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  In the melee archers found ropes and made makeshift lassos. But throwing the loops caused more pandemonium, and de Scabious grew purple as Hosanna and Sacramenta surged toward freedom, side by side. “Get him! Get him!” he howled.

  From above the portcullis one archer thought he had his quarry. He dropped his rope, but just an instant too soon. Instead of lassoing Hosanna, his loop tightened around Sacramenta’s neck. As the red horse galloped off, pushing the rest of the Hartslove horses before him, the mare, rearing and plunging, was the only one trapped. De Scabious swore horribly as, too late, the gates swung shut.

  Ellie tried to rush to Sacramenta, now dancing and kicking, but de Scabious, leaping about in his fury, shouted at his men to get her and Old Nurse inside. “See if you can do that at least without a mistake,” he cried, mopping his face and almost crying with vexation.

  Ellie found herself carried up the steps and pushed unceremoniously alongside Old Nurse into the tower’s larger hall. The door slammed shut behind them, but Ellie turned and thumped it, even though she knew it was no use.

  Old Nurse tried to calm her. “Now, dearie,” she said, and then crumpled.

  Ellie caught her as she staggered and then really began to panic. She could not survive this without Old Nurse. Using all her strength, she pulled the old lady toward a bench set in front of the fire and sat her down, relieved to note that as soon as the pressure was taken off her feet, Old Nurse’s breathing became less wheezy and the veins above her rheumy eyes sank back into the many crinkles of her forehead. Ellie gently settled her and, as Old Nurse creaked and groaned, looked about.

  The hall was small, but in an attempt to make it grander, a minstrels’ gallery had been erected at one end. Nothing, however, could disguise the fact that it was a shabby place, with no hangings to cover dirty walls. It was clear that de Scabious had not been here for very long, for despite the fire and the chairs, the air smelled of neglect. On a table was set a jug of wine—doubtless, the girl thought bitterly, Hartslove wine—and three tankards. She poured some out for Old Nurse and sat down beside her. They stretched their feet toward the blaze, trying to warm them.

  A sudden chill made them both jump. De Scabious bustled in. Ellie saw his look of greedy lust before he managed to transform it into something more polite. He wiped his chin and even bowed a little. “Welcome, ladies.” His voice reeked of false friendliness. “I am sorry your arrival was somewhat disrupted, but I hope your journey was pleasant. Quarters have been prepared for you, and I’m sure you’ll find them comfortable. I am glad to see you are making yourselves at home.” He nodded smugly toward Old Nurse’s drink. Despite the fire Ellie shivered. “You are cold.” The constable was assiduous in his concern and called for furs to be brought. Two nervous girls from the kitchen came and dumped some down, but Ellie left them on the floor.

  “Now,” the constable said, rocking on his toes, “I wish you to remember that you are here for safekeeping. When a king dies abroad and another takes over, there are those in England who—how shall I put it?—hanker for the past long after such hankerings are good for them. The de Granvilles are such people. Now, Miss Eleanor, if you want to help them adapt or even”—de Scabious paused for dramatic effect—“survive in the new king’s world, you should do the wise thing and marry me.”

  “Never,” said Ellie wearily. “And there is no new king.”

  De Scabious gave an affected sigh. “If you really care about those de Granvilles, you really should consider what I am offering, you know. The new king—and, my dear, there certainly is one—will deal harshly with those who don’t recognize his writ and will reward those, like me”—he wiped an imaginary crumb from his surcoat—“who do. It’s quite simple. Even though you are a girl, I thought you might be clever enough to understand.”

  Ellie could not stop her mouth from quivering, but her eyes were steady enough.

  “Such a pity,” the constable said, still rocking away. “We who are loyal to our rightful king are a dying breed. I blame the late King Richard myself, and I said as much to King John. All those modern songs about romance and all that simpering poetry about love the supposed ‘Lionheart’ was so keen on! It has addled people’s brains and made them forget their duty.” To Ellie’s horror he sat next to her on the bench. “The de Granvilles used to be great ones for duty to their king,” he mused. His breath was sticky and foul. “I should have thought, Eleanor, that Sir Thomas would have brought you up to do what the king wishes.”

