“You weren’t going to give me a dowry.”
Lord Henry paid no attention. “Dead, all because I tried to discourage that silly young peacock de Vescy. I lost my wits, and my tongue ran into the mire with lies.”
“What lies? Tell me, Father. What does Ivo de Vescy have to do with this?”
“He is to wed Bernice. Rather, he was. Now he won’t. He’ll run back to York and seek an heiress elsewhere.”
Philippa looked at Dienwald. She was no longer pale, but she was confused. He nodded at her silent plea for help.
“You make no sense, old man,” Dienwald said. “Speak words with meaning!” It was the tone he used with Crooky, and it usually worked. But it didn’t this time, not with Lord Henry. He merely shook his head and moaned, rocking more violently back and forth.
Northbert came into the hall and motioned to his master. He was panting from running and his face was alight with excitement and anticipation. “Master! There is another party here at our gates. The man claims to be Robert Burnell, Chancellor of England, here to see you, master, as a personal emissary from the king himself! Master, he has twenty men with him and they carry the king’s standard! The Chancellor of England, here! From King Edward!”
Dienwald exploded in Northbert’s face, “Chancellor, indeed! By St. Paul’s blessed fingers, your brain becomes as
flat as your ugly nose! More likely ’tis Lord Henry’s precious nephew, Sir Walter, come to carp to his uncle.”
Lord Henry was staring in horror at Northbert. His face had gone gray and his chin sagged to his chest. “It is the chancellor, I know it is. Accept it, Dienwald. ’Tis over now.” He clasped his hands in prayer and raised his eyes to the St. Erth rafters. “Receive me into heaven and thy bosom, O Lord. I know it is too soon for my reception. I am not ready to be received, but what can I do? ’Tis not my fault that I spoke stupidly and Philippa was listening. Perhaps some of the blame can lie on her shoulders for creeping about and hearing things not meant for her ears. Must all the blame be mine alone? Nay, ’tis not well done of me. Aye, I will go to my death. I will perish with my dignity intact and will carry no blame for my sweet Philippa, who was always so bright and ready to make me smile. Many times she acted stupidly, but she is but a female, and who am I to correct her? ’Tis done and over, and I am nearly fodder for Maude’s musk roses.”
“A soldier carries the king’s banner!” Edmund shrieked, flying into the hall. He stopped in front of his father’s visitor and stared. Lord Henry had raised his head at Edmund’s noise, and his face was white with fear. Edmund looked from Philippa to his father, then back to the old man, and said, “Who are you, sir?”
“Eh? Ah, you’re the villain’s brat. Get thee away from me, boy. I am on my way to die. A sword will sever my gullet, and my tongue will fall limp from my mouth. Aye, a lance will spike through my ribs and . . .” He rose slowly to his feet, shaking his head, mumbling now. Philippa ran to him. “Father, what is the matter? What say you? Do you know the king’s chancellor? Why are you so afraid?”
He shook her off. “Boy, take me away. Take me to your stepmother’s solar, aye, take me there to wait for my sentence of torture and death. Aye, I’ll be thrown into a dungeon, my fingernails drawn out slowly, the hairs snatched from my groin, my eyeballs plucked from their sockets.”
Edmund, wide-eyed, said, “Philippa, is this man your sire?”
“Aye, Edmund. Take him to your father’s bedchamber. He seems not to be himself. Quickly.”
“He pays homage to witlessness,” Dienwald said, staring after his father-in-law. “What does this Burnell want, I wonder.”
“The king’s chancellor . . .” Philippa said, her voice filled with awe and fear. “You haven’t done anything terribly atrocious, have you, husband?”
“Do you wonder if the king has discovered my plans to invade France?” Dienwald shook his head and patted her cheek, for he could see she was white with fear. “I shall go greet the fellow,” he said. “I bid you to remain here until I discover what he wants. No, go to your father and let him continue his nonsense in your ears. Perhaps he will say something that will make sense to you. I want you kept safe until this matter is clear to me. Heed me in this, Philippa.”
She frowned at his back as he strode from the great hall. He was her lord and master and she loved him beyond question, but for her to hide away whilst he faced an unknown danger alone?
“Come away from here, as the master bids, mistress.”
“Gorkel, you shan’t tell me what to do!”
“The master told me you would try to come after him. He says your loyalty is dangerous to yourself, for you’re but a female with crooked sense. He told me to take you to your steward’s room and keep you there until he was certain all was well and safe. He decided he doesn’t want you near your father. He believes him mired in folly.”
“I won’t go! No, Gorkel, don’t you dare! No!”
Philippa was an armful for her husband, but for Gorkel she was naught but an insignificant wisp, to be slung over his massive shoulder and carried off. She pounded his back, shrieking at him, but he didn’t hesitate. Philippa gave it up for the moment, since there was nothing else for her to do.
In the inner bailey Dienwald waited, his arms crossed negligently over his chest as he watched England’s chancellor ride through the portcullis into St. Erth’s inner bailey. The man wasn’t much of a rider; indeed, he was bouncing up and down like a drunken loon in the saddle. Suddenly the chancellor looked up and saw Dienwald. The man’s eyes were intense, and Dienwald felt himself being studied as closely as the archbishop would study a holy relic.
Burnell let his destrier come apace, then turned to an armored soldier beside him and said something that Dienwald couldn’t make out. He stiffened, ready to fight, but held his outward calm. He watched Burnell shake his head at the soldier.
Robert Burnell was tired, his buttocks so sore he felt as though he were sitting on his backbone, but seeing St. Erth, seeing this man who was its lord, he felt a relief so deep that he wanted to fall from the horse and onto his knees and give his thanks to the Lord. Dienwald de Fortenberry was young, strong, healthy, a man of fine parts and good mien. His castle was in need of repairs and many of the people he’d seen were ragged, but it wasn’t a place of misery or cruelty. Burnell straightened in his saddle. His journey was over, thank the good Lord above. He felt hope rise in his blood and energy flow anew through his body. He was pleased. He was happy.
He said to the man standing before him, “You are Dienwald de Fortenberry, master of St. Erth, Baron St. Erth?”
“Aye, I am he.”
“I am Robert Burnell, Chancellor of England. I come to you from our mighty and just king, Edward I. I come in peace to speak with you. May I be welcomed into your keep?”