Stephen Lawhead - Scarlet

Bran clapped his hand to the back of Siarles' neck, drew him close, and said, "Siarles, my friend, if you truly think supporting Robert would avail us anything, you might as well join those traitors who are even now gathering to work their wiles." Bran spoke softly, but there was no mistaking his resolve. "But while you are thinking on it, remember that Baron de Braose is one of the chief rebels. It is his hand squeezing our throats and his arm supporting Robert. If Duke Robert were to become king of England, bloody de Braose would become more powerful still, and he would never surrender his grip on our lands."

"Bran is right," Iwan declared. "The only way to get rid of de Braose is to expose him to the king."

"We have warned Red William in good time, and now he can move to disarm the traitors," Bran explained, releasing Siarles. "I have put our case before the king, and we must hope he succeeds in punishing those who have conspired against him."

"Well," said Siarles, rubbing his neck. He was still not completely convinced. "It seems we have no other hope."

"It has been this way from the start," Bran said. "We have done all we can. It is in God's hands."

See now, Bran was right. Never doubt it. We had no other hope for redress in this world, save William and William alone. But Siarles, bless his thick head, was not wrong to raise the question. Truth to tell, it was something I wondered at first myself-and it was not until Odo told me about the two popes that I began to see my way through that tangled wood. Why would Baron de Braose write a letter like that? Who was it for? Then I remembered who had signed that letter, and although I could not recall all the names, I remembered Duke Robert right enough, and wondered why the king's brother and one of Red William's dearest barons should be makin' up a letter like that.

Oh, it was a right riddle to be sure. But the answer was there starin' us in the face all along. We just didn't see it.

Yet sitting there in that rank pit of a gaol, a fella begins to see lots of things in a different way, if you know what I mean. Ol' Will had time to think and little else.

Even so, when my monkish scribe let out there were two popes, God knows I didn't believe him. Odo was so convinced, his conviction carried me along in the end. I considered it a mite curious that Baron de Braose should take up with Clement when the whole of England, so far as I knew, answered to a pope named Urban. What could it mean?

Two popes. One throne. What else could it mean but that the men who signed the letter had bartered their support for Pope Clement in order to gain the throne of England for their favourite, Duke Robert? Outright rebellion had been tried and had failed; Robert could not be trusted to enter the fray even in his own interest, as many an upright Englishman discovered to his hurt-my old master Aelred included, God rest him. So this time, they meant to use the church somehow. Although I could not rightly say how they meant to force the abdication, the more I thought about it, the more certain I became that the men who had put their names to that letter had formed a conspiracy with the aim of plucking the crown from William's round grizzled head and placing it on luckless brother Robert's. This is why de Braose was so murderously desperate to get that letter back. More valuable by far than the big gold ring or fine leather gloves-mere fancies, after all-that sealed square of parchment exposed the traitors and, if I guessed aright, was well worth a throne.

"God's hands or no," Merian was saying, "I could wish we knew what was happening now. To have come this far only to be shut out sits ill, so it does."

"Never fear," Brother Jago replied. "God's ways may be mystery past finding out, but he hears all who call upon his name. Therefore, be of good cheer! God alone is our rock and our fortress, our friend and very present help in times of trouble."

"That was a sermon entire, Brother," observed Iwan. He turned to Bran and asked, "How much longer are we to loiter here?"

Some little time, I reckoned. As the day wore on, though we heard men moving in the corridors and rooms 'round about the palace, no one darkened our doorway. One by one, we settled back to wait. I sat propped against the wall in one corner, and after a time, Bran joined me. "How are the fingers,Will?" he asked, sliding down into his place beside me.

"Not so bad," I told him. "The pain comes and goes, but not so much as before." I did not like dwelling on that, so I asked, "What do you think Red William will do?"

Bran was quick to reply. "I expect he'll give back our lands," he said, an edge to his voice. "Brother Jago was eloquent on our behalf, and I think we made him understand in the end. He promised justice, and we will hold him to it."

That, of course, was deeply to be hoped. "We owe you a debt,Will Scarlet," he said. "Your quick thinking gave us the chance we needed to save Elfael."

"Well, it took me long enough," I allowed, "but we got here in time. That is all that matters."

"There's still one thing I wonder," Bran said. "How did you work out the nature of the conspiracy?"

"Well, now," I said, running back over the events of the last days in my mind. "It was all those days talking to Odo and getting an idea how those Normans think-that's what started it. Then, when I learned about the two popes, it seemed to me that the letter was intended as a treaty of sorts-why else write it all down?"

"A treaty," mused Bran. "I never thought of that. You mean Duke Robert and Baron de Braose agreed to support Clement's claim to the throne of Peter, if the pope would support Robert's claim to the throne of England."

"Our William is not well loved," I added. "And, as I know from my old master Aelred, his barons almost succeeded in unseating the king last time they rebelled. I reckoned things have only got worse for them since then. I know William is no lover of the church."

"He uses it as his own treasure store," Bran said. "Helps himself whenever he can."

"Aye, he does-and that's the nub. Our William milks it like a cow, keeping all the cream for himself. But if that was to stop, his throne would begin to totter, if you see what I mean."

"With both the barons and the church against him, the king could not stand," observed Bran. "I got that much from your message."

"A bit o' blind luck, that," I told him, shaking my head at the remarkable string of events that small patch of parchment had set off. "I wasn't sure what you'd make of it, or what you'd be able to do about it. I didn't even dare hope that scrap would reach you. I had only Odo to depend on, mind. He's a Norman, but he gave good service in the end. I'd like to do something for him one day." I paused and looked around the bare room and at our unlikely company. "God's own truth, my lord, I never dreamed it would come to this-squattin' in the palace of the archbishop of Rouen and waitin' for the king of England to decide our fate."

"My lord!" said Siarles, speaking up from his place across the room. "Are we to be expected to sit here all day like moss on a log?"

As if to answer his question, there was a bustle in the corridor and the door to our chamber opened. Canon Laurent strode into the room with two clerics dressed in robes similar to his own; with them were three knights from King William's force. All wore solemn expressions. The knights carried swords at their belts, and two gripped lances. The canon held a scrap of parchment and carried it flat between his hands as if the ink was still wet on the surface of the page. "Peace and grace," said the canon, which I understood. "I have come directly from private council with King William, who expresses his highest regards, and sends this message to you."

Merian stepped beside Bran and slid her hand into his. They stood side by side, an unlikely pair in their disguises. The rest of us drew near, too, taking our places beside our lord and his lady to receive the judgement of the king. Whatever the king's decision might be, whether for good or ill, we would take it standing together as one.