  “I am betrothed to Gavin.” Ellie would not give an inch.

  “Your betrothal is already broken. John has rendered it null and void, so you can quite easily marry me. Girls who don’t give consent to what is good for them find themselves with unenviable reputations.”

  “How dare you!” exploded Ellie.

  “Oh!” said de Scabious. “What spirit!” He put his hand on her knee and began to enjoy himself, leaning back to display acres of stomach. “You and I are quite similar really.” His tone was indulgent. “Both with hot tempers. We will produce fireworks between us.”

  Ellie froze, and eventually, seeing that he was going to get no further that night, de Scabious got up. “Go to your rooms now,” he ordered. “We will speak again in the morning.”

  Ellie and Old Nurse found themselves right at the top of the tower, directly above the gate. Through a rough window they got a tantalizing view of the road along which they had come. The outline of the gallows and its sorry cargo was fuzzy under the dusky sky, but Ellie could clearly see that the drop to the ground would mean death if she jumped.

  Old Nurse sat heavily on the bed. “At least we are out of that wagon,” she murmured. “And we are not in a dungeon. The constable dare not treat you badly if King John has an interest.”

  “Richard is my king,” said Ellie, but without much conviction. “We have only de Scabious’s word that he is dead.” She sat down next to the nurse and rested her head in her hands. There was a knock at the door.

  “What now?” cried Ellie, jumping up.

  It was a team of servants delivering the Hartslove chests along with water and a little supper. “You should try to eat something,” said Old Nurse, eyeing up the bread and cheese.

  “You eat it, Old Nurse,” said Ellie. “I am not hungry.”

  Old Nurse sighed, then set to as Ellie wandered back to the window and looked out. She was close to tears, for she had no idea what to do. If King Richard were really dead, then by resisting de Scabious, she might be making things very bad for Gavin and Will. They would feel they had to stand by her, which would put them in direct opposition to King John. Maybe she should just give her consent and marry the constable. After all, de Scabious must be pretty sure Richard was dead, otherwise he would not dare to align himself so openly with his brother. And John must know Richard was dead, or he would not have given de Scabious permission to interfere between her and Gavin. Richard meted out dire punishments to those who usurped his powers. He must be dead for de Scabious to be so bold, and if he was, Ellie had the fate of the de Granvilles in her hands. She closed her eyes and felt the world closing in on her.

  3

  After the fire burned fiercely for several hours, the intense cold and a blanket of snow eventually helped to put out the flames at Hartslove. The stables and the upper rooms in the castle keep were lost. Much of the needlework, so laboriously undertaken by Gavin and Will’s mother, had disintegrated. The roof timbers above the great hall had also been damaged and were left straddling the walls like charred bones. The gatehouse and guardroom escaped the flames, as did the kitchen, the bakery, and the brewhouse, together with the servants’ quarters, of which Sir Thomas had been so proud. Six people, as well as Sir Percy, were dead.

  It had taken some time for Gavin to pull himself up from the floor of the dais, but when he had managed, he forced himself straight into the firefighting fray. Dizzy and weak, his eyes black and his wounded arm weeping and hideous, he, nevertheless, worked without ceasing, until h
e was forced to stop and assess the damage. Will paced up and down in front of him, feeling for the ruby brooch, which he had found by chance almost hidden in the snow. For safekeeping he had attached it to his undershirt, and he could feel it now, sharp and solid against his ribs.

  The castle sat in a pall of acrid smoke, and the weather showed no signs of letting up. Even the abbey bells, which usually rang clearly across the valley both night and day, were too muffled to make out. The wedding guests and Gavin’s household servants were huddled into groups. “We must send to the monks for whatever horses they can provide,” Will was saying to Gavin. “Then we must arm and mount everybody who is willing to go after de Scabious.”

  Gavin listened in silence, trying to work out what time it was, for the fire and the snow corrupted the light. Eventually he worked out that it must be very late evening.

