our legacy. But I’ve no means to support myself.”
“Your gift of needlecraft might be more useful than you think,” Cecily said. “That altar cloth you showed me is an object worthy of princes. But I think you are too concerned with the future. See what happens during the audience with the king. Who knows what will come of it?”
“That’s what concerns me most,” Angelet said. “It is one thing to know that Fortune’s wheel is always turning. It is quite another to feel it crushing you into the mud when you finally think you could rise.”
“Have you had a vision as dire as that?”
“No. I never see myself in visions.”
“Then don’t fear a future you haven’t even seen, dear.”
The next day, Cecily came to Angelet with an excited expression on her face. “Listen, I had an idea! Your altar cloth…would you consider offering it as a gift to the king?”
Angelet said, “I wouldn’t dare presume it was good enough for a king. But it would be an honor.”
“I knew you’d think so. And I asked Luc’s father to exert some of his influence to beg a favor from the king. If you come with me to Northampton Castle this evening, you can present it to his grace. And if he happens to notice that you’re a modest and pious lady who deserves justice, so much the better!”
Angelet wore a gown borrowed from Luc’s sister. The undyed linen of the fabric glowed almost white in firelight, and the tunic-like overskirt was a pale grey-blue that appeared more like silver. She wore the moonstones around her neck, since they were the only jewelry she had.
She took care to braid her hair tightly and bind it up on her head so as to show restraint and modesty. If she were a nun, she’d have to cover her hair completely. As she prepared, she idly thought of young Robin. The girl felt caged at Cleobury…Angelet guessed that Robin would literally climb the walls of an actual nunnery.
“I am not so wild,” she said aloud, rather regretting her nature. She’d had her moment of wildness, when she accepted Rafe into her life so very briefly. Those few weeks had been filled with passion and excitement and danger, and she should be happy it was now over. There would be no more wildness, not for her. And not for Rafe either, since he would no longer be an itinerant knight. She refused to think of what might happen to him should Otto prevail during the audience. Rafe could be branded a criminal, despite all her efforts to defend him.
“That’s what tonight is for,” she told herself. “I’ll beg the king for mercy if I must.”
Cecily and Angelet rode to the castle in a carriage, escorted by a few men-at-arms from the household. It seemed Cecily kept the visit a secret from nearly everyone, except for Luc’s father, who arranged it. Angelet wondered if that was because she feared it would be a failure.
Angelet held the folded altar cloth in her lap, feeling more nervous by the second. What if the king refused to see them? What if he accused her of something terrible? What if he despised the gift?
“We should go back,” she whispered to Cecily. “This is a mistake.”
“It would be a mistake to miss this opportunity to advance your cause,” Cecily returned, taking Angelet’s hand. “Be bold.”
“I am not bold.”
“Then be strong. Whenever you fear you’ll fail, think of what you love and you’ll be able to go on.”
Angelet closed her eyes. Immediately she saw whom she loved. Henry, who needed to be removed from Otto’s control. Rafe, who needed to clear his reputation. If she could help either of them, she had to try. “I will do it,” she whispered.
“Good. Because we have arrived.”
The ladies were shown into a small receiving chamber that was grander than anything Angelet had seen in a private home. A massive fireplace dominated the space, and dark wood paneling covered the walls. The floor was covered with a plush carpet woven in a pattern based on some fantastical garden, and the chairs all had carved backs and velvet cushions. A round oak table with elaborately carved legs stood in the middle.
“All this wealth for one room of a castle the king only visits a few times a year,” Angelet said in awe.
“Royalty lives differently,” Cecily said, looking overwhelmed as well.
Then the door opened. A thin, rather pinched man came though, followed by a much larger, broad-shouldered man dressed like…a king.
Angelet gasped when she realized who stood in front of her. She dropped into a curtsey alongside Cecily. “Your Grace,” they both murmured.
“Rise, my ladies,” King Stephen said. “Which of you is Lady Angelet?”
“I am Angelet d’Hiver Yarborough, widow of Hubert.”
“That makes you Lady Cecily,” the king said, looking Cecily over. “Traveling in your condition, my lady? Please sit.”
“I thank you, your Grace.” Cecily sat down after the king did himself.
Angelet remained standing, still holding the altar cloth.
Stephen smiled at her. “I hear you bring a gift to me.” With a gesture, he invited her to put it on the table in front of him.
She unfolded the cloth so the scene it depicted faced the king. “I embroider, your grace, and I hope this work may please you. The scene is of a…dream I had.”
“A most beautiful dream,” Stephen said. He reached out to the cloth with a large hand more suited to battle than to art. Perhaps he came to the same conclusion, for he didn’t actually touch the cloth, though his fingers traced the lines of the gold castle and the twisting vines of the border. “I have been told, though, that your dreams are not just dreams, but visions.”
“So others say, your grace.”
