chance the cavalcade would pass by without paying too close attention to the forest shadows. It was Brevant who kept a leveler head and drew the knights’ attention to the guardsmen who, though resentful of being out on the road in such miserable conditions, were already in the process of dismounting and smoothing their tunics lest the king’s eye happen to fall upon them as he passed by.
“Now we’ll see what stuff your balls are really made of, my lord,” grunted the captain, grinning.
He took command, ordering his men to form a straight line along the side of the road. Following their example, the De Clare party dismounted and led their steeds clear of the road, subtly forming a second line opposite the captain’s men. Eleanor, Marienne, Ariel, and Robin were put well back with the horses, while the knights prepared to give proper salute to their liege.
The next blast of the horn went right up Ariel’s spine. Robin was beside her and she took some courage from the wink he gave before he bowed his head deeper into the shadow of his hood. All of the knights and guards went down on bended knee and lowered their eyes as the first of the king’s horsemen came into view. He, in turn, saw the troop of graycloaks and men-at-arms kneeling in the rain by the side of the road and gave two brief blasts on his horn to alert the others behind him.
Only Brevant remained afoot, his lance held high to display Gisbourne’s pennons. One of the heavily armoured guards in the king’s troop rode forward with brisk authority to exchange a few words with Brevant, and, seemingly satisfied with the answers he received, barely glanced at the bowed helms of the others before he wheeled his horse back onto the road and rejoined the rest of the guard.
Ariel, her view partially blocked by her brother’s broad shoulders, risked a few peeks as the cavalcade moved past. A guard of perhaps a dozen foot soldiers marched in the van, carrying the pennons and banners that normally would have fluttered colourfully and boldly to celebrate the approach of the king. Rain and wind had wrapped most of them to the lance poles, but here and there, a snap of wet silk revealed John’s device of stalking leopards. Behind the footmen came archers, and behind them, a single horse with the king’s personal confessor, who glared through the rain with a mean and unholy expression, probably thinking of a warm bed and a blazing fire. Fully a score of mounted knights splashed by next, their faces almost completely obscured by visors or long, wedge-shaped nasals. Heavy suits of chain mail were supplemented by baldrics and belts holding swords, daggers, and battle-axes; all creaking and sawing back and forth with the motion of the heavy destriers. Most of the animals looked walleyed and balky, having spent the past two days in the bowels of a transport ship.
Riding in the middle, surrounded by this armoured phalanx of mercenaries, was the king. Ariel might have missed him entirely, so swathed and caped was he against the elements, but for a turn of the head and a glimpse of the long, pointed face. There was nothing regal about him. Nothing to set the heart aflutter or the lips moving in a prayer of exhaltation. Certainly nothing that would bring to mind his brother, the glorious golden-maned lionheart who had ruled before him. John’s features were dark and mean, his face starting to look bloated under the vee-shaped beard and prickling brows. His body was swollen from his overindulgence in rich foods and his legs stuck out, short and stubby, from the sides of his horse.
Ariel lowered her lashes again. Another raised his and stared at England’s king through flint-gray eyes as cold as ice, as hard as steel. The bitter taste of gall rose in Eduard’s throat as he watched the pompous, gloating fool parade past. It would have been so easy—an arrow in the back and damn the consequences—to end all of Britain’s woes then and there.
Eduard felt the hatred burning through his veins like acid. He saw the faces of the knights taken at Mirebeau who had been brought here to Corfe in chains and left to starve to death in darkness and unimaginable agony. He saw the proud, handsome face of Arthur, and the tormented features of the dowager queen so utterly devastated by the need to choose between a son and a