My lord Everoot,
I hear you have ridden north to take the Nest, and all that lies within. I have come upon something you may want. Or need. ’Tis a small thing, small enough to fit inside a keyhole. Young Richard has orders to await your victory, then deliver this message. Hold any arrogance perceived herewith to my self, not his.
Thankfully and in God, yours,
Someone with something you want
The humming started inside Griffyn’s chest, strong and whirling. As if he’d held this very possibility in the back of his mind, and now it was unfolding before him.
It could be a trick, of course. By someone who knew too much.
He looked up. “Where is this master of yours?”
Richard had small beads of sweat on his forehead. “Ipsile-upon-Tyne, my lord,” he stammered. “The Red Cock Tavern. Awaiting your reply.”
“Awaiting me.”
“Aye, my lord, if you saw fit to—”
Griffyn w
as already halfway out the door. “Look alive, Richard. We ride.”
He swung under the office doorway and ran smack into Alex. “I have to see to something,” he said, and clapped Alex on the back.
Alex looked wildly between Griffyn and Richard, who was buzzing like an adolescent bee in his wake.
“Ready my guard,” Griffyn said. “I’m going to Ipsile-upon-Tyne.”
Alex looked at him in shock. “Pagan? Ispile? But what—”
He was already striding down the corridor, issuing orders over his shoulder. “We leave in an hour. Rations for forty on the packs. Thirty men off the fields, on the walls, full armour. Pull the Everoot men.” He loped across the great hall. William and Alex followed in his wake. “Feed young Richard a shovelful of food and give him a new mount. He rides back with us. Tell Fulk I want him too. Alex, I need you to stay here.”
Alex pulled up like someone had yanked on his reins. Griffyn stopped beside him.
“Pagan,” Alex said, his voice low and urgent. “I should be with you. If this is related in any way to—” He glanced at William, who had stopped just behind them. “Everoot’s cache, I need to know of it. ’Tis of the utmost importance.”
“So is having someone at the Nest whom I trust, Alex. We arrived here two days ago and required an army to get in. I cannot leave it unprotected. The men must be arranged, orders given and followed. The Sauvage presence must be felt. Shall I trust that to anyone but you?”
Alex’s throat worked. He stared at the ground and shook his head. “No, my lord. I will see to it.”
Griffyn clapped him on the shoulder and took the steps to the outer door three at a time. He kicked open the door. Sunlight streamed in.
“Must you go?”
Griffyn had come up to their bedchamber to say good-bye. He came without his squire Edmund, the boy being engaged in swift preparation of Noir, and so Griffyn was tugging on his tunic himself.
“I must,” he replied, his words muffled by the fabric. Gwyn hurried up and unraveled the hem so he could pull it over his head, her fingers trembling with tension.
“But, now?” she persisted, thinking herself mad. Was this not a godsent answer to her prayers? Griffyn was leaving. She could visit Marcus. So why was she trying to convince him to stay? “’Tis just that it is so close…close to…”
He sat down on the bed and began tugging a boot on. “Close to what?”
She waved her hands in the air. “’Tis just a bad time to leave me!”
He buckled his spur on and dropped his foot. “Why?”
“Our wedding, I suppose,” she explained shrilly.