ASilverMirror (40 page)

Because her absolute refusal to abandon her husband under
threat was proof that what Barbara had said was true, Mortimer was silenced. He
grunted and his eyes flashed to his own wife, standing silently off to one
side. Barbara smiled at him again.

“I will leave you, then, to pack what I will need so you can
talk to Alphonse in peace.” She laughed aloud. “I will swear not to ask a single
question of my husband about what you say, if that will ease your mind. But I
must ask of you, is there a limit to my time of staying with Leicester? And
what am I to do if I am kept over that time?”

“As far as I am concerned, you need do nothing but obey
Leicester’s orders.” Mortimer lifted his brows and added a purposeful exposure
of his teeth. “You may tell him that I will wait five days for a reply.”

“Worcester is how far?” Alphonse asked.

“A day’s ride,” Mortimer replied.

“About fifteen leagues,” Barbara said simultaneously.

“Then five days altogether, from the time Barbe leaves here,
is reasonable,” Alphonse said. “It may take her longer than usual to get to
Worcester and return if the weather is bad. Also, Leicester may be too busy to
see her at once, and to expect him to answer within moments of receiving the
proposals seems too much.” He looked at Barbara. “Tell Leicester that Lord
Roger will wait three days before he moves, from the day you arrive in
Worcester.”

Mortimer seemed startled by what Alphonse had said, but
Barbara was too relieved to wonder about that beyond the brief thought that
Mortimer was far more direct a person than she had thought. That could be no
problem for Alphonse, however, and she did not try to linger to hear Mortimer’s
question and Alphonse’s response. She simply felt grateful, as she hurried
across the small courtyard to the house in which she had been living, that she
would not be expected to ride all the way in one day. She could do it, but it
would mean changing horses and riding constantly rather than resting and
warming herself while the animals rested. Still, she changed at once to her
warmest, thickest clothing and bade Clotilde pack several changes and wrap them
in oiled leather traveling bags. There was no misery like riding in cold, wet
garments.

Alphonse came in while Barbara and Clotilde were still
discussing whether she would need more than one court dress. “Only one,” he
said. “You must not seem to be ready to stay for any reason. So far as
Leicester is concerned, we were taken prisoner by le Strange, have been held
prisoner ever since, and I am a hostage for your swift return. You can devise
any pretty threat you like for wishing to hurry back to me. Leicester dislikes
and distrusts Mortimer so much by now that he will believe you even if you tell
him Mortimer has threatened to send my balls after you if you do not come back
fast enough.”

She turned on him, her mouth flat and thin with irritation.
“You expect me to lie to Leicester?”

“Is our being prisoner really a lie?” Alphonse asked softly.
“Perhaps we could have escaped if we tried. More likely we would have ended
locked up in the keep. That I do not wish to escape has no bearing on that.”

Barbara shrugged without speaking. She was less annoyed
about telling Leicester a specious truth than by the reason Alphonse had given
for her eagerness to return promptly to Wigmore. However, to admit the
irritation would merely make Alphonse laugh and mark the words as important.

“Do you want Leicester to wonder why Norfolk’s daughter has
been a contented guest of the rebels since the end of October?” Alphonse went
on. “Or perhaps you want a reason to linger where Guy de Montfort is?”

“Ugh!”

The spontaneous and involuntary reaction made Alphonse laugh
aloud, and Barbara stuck out her tongue at him, but she wrinkled her nose and
admitted, “I had forgotten Guy might be there.”

He came closer and put his arms around her. “And I want you
back,” he murmured. “I am a thousand times a fool because I grow more hungry
for you the more I have you. I cannot even hide my reluctance to be away from
you for a day…or a night. You heard Mortimer laugh at me for being besotted.
Come back soon, dear heart.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Alphonse’s words kept Barbara warm all through the cold
ride, and she drove her escort along beyond Leominster, where they wanted to
stop for the night in the priory, across the empty, hilly country, where Bevis
and Lewin rode with their bared swords in their hands, as far as Bramyarde.
There, with the black hulks of the Malvern Hills rising threateningly before
her in the dusk, Barbara agreed to stop. No doubt had yet unsettled her
eagerness to be back in Alphonse’s arms at the earliest moment possible, but
she knew that riding farther was purposeless and stupid. The gates of Worcester
would be shut long before they could arrive, and it would be far too easy to
stumble into one of the army camps, where anything might happen, depending on
the type of captain and the discipline of the men.

