The Shattered Rose Page 0,97

no mind to see us up against each other."

"I doubt anyone wants that. That's excellent reason to make it plain that Henry Beauclerk is rightful king."

Perhaps to avoid this dangerous talk, the sinewy man turned and introduced himself to Galeran and Raoul - a Robert of Keyworth, near Nottingham - then settled to talking safely of the weather and the price of wool.

Then Galeran thought to ask, "I wonder if you know a Raymond of Lowick, who married a woman near Nottingham."

"Why, yes. His wife was a distant cousin. Sadly, she died."

"So I heard." Trying not to sound particularly interested, Galeran asked, "Do you know the cause?"

"The spotted fever. She was never strong."

A small suspicion could be laid to rest, at least. Lowick had not murdered his wife as part of a long-laid plan. "Poor lady."

"Indeed. And Sir Raymond was much distressed, as I remember. You know him well? A fine soldier."

"Very fine. He is a distant connection only."

"Ah. It will not be long now, I think, before the king comes out," Robert remarked. "The crowd is pressing."

Before Galeran could comment, a touch on his arm caught his attention. He looked sideways to see a young man, perhaps a page. "My lord of Heywood?"

"Yes?"

"If you would come with me, my lord, someone wishes to speak with you."

"My companion, Raoul de Jouray?" Galeran asked, heart already speeding.

"That is as you wish, my lords."

They parted from Robert of Keyworth and followed the youth through the crowds, risking no more than a look between them. It could be that some friend, or a friend of his father's, had spotted them and sent a servant to fetch them. But Galeran half hoped, half feared that he was being taken to the king.

Now that the moment had come, he wasn't sure he was ready to put his case, Jehanne's case, to the master of all this efficiency.

To the man who had thrown a miscreant off the walls of Rouen.

To the man who might have arranged his brother's murder.

The youth led them across the hall, but not to some distant acquaintance.

He carried on through a side door and out into the fresh air. From there, he took them around the building to a well-guarded entrance that opened into a small chamber.

Westminster Hall, like Burstock, was a wooden building and thus able to have any number of small rooms around the central great chamber. This room contained two armed guards, a monk at a desk which held a large book, and a number of young men coming and going. Even as they entered, one youth left on a errand. Shortly after, another came in with a set of wax tablets. The monk took them and scanned them quickly. Then he murmured a message, and the clerk hurried off.

The monk then looked at them. Know a man by his servants. This one was healthy enough to be a soldier, with shrewd eyes in a lined but quite genial face. Though he wouldn't allow himself the indulgence, Galeran felt he could trust him.

As long as he wasn't up to mischief.

"My lords," the monk said, "the king is pleased you have come so speedily to pay homage to him. Please go on through."

The next room also contained two guards, who eyed them with swift competence. Then one opened a farther door and let Galeran and Raoul into the king's presence.

This large, richly decorated solar chamber was nearly as crowded as the hall, and wherever the king was, he wasn't in his great chair on the dais.

That sat empty. Galeran scanned the room and found Henry simply by the fact that no one had their back turned to that one spot. Then at was easy because Henry was wearing his crown.

It was not really remarkable for a monarch to wear the crown at an important occasion, and yet Galeran felt it to be significant. Day after day under that metal contraption couldn't be pleasant. It was a clear statement of possession.

He'd seen Henry Beauclerk a few years before, and he hadn't changed much. He was perhaps a little stockier, but looked healthy and athletic at thirty-two, with good high color. His dark, glossy hair curled onto his shoulders in the latest style.

He smiled at everyone, and Galeran thought that smile was genuine. It wasn't so much a smile of pleasure at meeting anyone, but one of sheer delight at having finally achieved his ambition and become king of England, and at having half the world desperate to kneel before him