  “If we all go,” Will declared, “we can beat him. De Scabious is vermin. It is our duty to hunt him down, Gavin. He cannot have got far with Old Nurse inside the wagon.”

  However, other voices urged caution. “I know de Scabious is vermin,” said Alan Shortspur, a well-meaning but pushy young man, the youngest son of a local family, who was hoping to hitch his star to Gavin’s and raise himself up in the world. “But while we are all concerned about Eleanor, we must not forget what de Scabious told us. If our king is now John, we must think before we act.” A furious argument broke out.

  Gavin remained silent. It seemed to him that the world was moving in slow motion. He barely heard what was being said because now that he was no longer pumping water, one single image was branded on his mind. Even with his eyes open he could see de Scabious manhandling Ellie, while he, her supposed husband and champion, was collapsed on the floor, one-armed and helpless, an object only of pity and humor. His soul cringed.

  “Gavin.” Will’s voice seemed to come from far away. “You more than anybody must want to pursue de Scabious. If we get the abbey’s horses, in two days at most we can be armed, mounted, and ready to go.”

  Gavin tried to reply, but his mouth was too dry and his wound throbbed as it bled through his shirt. Breathing was difficult with two broken ribs, and his left arm ached from overuse. Will’s pleading face was blurred. I must sit down, Gavin thought, and stumbled over to a bench. He knew his knights felt sorry for him, and he wanted to kill them.

  “Gavin?” Will’s voice insisted. “Gavin, say something. Ellie is your wife—well, nearly your wife. It is your castle that has been torched. What will you do?”

  Gavin tried to think as his father would have thought. Though shamed, he must show that he could still be a leader of men. With an immense effort of will, he concentrated. “We cannot follow de Scabious right now, Will.” His voice boomed in his ears. “Even if the abbot gives us every horse he has, we cannot fight with palfreys and ponies. If we knew where de Scabious intended to keep Ellie, we could take siege machinery; but we will need warhorses to finish him off in battle. The best thing is to send to Keeper John at the stud while we try to find out exactly what we are up against.”

  “But—” Will’s voice rose.

  “No,” said Gavin. He felt weak as a baby. “Fury is not helpful. Think, man, think. De Scabious says Richard is dead. Alan Shortspur is right. We must work out what that means for us and for Ellie. We cannot ignore it.” His head felt too heavy to lift, but he tried to address the whole company. “If we do, indeed, have a new king, some of you may not want to join in our domestic quarrel, for attacking de Scabious will be seen as an act of grave disobedience to King John. You all know that. You must join us or leave us, as you think fit. Neither my brother nor I will hold anything against you.”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Will loudly.

  Some of the knights began to shuffle, and about a dozen slipped away, ignoring the weather. But Will walked very deliberately over to Gavin and stood straight in front of him.

  “De Scabious has run off with Ellie,” he said, not caring who heard. “And at this moment, AT THIS MOMENT, he may be doing God knows what. Our horses have disappeared. De Scabious may also have a good number of those, including …” Here Will stopped.

  “Including Hosanna,” Gavin finished his sentence for him. “I know, Will. I know. But we have to think. King John may—”

  Will interrupted at once. “King John?” His voice was contemptuous. “Gavin, you don’t believe de Scabious, do you?”

  Gavin looked at his brother. “Why would de Scabious lie?” he asked. “What good would it do him?”

  “What is wrong with you?” Will cried, as if explaining something very simple to a dim-witted child. “He will not be lying, exactly. There are bound to be rumors about Richard, since nobody in England has seen him for nearly three years, and we ourselves have not seen him since we left him in the Holy Land five months ago. But don’t you see? John has turned a rumor about Richard’s death into a test of loyalty to himself, to see what he can get out of it. There is no love lost between Richard and John. We both know that. As for de Scabious—well, he is using the opportunity, through Ellie and her lands, to make himself a great man.”

  “And what does de Scabious think will happen to him if—when—Richard returns?” asked Gavin, trying to keep Will’s face from continually changing shape.