She was glad she had come so far, however, because she
wished to give an impression of haste and urgency. To further this purpose, she
told Clotilde that she would wear the same mud-stained garments the next day
and bade the alewife in whose house they lodged to wake them at first light.
They left before sunrise, followed the alewife’s man’s instructions for finding
the pass, and arrived well before the dinner hour at Worcester, passing the
gate into the crowded, seething town with a motley of wagons bringing in
supplies.

Getting into the keep was a different problem entirely. When
Barbara saw the strict watch being kept, she regretted her stained dress,
fearing she would not be believed if she announced herself either as Norfolk’s
daughter or as a messenger from Mortimer. She was hesitating, one moment
turning her mare toward the center of the town to find an inn and change her
clothes, the next turning back because she realized that arriving decked in her
finest would give the wrong impression, when shouts and groans announced the
lowering of the drawbridge. Barbara rode forward eagerly, hoping Leicester
himself would come out of the keep. She was not alone in that hope. Others
waiting near the road pressed forward, and Barbara soon feared she would not be
able to get close enough to catch his attention. Her luck was even better.
First over the bridge came a horseman with a head so red she could not mistake
it.

“Gilbert!” she screamed. “Gilbert, it is Barbara. Help me!”

Gloucester’s sword was out, his horse leaping off the bridge
driven by sharp spurs, before his eyes found her. By then the crowd in front of
her had melted out of the way of the charging horse, and Gloucester could see
Barbara was in no immediate danger. He pulled his horse up and shouted, “Where
is Alphonse?”

“Hostage for my carrying a message from Mortimer to
Leicester,” Barbara called out. “Can you bring me to the earl?”

Gloucester sheathed his sword and rode close enough to speak
in an ordinary voice. “I can try,” he said, his lips thinning. “What happened?
I heard from Sir John at Warwick that you were on your way to Portsmouth.”

“Did you hear the rest?” she asked quietly as they went back
across the drawbridge to the castle, pausing for Gloucester to order that her
maid and two men just behind them be allowed to enter. But the dark passage
under the walls echoed sound and was filled with arrow slits and pour holes
through which words might pass. Barbara shook her head when Gloucester looked
at her, expecting her to continue.

“What rest?” Gloucester asked after they passed the
gatehouse. “Sir John wrote that Alphonse had seen William of Marlowe after a
short delay, no more than that.”

“Let us dismount before we talk, Gilbert,” Barbara said. “I
am too tired to shout at you from horse to horse.”

The bailey was full of men rushing about, but Gloucester,
with Barbara and her party following closely, rode straight through the crowd,
leaving a trail of curses behind. At the stable, Barbara told Bevis and Lewin
to stay with Clotilde, then laid her hand on Gloucester’s arm and smiled
faintly as she said she could trust herself to him. He flushed slightly but
covered her hand with his and started toward the gate to the inner ward.

As long as they were moving, no one could hear more than a
few words and Barbara thought it the safest time to tell her story. She
explained how Simon de Montfort had tried to hold Alphonse in Kenilworth and
the ruse Alphonse had used to get away—which brought a brief crow of delight
from Gloucester. He did not think it funny, however, when she said that she and
Alphonse had been attacked on the road by Guy and, in fleeing, she had fallen
into the hands of Hamo le Strange.

“Alphonse could not fight them all,” she said defensively.

“Four against forty are no odds for a sane man, no matter
how good, and Tybetot was holding you so Alphonse would hardly blink an eye
unless he were bid.” Gloucester patted her hand, then looked concerned. “Were
you ill used by le Strange?”

