A Silver Mirror Page 48

  The reason he and Gilbert had returned to St. Briavels was that Leicester was no longer in the city of Gloucester. On May 9, news had come—probably simultaneously to Gilbert and to Leicester—of an invasion of Pembroke by the king’s half brother, William de Valence, and the Earl of Surrey. That same day, before Alphonse had arrived in Gilbert’s camp with the horses, Leicester had moved the entire court, including Thomas and Edward, to Hereford.

  Had Barbe still seemed strongly attached to Leicester’s cause, Alphonse might have used that as an excuse to send her away. Instead, she seemed as eager as any of them for Edward’s escape. As soon as she was sure that he and Gilbert were unhurt and had seen to their needs for clean clothing and refreshment, she coaxed them to walk in the garden. Once there, safe from the ears of those who constantly passed to and fro in the hall, she began to ask anxious questions about whether the move to Hereford would delay the plans to free the prince.

  “You cannot move your army to Hereford, Gilbert,” Barbe said. “To follow Leicester with your army would make him too suspicious and might put your negotiations with him in doubt. What lands do you have near Hereford to which we could move?”

  “We!” Alphonse exclaimed. Then he nearly swallowed his tongue because her mention of lands near Hereford had suggested a solution. “You are quite right, my love. Gilbert cannot take his army to Hereford, and he cannot leave the army either.”

  “Why—” Gloucester began, and almost at once shook his head. “No, I cannot leave the army and myself chase after Leicester to Hereford. I am afraid every man who has answered my call would take that to mean I was about to accept Leicester’s terms and that there was no purpose to remaining under arms. But what choice does that leave us?”

  “Wigmore,” Alphonse said. “Wigmore is only about six leagues from Hereford, and you cannot doubt Mortimer’s willingness to shelter the prince. And Weobly is in just the right place to provide troops—without the movement of a single man, which might come to Leicester’s ears and make him take extra precautions—to lay an ambush that can hold off Edward’s pursuers.”

  Gloucester bit his lip. “Damn you!” he burst out. “You will give Mortimer all the sport and all the glory.”

  “Oh, no.” Alphonse began to laugh. “Mortimer is going to love me even less than you do. He is going to leave Wigmore as soon as possible—as if he were withdrawing from Leicester.”

  “He will kill you if you say that to him!” Gloucester said in a hushed voice.

  “Which is why I am not going to say it. Barbe will carry the message.”

  Barbara gasped as a fear she thought she had conquered caught her by the throat. Did he want to be rid of her? Alphonse’s face told her nothing. Then a single glance at her, while Gloucester, with lowered head, continued to gnaw his lips, betrayed a hidden well of unholy glee. Her chest ached for a moment, but almost at once she took comfort. She had been included in that hidden laughter, it was Gilbert who was being cozened. As she came to that conclusion Gloucester shook his head.

  “Well, Mortimer will not murder Barby for carrying a message, but neither will he leave Wigmore just because you and I send a letter saying he should.”

  “That is why I will follow Barbe with the horses for Thomas the very next day. Once Mortimer is past his first rage at the idea of appearing to run from Leicester, I will be able to reason with him. I think I can make him leave Wigmore.”

  If Alphonse’s primary purpose had been to move Mortimer from Wigmore, he might have been disheartened by the reception he received. True, Mortimer did not actually challenge him or spit in his face, but that might have been because he did not come out to greet Alphonse when he first arrived, very late the night of May 12. For a while Alphonse thought he would have to sleep in the outer bailey, but sound carries well at night and faintly, beyond the wall, he heard a high-pitched voice arguing with the guard. Eventually Barbe, who had preceded him as planned, arranged his admission.

  Even the next morning, however, Mortimer was clearly not prepared to pretend fear of Leicester. Since Alphonse had actually accomplished what he wanted—by moving Barbara to a place far less dangerous than St. Briavels—he found no difficulty in being indifferent to Mortimer’s anger and content with what he had achieved.

