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  “Nothing,” Barbara sighed. “Nothing except what every woman has said from the beginning of time—I beg you, my lord, to find some way to avoid the shedding of blood.”

  Leicester made no direct answer to that beyond a brief hesitation and look of sadness. Then he nodded briskly and waved her away, his eyes going to the pouch he still held. As he opened it, he began to walk away. Barbara felt Gloucester stiffen again and turned toward him. His eyes were fixed on the earl’s back and his mouth was tight with fury.

  “It was through my mediation that the treaty was made with Llywelyn,” Gloucester muttered, “and I am not even invited to hear what Mortimer proposes.”

  The voice was so low and Gloucester’s attention so clearly elsewhere that Barbara was not certain she was supposed to have heard what he said. She did not think Leicester had intended to offend his young ally, but to say that he was absorbed in his own thoughts and had forgotten Gloucester was there would scarcely improve matters.

  “If you wish to talk over this matter with Leicester,” Barbara said, pretending that Gloucester had stayed with her to be polite and hoping if he followed Leicester and asked what was in the parchment he would naturally be included in the discussion, “I will just sit down by the fire and wait.”

  “Do not be ridiculous,” Gloucester said, his eyes still on Leicester who had beckoned his cousin Peter de Montfort and two clerks to him. “I am not needed or wanted.”

  Barbara began to wonder how often this had happened before and whether the slight could have been deliberate—but that was impossible. She drew a breath to speak, but Gloucester shook his head at her and she was grateful to be silent because she had not the slightest idea what to say.

  “You must eat and rest,” Gloucester said, finding a smile for her. “Will you come with me to my lodging in the town, or shall I try to find a place for you here?”

  Barbara hesitated. Perhaps if they remained in the hall, Leicester would notice Gloucester and ask him to join the conference. But if he did not, she thought, staying there would be a constant irritant, reminding Gilbert that he had been ignored. Besides, if Leicester sent especially for Gilbert, that would be best. All in all, it would be better to go.

  “If Guy comes, he will come here,” she said. “I will be safer in your lodging.”

  The excuse satisfied Gloucester, who promptly caught a squire—Barbara did not know whose—and bade him tell Leicester, as soon as he was free, that Lady Barbara could be found at the Earl of Gloucester’s lodging.

  The interlude in Gloucester’s lodging was pleasant for Barbara, however, putting the blame for her retreat on Guy did more harm than good. It reminded Gloucester of a variety of unpleasant incidents involving Guy, which he related all through the dinner they shared. Later Barbara felt guilty because she had not tried to soothe him and talking about Guy kept fresh in mind his present hurt, but she disliked Guy so much that she had enjoyed the tales and actually encouraged Gloucester’s open resentment and anger.

  They had barely finished eating when Leicester’s messenger arrived to say his lord’s answer to Mortimer was ready. The message did not include Gloucester. It did not exclude him either, however, and Barbara said several times she was sure that Leicester had meant it for both of them. But Gloucester had not gotten over his hurt feelings, and he refused to accompany her to the keep uninvited. She was afraid to insist. If Leicester was not welcoming, the affront might be aggravated, and she herself forgot all about Gloucester when she arrived at the castle and Leicester told her that he would discuss terms of submission only if Mortimer and his allies came to Worcester themselves.

  “You have some objection?” he said, when Barbara’s lips parted.

  By the time he finished the question she had reminded herself that Leicester was already suspicious of her, and she shook her head.

  “And you wish to return to Wigmore yourself?”

  “My husband is hostage for my return,” she said.

  “Are you afraid for him?” Leicester’s voice was much gentler.

  “I am afraid,” Barbara repeated, and put out her hand to take the pouch he held.

  The words were not lies. True, she was not afraid that Mortimer would harm Alphonse if she did not herself return to Wigmore, but she was certainly afraid that Mortimer would reject Leicester’s conditions and might drag Alphonse and her into an outlaw life in the hills or seal them into Wigmore to fight to the death. Also, she felt vaguely guilty, as if she should have done more, although what more she could have done she did not know. Leicester would certainly not have listened to any plea she made for Mortimer and his friends.