“Not at all, except that he took us to Bristol and we were
confined there—although with the greatest courtesy—by Robert de Walerand. Not,
to tell you the truth that I even thought of protesting against going with
Hamo. Rebel or not, I liked his company better than Guy de Montfort’s.”

Gloucester’s hand tightened over hers and Barbara said no
more until they had passed into the inner bailey. But before they entered the
forebuilding to go up the stairs to the hall of the keep, she asked, “Gilbert,
is Guy here?”

“No, but he is expected, which is why I decided to stay in
the town.”

Barbara sighed. “Too bad. But it is better than his being
here now.”

She was quiet again as they passed the guards at the
entrance of the fore building, but she glanced back at them as she started up
the stair. More guards stood at the inner end of the passage from the stair landing
through the thick wall of the keep. One put out a hand to stop her, but dropped
his arm when he saw Gloucester just behind.

“Why so many guards?” she asked softly as they crossed the
room.

“King Henry is here now, and after the attempt to free
Edward—had you heard of that?”

“Yes, Leybourne told us about it when he came to carry us
off to Wigmore,” Barbara answered, and then, before Gloucester could ask any
questions, she added, “Thank God I found you. Who knows how long it would have
taken me to get past all the guards if I had not.”

“Oh, the common guards have not been told to keep me out.”

Gloucester’s voice had a thin edge. “But I am not so sure my
influence will be enough to get you in to see the earl, who holds himself very
high these days.”

The question of Gloucester’s influence was not raised,
however. Mortimer’s name held enough magic to provide Barbara with an immediate
audience the moment she said she had been sent with a message from the lord of
the Welsh Marches, and since she clung to Gloucester’s arm, he entered with
her. Leicester exclaimed about her worn and travel-stained appearance, but she
only said shortly that she had ridden as fast as she could from Wigmore because
her husband was being held hostage for her immediate return. Then she drew from
under her cloak the pouch that had been concealed there, and handed it to the
earl.

“I beg you to give me an answer at once, my lord,” she said.
“I was told that Mortimer would wait no more than five days from the time of my
setting out before he moves, and I have been two days on the road already.”

“Before he moves?” Leicester laughed harshly. “Where can he
move? The Marchers are alone in rebellion. Even his cousin Llywelyn has seen
reason and made treaty with me.”

The words hit Barbara like a blow. No wonder Mortimer had
looked surprised when Alphonse bade her say he would wait five days before he
moved. Alphonse must have known how hopeless Mortimer’s situation was, yet he
had hidden it from her. Alphonse was apparently deep in rebel plans. Simultaneously
she felt Gloucester’s arm stiffen under her hand. He said nothing and she dared
not take her eyes from Leicester’s face to look at him, but Gloucester’s
tension implied that something Leicester had said was false. Barbara swallowed
nervously. She could not believe that. The Earl of Leicester did not lie.
Still, if he was sure Mortimer could not resist, why make any terms? And if he
would not make terms, why let her return to Wigmore?

The sensible court-trained part of Barbara told her it did
not matter if Leicester would not let her go back to Wigmore. Alphonse was not
really a hostage. Mortimer would not harm him even if he did not regard
Alphonse as a friend and ally, because doing so would make his situation worse.
And if Mortimer yielded to Leicester, it could not be long before she and
Alphonse were reunited…unless Guy convinced his father that Alphonse was not
Mortimer’s prisoner and should be treated as an enemy. Even then her father
could— No, that would only make trouble for her father. Leicester
must
at least agree to talk to Mortimer. Barbara swallowed again and wet her lips.

“My lord,” she said, “I know nothing of where and how
Mortimer can move, but that is a wild and empty land and he looks more like a
Welsh chieftain than a Norman gentleman. I can tell you nothing definite
because I was never in the inner keep at Wigmore and never heard any of the
talk among the men there. My husband and I were lodged in a house in the outer
ward. All I can tell you is that there was much coming and going every day and
I saw many armed men.”

“The same troop passing in and out on patrol.”