  Sensibly, Alphonse did not raise the topic of Mortimer’s leaving Wigmore. Instead, he apologized to his host in a voice denoting urgency for, without his permission, having left several horses to be cared for in Weobly. Then he disclosed the original idea for Edward’s escape and engaged Mortimer in devising a method for getting the horses to Thomas, who was in Hereford Castle with the prince, and in arranging a path of communication so they could revise the plan for Edward’s escape.

  As Alphonse suspected, Mortimer already had friends and partisans, merchants and priests, who came and went freely in the town of Hereford and who would not be suspected if they entered the castle or even approached the prince. Before the day was out, a plan had been arranged. The next day, May 14, Mortimer and Alphonse rode to Weobly to enlist the cooperation they needed. In Weobly they learned that a convention reestablishing “cordial” relations between Gloucester and Leicester had been written out and sent to Gloucester on the twelfth.

  With smiles of delight wreathing their faces, Mortimer and Alphonse agreed that five men dressed in Gloucester’s colors should deliver the horses to Thomas at Hereford Castle within the next few days, as if they had been sent by Gloucester soon after he had received the articles of convention.

  “Perhaps we should not send the men with the horses until Saturday or even Monday,” Alphonse said, his smile fading, his eyes half lidded, calculating. “That might serve as a hopeful sign to Leicester and encourage him to wait a few days longer before despairing of Gilbert’s acceptance. And another thing. The prince was born in June. I remember because his birth date fell on a tourney day once, and all who won gave him their prizes.”

  “I think you are right about Edward being born in June, but what is that to do with anything?”

  “It is to do with the reason for Thomas to offer him a horse,” Alphonse said, nodding with satisfaction. “I was always troubled by the fact that there was no good reason for the offer except the usual one of pleasing a prince. But why should Thomas de Clare, Edward’s gaoler, wish to please the powerless prince? I always feared the offer would wake suspicion and Thomas’s suggestion that Edward choose the one he liked best give all away. This is better. Any good-natured, fortunate young man, in receipt of more horses than he is likely to need, might offer even a powerless prince a gift in celebration of his birth date.”

  “And it will be typical of Edward that he should ask to try the paces of all the horses to choose the one he likes best.”

  Alphonse laughed aloud. “Very typical, indeed. The prince does tend to look even a gift horse in the mouth. I think we should also tell Thomas to grumble a little behind Edward’s back about that.”

  “And you think it is important that I be gone from Wigmore before Edward escapes? If I left that day, would not that draw attention to where I was going—presumably to meet Edward—and make Wigmore safer?”

  “My lord,” Alphonse said, showing no surprise at the sudden change in subject, “you must do as you think best, of course, but if I knew that you were at Wigmore and that you left on the day the prince escaped, I would smell a long-dead fish being dragged across a trail to deceive. But, if Leicester—puffed up with the false notion that he has defeated you—hears you left your stronghold within a week of his coming, he will think you have run to join the invaders or run from him. He will dismiss you from his mind.”

  “Courtier!” Mortimer said, his lips twisting. “It was no ‘false notion’ that Leicester defeated me.”

  “It was false because Leicester had the resources of the king to draw upon, and you had much less. I am a courtier and not averse to saying what I must in the most pleasant words I can find, but I am no liar.”

  Laughing harshly, Mortimer said, “We
ll, I will go, and I will send word to Clifford and the other Marchers to call in men and supplies. Clifford is about six leagues from Hereford due west. His activity might lay a false trail.”

  “Very good, especially as the men and supplies will be needed.”

  “Who will give the signal to the prince to flee and lead the troop that will block pursuit?”

  “I, if you will trust that task to me,” Alphonse said.

  Mortimer nodded. “You have been a good friend to us and with nothing to gain for your risk.”

