“If the king learns of this secret société , he will not be best pleased,” Philip pointed out. “You will all be condemned as traitors.”
“The king will not learn of it,” the baron boasted. He drew off a glove and swatted at a fly buzzing before his face, then dragged his blue linen sleeve across his forehead. “Special measures have been taken. We have appealed to the archbishop of Rouen, who has agreed to summon a council of noblemen concerning the papal succession.”
“The archbishop has recognised Urban as pope,” declared Philip, unimpressed with this revelation, “as everyone knows.”
“Yes,” granted his father, “but Urban’s position is faltering just now. He is increasingly out of favour, and Clement occupies Rome. It would not take much to swing the balance his way.”
“Is this what you propose to do? Throw the weight of the nobles behind Clement?”
“For certain concessions,” the baron replied. “A papal ban on this continual family warring would be a good beginning.”
“The king would ignore any declaration the pope might make—just as his father always did,” scoffed Philip. “Comme le père, donc le fils.”
The baron frowned and looked to Falkes. “What say you, Count? Do you agree with my upstart son?”
“It is not my place to agree or disagree, Sire.”
“Hmph!” snorted the baron in derision. “What good is that?”
“But if I might offer a suggestion,” continued Falkes, choosing his words carefully, “it seems to me that while it is true the king is likely to ignore any censure by the church, were you to establish Clement firmly on the throne of Saint Peter, Clement would be in a position to offer William certain benefits in exchange for a signed treaty of peace between the king and his brothers.”
“Precisely,” agreed the baron. “Is this not what I was saying?”
“To make good Clement’s claim,” said Philip, “you must first depose Urban for good. Blood would flow.”
“It may not come to that,” replied the baron.
“If it did?”
“Qué será,” answered his father. A drum began beating just then, and Baron de Braose gazed out across the field to a clump of beech trees where the handlers were waiting. “If all goes well, you will receive a sign before Christmas. I will send it with the winter supplies.” With that, he put spurs to his mount and galloped away.
Earl Philip watched his father’s broad back, his frown a scowl of displeasure. “A word beyond this field and we are dead men,” he muttered.
“Count Falkes!” The baron called back to him. “When you catch this phantom raven of yours, let me know. I think I’d like to see him hang.”
Well, thought Falkes de Braose as he rode into the town square, we would all like to see King Raven hang. And hang he would, there was no doubt about that. But there were other, more pressing matters on his mind than chasing down elusive thieves. And anyway, Elfael had been quiet lately—not an incident in many months. Most likely, the black bird and his band of thieves had been frightened away by the sheriff, and was now raiding elsewhere—someplace where the purses were fatter and the pickings easier.
Count Falkes paused outside Abbot Hugo’s stone-built church. It was a handsome building. The abbot had spared no expense, commanding the finest materials available and gathering the best masons, and it showed.
The count had no great love for his abbot, a haughty, high-handed cleric who connived and conspired to get his way in everything—from the cloth of gold for the altar to the lead roof gleaming dully in the sun. That very roof Falkes paused to admire just now. Ordinary thatch was not good enough for Hugo; it had to be lead, cast in heavy sheets in Paris and shipped at great expense across the channel. And then there was the stonework—only the most skilled stonecutters were allowed to work on the archway carvings, producing the finest decoration money could buy. At the church entrance, Falkes stopped to examine a few of the finished sculptures—some of the last to be finished: a dragon with wings, chasing its tail for eternity; a centaur brandishing a sword; a lion and horse intertwined in mortal combat; Aquarius, the water man, with his bucket and ladle; an angel driving Adam and Eve from the Garden; a winged ox; a mermaid rising from the waves clutching an anchor; and more, all of them contained in dozens of small stone plaques around the arch and on the pillars.