  “Are you lodging with Gloucester?” Leicester asked then.

  “No,” Barbara said. “I will set out for Wigmore at once. Our horses are well rested. There are four hours of daylight still. I should be able to go as far as Bramyarde.”

  “Child, there is no need to start at once. You have three days before your husband is in any danger. I will order that lodging be found for you here.”

  “Oh, please let me go!” Barbara exclaimed. “I cannot stay here!”

  She was thinking that Guy might turn up at any moment and in the mood she was in she would stick a knife in him if he annoyed her. Leicester, of course, associated her reaction with her earlier confession of fear. He patted her shoulder and begged her to calm herself. Recalling some of the emotional outbursts of his wife, Barbara bit her lip—and he misinterpreted that too and said soothingly that if nothing would content her but to leave that day, he would send an escort with her as far as Bramyarde so that she would not be in danger riding the trail through the hills at dusk.

  For that, Barbara offered heartfelt thanks, and for providing messengers to find her servants and carry her farewell to Gloucester. She was still thinking kindly of Leicester when they arrived at Bramyarde. But she found she could not sleep after she lay down, wrapped in her fur cloak, on her own folded blankets before the fire in the same alehouse she had slept in the night before. Leicester nagged uneasily at her mind. Suddenly what Leicester’s first messenger had said in Gloucester’s lodging came back to her. He had spoken of “his lord’s decision”, not the king’s, and that recalled to her Gloucester’s remark that Leicester held himself very high these days. Gloucester had also said the king was there, in Worcester.

  Barbara sat up and opened the pouch she had laid under her blankets where it could be safe and serve as a rough pillow. In the light of the fire she examined the seal on the folded parchment within—Leicester’s seal. Was the earl no longer even pretending that the orders he gave came from King Henry? If the safe conducts she carried were from Leicester rather than from the king, would that permit the earl to violate them—on the king’s order? And if she raised those questions with Mortimer, which honesty urged, would she destroy all chance that peace would be made?

  When she reached Wigmore late the next afternoon, Barbara was taken at once to Mortimer and recited the verbal message she had been given as close to word for word as she could manage. Roger de Mortimer, Roger Leybourne, and a third lord of the Marches, Roger Clifford, were to appear on December 12 at Worcester to discuss the terms of their submission to Leicester. The three men were to come without any armed troop, however, they were granted safe conduct—Barbara offered the pouch—to leave Worcester freely whether or not terms were agreed.

  A dead silence in the private chamber closed off from one end of the great hall followed her little speech. Barbara was not surprised. To offer safe conduct only out of Worcester, rather than to their own borders, was like giving a prisoner permission to run free when he wore a chain that allowed him three steps. If Mortimer and his allies refused the terms Leicester offered, there was a whole army to chase them down and capture them between Worcester and their own lands.

  The silence was so complete that Barbara heard a stifled sob so soft a whisper would have drowned it. Mortimer heard it too. His head jerked infinitesimally toward the farthest corner of the room where hi
s wife stood. He did not complete the motion but opened the pouch and drew out its contents. His head was bent toward the parchment, but Barbara did not think he saw what he held, and before she thought, she cried out, “Do not break the seal before looking at it.”

  Every head turned to her, then to Mortimer, whose eyes had already gone back to the parchment. “The king is in Worcester,” he said, “but this is Leicester’s seal.” He stared into nothing briefly, then nodded at Barbara. “I thank you.”

  Barbara shivered, and Alphonse, who had been standing close beside her, put his arm around her and said, “You must be chilled to the bone by that long ride. These braziers do not warm the room enough. Come, I will take you out to the fire in the hall.”

