In the Shadow of Midnight - By Marsha Canham Page 0,37

coal and began to burn with a fury that spread to the grinding hardness of his jaw.

“They were nobles” he hissed. “They were knights! Most of them were my neighbours and friends. Brave … brave men, to a one. Fighting for what they believed was right and just. Christ Almighty, had it not been by mine own command, my son might have been among them. I might have been among them, by God, had they struck in any other direction but Mirebeau. And now dead? All of them?”

“All,” William nodded. “To England’s shame.”

The Wolf pushed out of his chair, unmindful of the wound in his thigh. He turned away from the three men and slammed the palms of his hands against the stone wall in frustration. He slammed them a second time, then a third, then leaned his weight on his arms and hung his head between his massive shoulders.

“Stupid, stupid boy! I had thought his grandmother would have raised him with more sense. If only he had not joined forces with Philip. If only he had bided his time …”

“Arthur came by his rashness honestly,” William pointed out. “His father Geoffrey was never wont to conceal his dealings with the French king. And they have both paid the highest price for their lack of judgement.”

Lord Randwulf stiffened and faced the earl again, but the chill in his spine answered his question before it was asked. “Have the rumours of Arthur’s death been confirmed then?”

“He has not been seen alive since the king left Rouen for Cherbourg more than two months ago.”

“He promised his queen mother he would let the boy live.”

“John has as little love for his promises as he has for Eleanor, although I suspect something about the deed has left him with a taste of guilt. When I last saw our noble king, his neck was hung with so many holy relics, he could barely stand upright under the burden.”

“Would that I had his neck under my boot this instant,” the Wolf snarled, “I warrant he would never stand again.”

Movement out of the corner of Randwulf’s eye caused him to glance over the marshal’s shoulder and to acknowledge Eduard’s arrival in the alcove. Because his expression so closely mirrored his father’s, it was obvious Eduard had overheard most of their conversation. It was also obvious, by the steadfast way the Wolf and his cub were staring at each other, they were reliving some private argument they had had at the outset of the young duke’s ill-fated quest to claim the throne away from John.

“You did try to warn him,” Randwulf said evenly. “You warned Arthur he would risk losing everything if he attacked Mirebeau. I warned you of the same thing and can only thank God you heeded me.”

Eduard drew a deep breath. “It did not … does not change my belief that the Duke of Brittany was the rightful heir to the throne of England. Or that our present king is nothing but a greedy usurper—now a murderer—who would stop at nothing to keep the crown seated firmly on his head.”

The Wolf sighed and eased himself painfully back into his chair. He noted the marshal’s concerned frown, for King John’s spies were everywhere, but he offered a smile that contained no sign of apology. “You have, I believe, met my son Eduard? He tends to be a little … headstrong … himself, at times.”

The earl stood, his barrel chest glittering with the blazon of the Pembroke device—a black shield with bars of green and a lion rampant, embossed in gold. He thrust out a hand the size of a large slab of beef, and clasped FitzRandwulf’s arm warmly.

“Aye, we have met. But it has been five … six years at the least, has it not?”

“More like eight, my lord,” Eduard replied stiffly. “You were present when I won my spurs, and it was as much an honour to be in your presence then as it is now.”

“We shall share the honours, shall we? I have been hearing how your reputation grows as a champion in the lists. Another year or two of seasoning and mayhap I will have to take you on myself.”

Eduard’s grace was a little strained despite the immeasurable weight of the compliment. He had bathed and changed his clothes and come quickly to the great hall in the hopes of finding the earl and offering his deep-felt apologies along with what he hoped was an amusing explanation of the misunderstanding with his niece.