  “I have more to gain than you think,” Alphonse replied with a smile. Mortimer, like most men, was suspicious of generosity without a cause. “Edward is lord of Gascony. My brother has wide lands in Gascony, and I hold a small estate there. Raymond and I can only profit from Edward’s goodwill. Moreover, I do not want for my brother such a lord as Edward might become if he were kept leashed until Leicester dies—and I am sure Leicester’s power will die with him. Not one of his sons could hold it. Henry is not ruthless enough, and Simon and Guy… Well, you might have heard that I have a personal spite against them.”

  “Yes, every tongue in Northampton was wagging, and I still have friends to tell me gossip.” Mortimer sounded amused. “I heard Guy has been kept as close beside his father as if shackled to him ever since.”

  Alphonse nodded, but he did not smile. “He will be loosed when Edward escapes. And for that reason I hope you will agree to let me send my wife east to her father.”

  “But if she tells Norfolk about the plan to free the prince—”

  “She would not,” Alphonse assured him. “But I agree that one must never trust a woman. We can set the time of her leaving so that no matter how hard she rides she could not reach Norfolk before Edward is free.”

  “Then to send her east is an excellent idea.” Mortimer spoke with considerable enthusiasm. Sending Barbara to her father would free him of responsibility for her safety. Then his enthusiasm faded and he looked troubled. “But this is no time for a woman to travel across England with a maid and two men-at-arms. Even if I or Gloucester could spare a troop, she would be in worse danger with them than without. And, truthfully, I do not wish to send twenty or thirty trained men-at-arms away at this time.”

  “That was not what I intended,” Alphonse said quickly. “I will take her to Wigmore Abbey and ask that the monks send an escort with her to the next nearest holy place that is not…ah…tainted with rebellion against Leicester’s rule. Her father can send for her, but I am not sure where—”

  “Evesham Abbey,” Mortimer interrupted. “The abbot of Wigmore will send his men that far if I ask it. It is well away from Hereford and Gloucester, where I would suppose the fighting will center, and I have heard it hinted the abbot is proud and will yield none who take refuge—even to Leicester’s sons. She will be safe there until Norfolk’s men come for her, and the abbey is rich and powerful, so Lady Barbara will have every comfort.”

  Now all that was necessary was Barbe’s agreement. Alphonse said nothing of that to Mortimer, merely thanking him for his help and advice and returning to the subject of how the prince should be signaled to begin his dash for freedom and where the troop to hold off pursuers should wait. Alphonse knew Mortimer would have thought him mad to seek his wife’s concurrence rather than simply giving her an order. But Alphonse did not at all object to the prospect of wheedling Barbe into doing as he asked. To bend her to his will—and make her enjoy yielding—gave him a pleasurable sense of power. More important, although he did not like thinking about it, her initial objection to leaving him would soothe that faint uncertainty he still felt about her. Barbe seldom resisted him now, she came willingly, even eagerly, into his arms. Nonetheless he was aware of some shadow on the brightness of her love—and there was that token she hid from him.

  Alphonse was, therefore, not altogether pleased to win an easier victory than he had expected. He had managed, by asking Mortimer to take him over the territory that would be covered in Edward’s escape, to delay their return to Wigmore until the ladies had separated for the night. Barbe, who knew they intended to return, had undressed but was in her bedgown, still sewing by the fire in the small guest house when Alphonse came in. She jumped to her feet.

  “I heard horses some time ago. You are late. I was worried.”

  Alphonse caught her to him. “If I had known you were awake, I would have come sooner. I disarmed in the hall, not wishing to disturb you.”

  “Then you have eaten already?”

  “Yes, but I would like a cup of wine—” He felt her stiffen in his arms and chuckled. “You are altogether too clever, my love. How do you know that I do not really want wine but talk?”

  She pushed him gently away and stared at him, heavy brows level, lips flat. “If you do not want to leap into bed, there is trouble. You never want food or drink when you have been away from me, unless this time you are futtered out already—” She stopped speaking abruptly and walked to a table near the wall where a flagon of wine, a flask of water, and two horn goblets stood.

  Alphonse made a small sound as he choked down joyous laughter. She was jealous! But by the time she turned toward him, cup in hand, his face was perfectly sober. “Not trouble,” he said, “but a problem I wish to discuss with you without Mortimer overhearing.”