  She went willingly, although she was still wearing her heavy cloak and had not shivered from cold. Nor did she care that Alphonse’s purpose was to get her out of Mortimer’s chamber politely so that the men could discuss their problem in private. She wanted to be out of that chamber. Mortimer and his wife were not her friends, and if fate saved them, it might doom her father. But somehow that bleak thanks for pointing out one more danger, which Mortimer gave courteously because he knew she had intended to be helpful, mingled tragically with Matilda’s soft sob in her mind.

  “Do you wish to go back?” she asked Alphonse.

  He had been guiding her past servants and men-at-arms toward a bench by the hearth, but he started slightly at her question as if his mind had been elsewhere and shook his head. “No,” he said, changing direction as he spoke and moving toward the door. “You are tired, love. Let us go instead to our house where you can change your clothes and rest more comfortably.”

  Barbara agreed with a sigh of relief. Although she doubted that the servants and lesser captains who spent much of their time in the great hall, knew the exact situation, all seemed to sense impending disaster. There was an uneasy tension in the hall. Small knots of men gathered to whisper anxiously together and glance over their shoulders to catch the expressions of the greater men as they came and went. Some of those brief, worried glances had been directed at her and Alphonse as they came from the private chamber. Barbara tried to look calm and indifferent, to offer neither hope nor despair, but she could feel eyes following her as she crossed the hall.

  Neither she nor Alphonse spoke again until he had shut the door of their small house behind them. Clotilde looked up from laying out garments on the bed and smiled. Part of the weight of despair Barbara had felt lifted, but not all. Against her will she felt anxious about those she should regard as enemies.

  “What will Mortimer and Leybourne do?” she asked.

  Alphonse put his arms around her and kissed her. “I missed you,” he said, then smiled over her shoulder at her maid. “Clotilde, go and ask Lady Matilda, whenever she happens to come into the great hall, if you can bring an evening meal here for Lady Barbara.”

  “Will I help you change first, my lady?” Clotilde asked, half laughing.

  “No, you silly woman,” Alphonse said before Barbara could reply. “I will help her change. Just go away.”

  “Yes, go,” Barbara said.

  Since Clotilde would put a desire for coupling on the most tactful device, Barbara thought it clever of Alphonse not to waste time concocting a more delicate suggestion to be rid of her. She did not think it necessary. Although Clotilde loved to gossip, she usually made sure of what she should and should not reveal. However, these secrets were not Alphonse’s own, and Barbara accepted his caution as reasonable. Thus, when he kissed her again, she embraced him warmly, until she heard the door close, when she expected he would let her go.

  To Barbara’s surprise, his kiss only deepened and his hands began to move over her body. She pushed him away with considerable energy. Partly she was chagrined at worrying about his allies when he seemed not to care, partly she was ashamed because she had seized on an excuse openly to welcome and enjoy his caress, but mostly she was infuriated by the same cause that bred Gloucester’s resentment: She had ridden four days through wet and cold, fearful of danger, had suffered all the hardships of winter travel, and was not to be told what resulted from her labor.

  “If you do not wish to tell me anything about Mortimer’s plans, then say so,” she cried. “Do not try to cozen me with kisses.”

  “Do not be ridiculous,” Alphonse muttered, snatching her back into his arms. “I will tell you anything I know later. At present I do not care if Mortimer and all his friends and the prince, too, plan to be snatched up to heaven in a fiery chariot.”

  “And what if the plan sends them down to hell?” Barbara asked, leaning away from his kiss so she could speak.

  “With my goodwill!” Alphonse exclaimed, beginning to laugh. “Anything that will rid me of them so I can fix your attention on a matter more important to me just now.”

  The lure of believing herself more important to Alphonse than politics was irresistible. Barbara also laughed and allowed her hands, which had been braced against his chest, to slide over his shoulders. It was not so dreadful to be cozened with kisses, she thought, as he pulled the pin from her cloak and let it fall to the floor.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  You are not a very efficient maid,” Barbara murmured later. “Not only did it take you much longer than Clotilde to get my clothes off, but you forgot to warm the bed.”