The other man spoke for the first time. “So says Lord Otto, who reports that you fled away from the nunnery where you were meant to go, on account of your visions.” He did not smile. Possibly he never learned how, based on the way his face was lined. He looked hard at Angelet, as if she were a puzzle to figure out.
“This is Lord Drogo,” said the king, leaning back in his chair. “One of my most trusted advisors. At my request, he has been collecting the facts of the situation raised by Lord Otto and his son. He’s spoken to most of the people involved.”
“But not to me,” Angelet said, before realizing it sounded impertinent.
Drogo said, “I’ll correct that now. If his grace permits?”
Stephen waved a hand. “That’s what we’re here for.”
“And to that end,” Drogo said. “I would like you to explain, in detail, all that occurred from the moment you left Dryton to the moment you entered this room tonight. Leave nothing out, and speak only the truth. Fear not that you will suffer any repercussions from any man you may accuse. You are under royal protection now.”
She wasn’t sure who Drogo thought she was afraid of, but she suspected it was Rafe.
After looking at Cecily, who gave her an encouraging nod, Angelet related all she could, answering Drogo’s many questions. Several were sharply pointed, but she never caught herself in a lie—the only things she kept back were the intimacies she’d shared with Rafe, and the fact that she’d lost her heart to him. She knew well that those facts would be detrimental to her cause.
At times, Drogo or Stephen interrupted. The first was when Angelet was explaining how Otto removed Henry from Angelet’s care.
“Seems to me most cruel to tear the mother and her child away from each other, when she had nothing else,” Stephen said, watching Angelet closely.
Drogo disagreed. “It’s no odd thing to send a boy away for fostering.”
“But so young? My lady, did you protest?”
“I begged Otto not to do it. But he is Henry’s grandfather, and the head of the family. Such is the order of things.”
The king nodded at that, and directed her to go on.
She continued the story.
At a later point, Drogo said, “This maid called Bethany—you say she wielded a crossbow? That is remarkable. And she was driven to try to murder you with it.”
Angelet said, “Bethany was Ernald’s lover, and she did anything he told her. It was also why she hated me, for Ernald wanted me for reasons of his own. Nevertheless, she was his eyes and ears on the journey—that’s why she was so upset when we moved the chest from my carriage to the supply wagon. She had to communicate the change to the thieves, but she couldn’t do it in time. That’s why the attack was so scattered. And why Sir Rafe was able to get me away from the gang.”
“Did he take advantage of you?” the king asked abruptly. “At any point, before or after the attack?”
“Your Grace?” she asked, nervously.
“You can speak freely. I’m not a priest to judge you for any sins. But I want to know the truth.”
Angelet bowed her head, thoughts rushing through her. Then she looked up at him and said, “The truth, your grace, is that Sir Rafe always defended me from danger and he treated me well. He made a point of obeying any order I gave, and never did I fear he’d force himself on me. I wish I could say the same of Ernald Yarborough, who more than once threatened me with just that.”
Stephen kept his eyes on her. “So you do not accuse Sir Rafe of any…violation?”
“No, your Grace.”
“You are quite a champion for him. What has he done to earn such sympathy?”
“Your Grace,” she said, “have you ever been shot at with a crossbow?”
“I have, Lady Angelet,” he returned with a frown.
“Then you certainly know the terror inspired by one. And your sympathy would be with the one who pulled you to safety!”
“Truly spoken,” the king acknowledged. “The chaos of battle does reveal men’s natures.”
“I never wish to see a true battle,” Angelet said, “if what I experienced was even a hundredth of what soldiers face, what you yourself have faced, your grace. I have no bravery such as that.” She looked down at the floor as she spoke. “But I am grateful to Sir Rafe and everything he has done for me. I know I’m only a woman, and not an important one. But that’s the truth I can offer you.”
Drogo inhaled. “If that’s so, I’ve nothing further to ask the lady.”
The king rose to his feet, then extended a hand to help Cecily rise as well. “Then that is that. Tomorrow is Easter. And the day after we will hold the formal audience to have it all out. Good night, ladies.” He bowed, and began to leave.
“If you please, your grace,” Angelet burst out. “I do have one request, should it please you to indulge me once this is all over.”
The king looked back with a curious expression. “And what request is that, my lady?”
“I know that I’m no prize in marriage. I bring no lands, and I’m too old for most to look at me favorably as a wife. If your judgment is that I should be a nun after all, I only beg that I be placed somewhere close to where my son is. So he may visit me.”
“Do you wish to be a nun?” he asked.
Angelet was tongue-tied, unsure how to respond. No, she wanted to scream. It’s the last thing I want. But I’m afraid to ask for more.
“All that matters to me is that Henry is safe, among people who truly care for him. The request to be near him is just a mother’s selfish desire.”
The king watched her for a long moment. Then he said, “I see. I shall consider your request, my lady. But until the audience is concluded, I can promise nothing.”
She curtsied as he left, feeling more desperate than before.