In the Shadow of Midnight - By Marsha Canham Page 0,69
flies on a carcass and what they see today has the uncanny ability to reach the king’s ear on the morrow. Still, it … does not sit well with me to stand idly by and do nothing while two of my sons set out on such a bold adventure. The very idea of it galls me and leaves me feeling more of a cripple than these damned sticks. Yet, at the same time”—he paused and his voice thickened with emotion—“I would have you know, I have never been prouder in all my life.”
Eduard held his father’s gaze a moment longer then went down on one knee before him.
“It goes without saying that you have my blessing,” Lord Randwulf said. He laid his hand on Eduard’s head and led the small group in a prayer for safe passage. Before it was finished, his steel gray eyes settled on Robert and he felt a wrenching tightness in his chest for the boy was no older than Eduard had been when they had stood together on a windswept cliff, the boy demanding to be recognized as a man.
Cool, slender fingers joined the Wolf’s where they still rested on Eduard’s bowed head, and he glanced down. He saw the love and pride shining on his wife’s face and some of the tightness eased. Enough, at least, to allow him to send his sons on their way in a loud, steady voice.
“God bless and God speed,” he said, his fingers twining with Servanne’s behind his back as Eduard rose. “You will send word from St. Malo when you arrive?”
“The very moment.”
“And … from Wales, if all goes well?”
Eduard smiled. “I will bring word myself, I swear it.”
When William the Marshal had ridden away from Amboise it had been his intention to head directly north to Le Mans, then on through to Falaise where he would rejoin the slower-moving body of the cavalcade that had accompanied him to Paris. With his stamina and strength of purpose, he estimated it would take him three days. Eduard’s group, because it would wind west around Tours and Angers, then north to the coastal port of St. Malo, would take upwards of a week or more to complete this first leg of their journey—time enough, it was hoped, for the marshal to confirm where Eleanor of Brittany had been imprisoned and to send a coded message to FitzRandwulf at either Rennes or St. Malo.
Eduard established a steady pace, neither too slow, nor seeming to rush too fast. They were, after all, supposed to be knights returning from a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Since their shields were covered in gray bunting and they travelled under a black banner to signify mourning, to be seen galloping across the countryside at full tilt would have sent heads twisting after them in askance.
Another factor that determined their speed was their choice of horses. Because of the nature of their journey, the decision had been made to forgo the encumbrance of too many extra animals. The knights rode their destriers—brave beasts, but not known for their enthusiasm for plodding miles on end with no bloody battles or tests of derring-do to show for their trouble. To add insult, their saddlecloths were of the plainest, dullest weave, frayed into sad neglect. The snaffle bits were unadorned iron, the saddlebags were coarse canvas without any fringes or armorial bearings. Ariel and Robert rode palfreys, with each leading by means of ropes strung through loops on their saddles, two extra rouncies laden with equipment, spare weapons, and supplies.
The roads FitzRandwulf chose were not much more than trampled dirt tracts leading from one stand of silent forest to the next. Twice they skirted around clearings large enough to hold a huddle of mud and thatch cottages, but although there were men tilling the fields and tending the smoke huts, they were not challenged. They were, if anything, deliberately ignored, for it was not healthy to show too much curiosity to knights who might take a fancy to a particularly plump chicken, or an especially ripe daughter. FitzRandwulf was neither offended nor in a mood to reassure them. It suited him well to avoid any contact, even with the lowliest crofter, at least until they were far enough away from Amboise for a man bearing a scar over half his face not to be readily identified.
That decision also meant they would not be seeking shelter for the night, but would make their own camp in the woods. Reminding herself