In the Shadow of Midnight - By Marsha Canham Page 0,49
the throne in John’s stead.
“Not,” he stressed, “that it would be necessary, or even probable, for the barons of England to band together to do so. It might well be enough just to be able to threaten to do so in order to win some compromise of power from the throne— compromises we must have to limit the power one man has over an entire kingdom.”
“So you would use her,” Eduard spat contemptuously. “You would free her from one form of captivity only to place her in another?”
“There would be no donjon walls and no gaolers to watch her every movement,” William insisted earnestly. “She would be free to marry and have a family and look forward to having her children’s children pulling at her skirts. With John, she will have none of those things. Not even the dreams.”
Lord Randwulf pursed his lips thoughtfully. If the marshal was serious—and there was no reason to doubt he was not —he was placing the men of Amboise in an extremely awkward position. The dowager would not only resist any attempt to use her granddaughter to control her son’s powers, she would never sanction her champion’s involvement in any such plot. Conversely, Randwulf was aware of the friendship and affection that had developed between Princess Eleanor and his son over the years, and he knew Eduard well enough to be fairly certain no amount of threat or method of persuasion could convince him to leave this thing alone. Randwulf had practically had to declare open war on France himself in order to keep Eduard in the battle lines and away from Rouen.
“You say she has already been transported to England?” he asked.
“From Cherbourg, aye.”
“And taken where?” Eduard demanded.
“I do not know for certain, but from past experience, the best guess would favour a landing at either Lyme or Purbeck. John has used both Bristol and Corfe Castle for his political prisoners in the past, as they represent the most difficult challenges for a rescue or an escape.”
“There is also the White Tower, in London,” Alaric reminded him. “No one has ever escaped from there.”
“True enough,” the marshal agreed. “I also considered London, but it might draw attention to her presence in England, and attention is what he will want to avoid at all cost.”
“It is what we will want to avoid as well,” the Wolf said darkly, “for all that we are about to commit treason on a rather grand scale.”
The marshal’s eyes glittered in the candle flame. “Then you agree she must be taken out of his hands and delivered into safer keeping?”
Randwulf glanced over at his son. It was madness to agree. If the men involved were caught or even recognized, their lives would be forfeit. And if an attempt at rescue was made, but failed, not only their lives, but the life of the princess would be taken on the spot.
“Before you answer,” the marshal interjected cautiously, “and because I come to you with more boldness than our friendship perhaps warrants, it must be said that the men entrusted with this bounden duty must not be known to the king or to any of his minions. Certes, not well enough for any of them to say to themselves: ahh, there is the Wolf’s head we have been waiting so many years to thrust onto a spike. Or”— the piercing gaze shifted from Randwulf to Alaric—“there is the good Friar who would better serve a monastery in hell. Second, the leader must be a man well-enough known to the princess that she would not fear or hesitate to go with him if he should suddenly appear before her.” The earl stopped and looked directly at Eduard. “It would be a mission fraught with danger and given slim chance of success.”
Since the possibility of not aiding in the princess’s rescue had never entered his mind, Eduard was able to return the marshal’s stare with a creditably hard one of his own. “Allow me to select a few good men, and I will leave at first light.”
“You may count me among them,” Henry volunteered at once. “I am familiar with both Bristol and Corfe, having spent a drunken fortnight in the one and a miserable month of service in the other.”
“Then your help and company will be most welcome,” Eduard agreed.
“Aye, and what will the pair of you blundernoses do?” Sparrow asked with a snort. “Prance through the gates of Corfe and inquire if Her Highness is receiving rogues that particular day? You