“My lord, I am no fool.” Barbara kept her voice even, but
now she was annoyed as well as frightened. “I was held in Wigmore for near a
month. Do you really think I would not recognize the same men passing, even if
they were dressed differently each time—and why should Mortimer do such a
thing? Surely he did not believe a month ago that he would be in so hopeless a
position. Surely he would have done something more practical in that time than
send one troop back and forth to befool a woman.”

“You plead his case very well,” Leicester remarked.

“I do not plead his case at all,” Barbara said. “You are my
father’s ally. I tell you what little I saw and heard.”

Leicester frowned at her. “How did you come to be taken
prisoner by Mortimer?”

“Not by Mortimer, my lord,” Barbara said quickly, suddenly
realizing why Leicester had been looking at her so strangely.

If Leicester did not recall why she and Alphonse were in the
west and thought they had been riding around on the border of Wales, he had a
right to be suspicious. She reminded him of her husband’s desire to visit
William of Marlowe and explained that they had been traveling south from
Kenilworth to find a ship at Gloucester and had been caught by Hamo le Strange
on the road. Leicester listened without expression. When she had told her tale,
carefully omitting any mention of his sons, he nodded and asked if she had
anything more to tell him—as if his presence should have awed her into some
confession.

“Nothing,” Barbara sighed. “Nothing except what every woman
has said from the beginning of time—I beg you, my lord, to find some way to
avoid the shedding of blood.”

Leicester made no direct answer to that beyond a brief
hesitation and look of sadness. Then he nodded briskly and waved her away, his
eyes going to the pouch he still held. As he opened it, he began to walk away.
Barbara felt Gloucester stiffen again and turned toward him. His eyes were
fixed on the earl’s back and his mouth was tight with fury.

“It was through my mediation that the treaty was made with
Llywelyn,” Gloucester muttered, “and I am not even invited to hear what
Mortimer proposes.”

The voice was so low and Gloucester’s attention so clearly
elsewhere that Barbara was not certain she was supposed to have heard what he
said. She did not think Leicester had intended to offend his young ally, but to
say that he was absorbed in his own thoughts and had forgotten Gloucester was
there would scarcely improve matters.

“If you wish to talk over this matter with Leicester,”
Barbara said, pretending that Gloucester had stayed with her to be polite and
hoping if he followed Leicester and asked what was in the parchment he would
naturally be included in the discussion, “I will just sit down by the fire and
wait.”

“Do not be ridiculous,” Gloucester said, his eyes still on
Leicester who had beckoned his cousin Peter de Montfort and two clerks to him.
“I am not needed or wanted.”

Barbara began to wonder how often this had happened before
and whether the slight could have been deliberate—but that was impossible. She
drew a breath to speak, but Gloucester shook his head at her and she was
grateful to be silent because she had not the slightest idea what to say.

“You must eat and rest,” Gloucester said, finding a smile
for her. “Will you come with me to my lodging in the town, or shall I try to
find a place for you here?”

Barbara hesitated. Perhaps if they remained in the hall,
Leicester would notice Gloucester and ask him to join the conference. But if he
did not, she thought, staying there would be a constant irritant, reminding
Gilbert that he had been ignored. Besides, if Leicester sent especially for
Gilbert, that would be best. All in all, it would be better to go.

“If Guy comes, he will come here,” she said. “I will be
safer in your lodging.”

The excuse satisfied Gloucester, who promptly caught a
squire—Barbara did not know whose—and bade him tell Leicester, as soon as he
was free, that Lady Barbara could be found at the Earl of Gloucester’s lodging.

The interlude in Gloucester’s lodging was pleasant for
Barbara, however, putting the blame for her retreat on Guy did more harm than
good. It reminded Gloucester of a variety of unpleasant incidents involving
Guy, which he related all through the dinner they shared. Later Barbara felt
guilty because she had not tried to soothe him and talking about Guy kept fresh
in mind his present hurt, but she disliked Guy so much that she had enjoyed the
tales and actually encouraged Gloucester’s open resentment and anger.