  “I did not forget,” Alphonse said, tipping his head back so he could look haughtily down his nose at her. The attempt was seriously compromised because he did not let go of her and, close as they were, his eyes crossed. “Can you not recognize a clever device? Think how the cold sheets made you cling to me, even climb atop me.” He chuckled. “And you cannot complain of being cold for long. Did I not warm you well—and quickly?”

  “I can complain about anything I choose,” Barbara retorted. “You might think me unreasonable—” She stopped suddenly, reminded of Gloucester’s complaints about Leicester and said aloud, “I wonder if Gloucester is unreasonable because he has given Leicester reason to distrust him.”

  “What?” Alphonse lifted himself on one elbow.

  Realizing that what she had said might lead Alphonse to believe the rift between the earls was greater than in reality, Barbara described her encounter with Gloucester.

  “Gloucester said he had mediated Leicester’s agreement with Llywelyn?”

  “Why do you sound so surprised?” Barbara asked. “The Clares were lords Marcher and had lands in Wales from the time of the first William.”

  “How should I have known that?” Alphonse asked. “The only place I knew Gloucester held was Tonbridge. To speak the truth I was not interested to find out about his other lands, but even if I had been curious I would not have asked. Would not Gilbert have suspected I was looking for a position?”

  She thought he was trying to draw her off the subject of the rift between Gloucester and Leicester and made a dismissive gesture, her brows drawn together into a thick, straight line. “But do you think Gilbert has given Leicester cause to suspect him?” she insisted.

  Alphonse sighed and dropped back flat. “In a way, yes, in a way, no. The problem is like a snake biting its own tail. It seems to me from this and that I have heard that there were reasons from the beginning for lack of perfect trust. Gilbert was not originally of Leicester’s party, for example, and there were, and still are, disagreements between them about prisoners and ransoms. So Gilbert cannot help but wonder whether Leicester is suspicious of him. And he may be, but even if he is not, as you yourself have said, Leicester is so much older, with so much more experience, it is natural for him to make decisions without consulting Gilbert, who is about the age of his third son. Each time Leicester ignores Gilbert, however, he exacerbates Gilbert’s doubts. Gilbert is young and passionate, but he respects Leicester too much to argue. Thus, he sulks. Leicester sees him sulk, which increases his suspicion. And so, round and round, with the snake’s teeth digging into its own tail, the tail thrashing in pain, causing the teeth to
dig in so much harder, causing more pain—”

  “And on and on forever,” Barbara said sadly. “Where can it end?”

  Alphonse did not answer, and Barbara shivered. Then he drew her back into his arms and said slowly, “I am sorry, my love, but I think the end was decreed when Leicester insisted the form of government he established in the Peace of Canterbury must be extended into Edward’s reign. That made the prince his implacable enemy, and everyone knows it. Everyone also knows that any oath extracted from the prince is worthless because it is given under compulsion. Edward will turn on Leicester the first chance he gets. So the prince is a standard for the rallying of every enemy Leicester has…or makes…forever. If he is pushed too hard, Gloucester will turn to Edward.”

  Alphonse was surprised when Barbara did not react with more than a resigned sigh. She had told him more than once that she did not care for party, only that there be peace and her father and uncle both be safe, but she had also spoken strongly about the king’s unfitness to rule. Thus he could not decide whether to speak to her about the idea that had come to him. Mortimer, he thought, might use the fact that Gloucester had lands in Wales and his dissatisfaction with Leicester to save himself and his friends.

  Barbara herself made it unnecessary for Alphonse to mention the subject by saying, “You must remind Mortimer that Gilbert now knows we are prisoners in Wigmore and will be displeased if we are detained longer.” Then she sighed and added, “I am so sorry for Mortimer and for his poor wife, who will be dragged down with him, but I do not see that our remaining with him can do the slightest good. I think it is time for us to go to France.”