  “Why, he’ll just say that he was doing his duty as he saw it, and blame everything on John! You know what an oily, creepish man he is. But by then he may have blackmailed Ellie into giving her consent to marry him by telling her that it is the only way to protect you.” Gavin winced, but Will showed no mercy. “And it’s worse, Gavin, much worse. If Ellie marries de Scabious and makes him rich, King Richard will be in no position to cross him. He won’t even want to. Men like de Scabious are useful. You must be able to see. De Scabious will offer money—Ellie’s money—to fund the king’s next crusade, and you know Richard. The crusade is everything to him. He’s not really interested in England, and certainly not in our petty squabbles.”

  Gavin’s brain felt leaden as he tried to follow Will’s logic. “So whatever happens, whether the king is Richard or John, de Scabious will be the winner?”

  Will could not understand his brother at all. It all seemed so clear to him. “Of course,” he said, growing increasingly agitated. “But you have missed the real point, Gavin. The real point is that Ellie doesn’t want to marry de Scabious. She wants to marry you.”

  Gavin said nothing. “Gavin.” Will took his arm and shook it hard. “Why are you so silent? Can’t you hear what I’m saying? It’s you Ellie wants to marry, not de Scabious. Do you need to know anything else?”

  “Maybe,” Gavin said slowly, “she would be better off with de Scabious.”

  Will was dumbstruck. “What on earth do you mean?” he asked when he could bring himself to speak.

  The few knights who were left, scenting danger, dispersed. Arguments about women never ended well.

  “Look,” Gavin said, gripping the bench to keep himself upright. “Look. I am a one-armed knight with a ruined castle who has a position at the court of a dead king.”

  Will made a disbelieving sound.

  “Will, Richard may be dead. We have no proof either way, and I know de Scabious is an odious man, but he has his supporters. I may be Count of Hartslove, but I am not powerful like our father.” He stopped, then steeled himself to say what was really on his mind. “I am not a catch for a girl like Ellie. The world has changed. Men like de Scabious have taken advantage of our absence on crusade to make sure that they wield real power these days. If Richard is dead, de Scabious will have a place at John’s court. If Richard is not dead, even you admit that de Scabious will still come out well. I, on the other hand… I can’t even…” Gavin trailed off.

  Will stared at him. “Are you saying,” he said very deliberately, “that we should not even attempt to get Ellie back, even though the thought of marrying de Scabious appalls her?”

  “I am saying,” said Gavin as steadily as he could, “that we need to th
ink what’s best.”

  “What’s best?” Will’s voice was stiff with sarcasm. “I’ll tell you what’s best! What’s best is to think of Ellie. She is alone except for Old Nurse. We don’t know where she is. But we do know that de Scabious is capable of anything and that Ellie would probably rather die than marry him. Never mind about kings or counts or castles. Ellie is more precious than any of them. Surely you, as her betrothed husband, should realize that?”

  Roused by his brother’s tone, Gavin stood up. “Will, it is exactly because Ellie is so precious that we can’t afford to think like that!” he said. “The only way women have any freedom is to marry well. Ellie deserves the freedom that a good marriage can bring. I don’t doubt that she dislikes Piers de Scabious, but once they have some children, he will leave her well alone, just like most other husbands we know. Then she will be able to do much as she pleases, and her children will protect her. She will be a great lady. Maybe the best thing we can do for her is to let her go. Or maybe that is the best thing I can do for her.”

  Will nodded his head, his hands on his hips, his eyes scorching. “I see, Gavin, I see,” he said. “You have lost your courage along with your arm. You can’t be bothered to fight for Ellie, because you prefer feeling sorry for yourself.”

  “How could you possibly understand anything about me anymore, Will?” Gavin began to breathe heavily as his temper stuttered to life. “But one thing you should understand is that I can’t afford to be sentimental, especially not over Ellie. De Scabious’s stock is rising. Mine is sinking, as will yours if you support a dead Richard against a living John. That should be clear enough even for you.”

  “No!” cried Will. “I don’t accept any of what you say. Never mind who is king. Ellie will find her freedom through marrying a man she loves, not through marrying a man whose ‘stock is rising,’ as you put it. She loves you. Don’t you love her enough to fight for her?”