Chapter 33: New Life

(Lady Alwen narrates)

The Count was talking gently, calmly to me but I have eyes only for my husband, standing with bow fully charged with one of his war-point arrows, seeking out a shot at the Count behind me. He repeats himself and some of it sinks in.

“ ... not as you perceive, Madam, ... King ... shoot ... now.”

“What?”

“Lady Alwen, things are not always as you perceive, Ma’am, I support my cousin the King, and the King is now before you. I don’t want your husband to shoot me now.”

I hear the King, not what he says, my thoughts still taking in what I hear, but it is the King, his voice and presence unmistakable.

Then Will is fighting for his life with Wellock, but within half an intake of breath, the traitor falls dead at his feet and the revolt is over.

The Count squeezes my shoulder and hisses “Go to him, he needs you now.”

And I need no further encouragement.

It is later, in the Hall that it hits me. Still I tremble at the thought of death and what could have happened. I blow at the face mask that Will insists I wear until we eat. I had kissed him and he could be a carrier. He is concerned, and I happily do as he asks, it is a small thing, but I trust in God and today God will allow Will to have his way. It is not uncomfortable and I do not want to eat. And I drink well water only to quench my thirst.

The feast in the Hall to celebrate the victory is sombre, compared to most. It is strange seeing a King at the head table with two wives, one on either side. But they have known each other for months and get on well, these women of 46 and 26. I have spoken to Adela before, she is a sweet girl, and devoted to the King. She accompanies him everywhere and happy with the semi nomad life in the hope of producing a child. Lady Elspeth, Marquess of Stewkley, an inn keeper like me from Pitstone, is an interesting woman. Her red hair is greying now but she is alive with the excitement of her ride with the Black Knights. She recounted earlier, when we woman retired to the Inn’s quiet parlour, the recollection of her hours before the traitor Wellock came calling a few hours too late to snatch her, as she had already been claimed by her King and one-time husband.

I decide to retire early, tired from lack of sleep last night. When word spreads around the hall that I am retiring, they all have to call by my table to give me their best wishes. Many are riding out at first light, to mop up those named as conspirators or supporters, before raising an army to avenge Chester by taking the fight to the Welch.

The Count comes first, still moving with difficulty. Earlier, at the feast when the ladies were still present, the Countess, Lady Elinor, insisted on telling us all how she and her husband Gervais were expecting Robin and his friends to come to her rescue, but the boys seemed reluctant to intervene until the Count removed his chain mail trousers.

“Madam, I am sorry to hear you are indisposed,” the Count says with complete charm, “I am sorry to have put you through such discomfort but at first I had to impress Wellock’s men and then taunt your husband over his loyalties. I had no idea the executioner was going to kill your Steward before we had even started talking. King Henry wanted to hear Sir William’s words of loyalty before revealing himself.”

“Stephen’s death is regrettable,” I say, “but I have been heartened that His Majesty has promised to compensate his parents and fiancée for their loss. How are you? Is your arse still sore?”

“Yes, it is. But it was a remarkable clean shot and healing well. I hope you sleep well, ma’am, the county is now safer with these traitors known or captured.”

I thank him for his wishes and, although I had no wish to upset him, I do blame him for his deceit, if he hadn’t been so convincing, would the executioner been so bold in his actions?