  “You do not trust him?” Barbara whispered, stopping with the cup of wine half extended.

  “Of course I trust him, but there is something I wish you to do that you will not like. Mortimer would never tire of the jest that I feared my wife and pleaded with her instead of bidding her obey me and knocking out her teeth if she did not. But,” he added plaintively, “I like you better with your teeth, so—”

  Barbara started to laugh, then frowned and thrust the wine at him. “What is it that I will not like?”

  “I want you to go to your father and stay with him until the prince is free and Leicester makes terms.”

  “You want to be rid of me.”

  This time Alphonse let himself laugh aloud. “I will show you soon enough whether that is true.” Then he sobered and came close, taking the cup from her hand and setting it back on the table. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Dear heart, I will miss you bitterly. You have no idea how bitterly—”

  “Then why send me away?”

  “Because you are a danger to me. Edward will come here after his escape. We hope, of course, that none will follow, but there is always a chance that someone faithful to Leicester will espy him and pass the news to those who will be sent out searching. The prince will stay here only long enough to rest, but you know Leicester will not care. He will use word that Edward stopped here as an excuse to attack Wigmore, and this keep will not be well defended. Mortimer will take most of his trained men with him. If Wigmore falls and you are taken in an enemy stronghold, when you are believed to be in France—”

  “I see,” she said, staring hard at him, but he wore no courtier’s face for her. The fear he felt at the thought of her being taken was written in his eyes and the tension of his mouth. And Barbara was herself afraid. After what she had said to Leicester, she did not think being Norfolk’s daughter would protect her. She looked down and sighed. “And I cannot go to St. Briavels because that is another likely target for attack and also will not be well manned.”

  Alphonse was a trifle put out at hearing Barbara state his arguments. He had expected her to refuse to be parted from him, as she had in the past, and had been prepared to reason and wheedle her into compliance. Now he had little left to say. “I am delighted that you see the situation so clearly.” He hoped the compliment would be convincing, but his voice sounded flat to him, and he thought he detected an amused spark of blue in the cold gray depths of Barbe’s eyes.

  “Only…” Her lips had no curve, no hint of a smile softening them. “Would it not be even more dangerous for me to ride all the way across England with armies marching about? Have you forgotten that Leicester is sure to call up the whole knight service
of England once the prince is free?”

  “Ah, no.” Alphonse misunderstood the straightforward question and thought that Barbe had pretended to agree only to cut the ground from under his feet. He rebraced for argument with considerable pleasure, making his first move by drawing her close, and kissing her. “We will have two strings to our bow,” he began, and went on to tell her how Mortimer would arrange with the abbot of Wigmore Abbey to have her escorted to Evesham. “I doubt any captain of Leicester’s army would interfere with a lady escorted by holy brothers, but if it should happen, you need only say you parted from me in anger when you discovered I intended to join with the rebels.”

  She pulled her head back, away from the lips that were seeking hers again. “And then how could I protest if such a captain wished to deliver me into Leicester’s hands?”

  Alphonse laughed, her protest having confirmed his guess that her agreement had been part of a design to circumvent his purpose. “Mortimer will confide to the abbot Guy’s lust for you,” he said, “giving that as your reason for seeking the protection of the Church. The brothers will not give you up to any but your father’s men.”

  While he spoke, Alphonse had slid one arm around her shoulders, his other hand was busy unloosening the belt of her bedgown. He was already aroused and turned so that his body was fully pressed against her and she could not mistake the hardness of his shaft. She had been untying his shirt strings, but she stopped and laid her hands flat on his chest as if to push him away. Alphonse was a little troubled by a renewal of the resistance she seemed to have abandoned, but his lips closed on hers, just as she said “My father’s men!” and he was relieved, assuming she did not understand the rest of the plan.

  Shock at hearing her father brought into the discussion first held Barbara immobile. In that instant she was convinced that the whole purpose in sending her away was to involve her father in the rebellion against Leicester.