Shari Anton - By King's Decree

“Baron Gerard,” the man said panting, holding out a rolled parchment. “From Walter. He bid me await your reply.”

Gerard untied the ribbon and unrolled the parchment. Rage blinded him for a moment as he read.

“When?” he growled at the messenger.

“Yesterday, my lord.”

Gerard crushed the message in a white-knuckled fist.

“What is amiss?” Corwin asked from beside him.

“Frederick has returned to Wilmont.”

“Has Milhurst fallen to Basil?”

“Frederick could not say because he was dead, strapped across his horse like game from the hunt. Someone killed him and led the horse near enough to Wilmont for the horse to find its way home.”

“Basil?”

“His minions, I suspect.” Gerard exploded. “Devil take him! His audacity is beyond endurance. Tell John to have the men ready to march on the morn. We leave for Westminster.”

Gerard stalked off to his tent. In quick, angry strokes he penned a message to Stephen, giving his brother permission to take whatever defensive measures he thought necessary.

After Richard’s wounding, Gerard’s first impulse had been to run a sword through Basil of Northbryre’s gullet. But King Henry’s staying hand had given Gerard time to realize that by seeking redress through the court he might gain title to Basil’s holdings without putting men on the field of battle. And by doing so, Gerard could richly reward Stephen and Richard for their loyalty without giving up any Wilmont lands.

Gerard almost hoped Basil had been stupid enough to raid Milhurst. The mistake would add weight to Gerard’s case. He shook his head at the notion. Leaving Milhurst open to attack, or not taking it back if Basil had succeeded with a raid, would be seen as weakness. Gerard added another order to Stephen’s letter, to send two knights and ten men-at-arms to Milhurst.

His mind settled on the matter, Gerard turned his attention to leaving Lenvil. He had yet to choose a captain for Lenvil’s guard. The ideal would be to leave Corwin here to handle the matter, but he needed Corwin at court.

And Ardith?

Gerard wondered what Ardith’s reaction would be when informed she was making the trip to Westminster.

“Elva, Ardith needs your help. You must come up to the manor. We leave on the morn and there is much to be done.”

“Then you help her, Bronwyn,” Elva called to the closed door of her hovel. She shook out a square of black wool and covered the small table. On the cloth she placed a treasured Celtic cross, a gift from her long-dead mother. Beside the cloth she placed a thick, tallow candle.

“Ardith wants you to take charge of the manor while she is away. She is upset about this journey. Having you at the manor in her absence would ease her mind. Please, Elva. If you do not come, she will have to place another in charge.”

Elva didn’t answer, and soon heard Bronwyn’s disgruntled huff and the shuffle of retreating footsteps.

She lit the candle. From the folds of her gown she retrieved a leather pouch and dumped the contents onto the cloth. She wished they were larger, these bones she’d managed to nab ahead of the dogs. The Norman, blast his hide, tossed his leavings at the dogs instead of flinging them over his shoulder into the rushes.

The bones weren’t bleached. Slivers of meat and gristle still clung to the surface. She shook her head at the lack of time to prepare them properly. She gathered the bones in her hands.

Years ago, she’d misjudged the forces of fate. Thinking her precious girl safe, Elva hadn’t bothered to augur the Norman’s future. Now the beast was back and about to spirit Ardith away.

She’d saved Ardith from the clutches of Wilmont once. Could she do so again? She must.

Elva closed her eyes, mumbling the words she remembered as her mother’s chant. She knew not the meaning, only remembered the pattern of sounds.

She tossed the bones onto the black cloth and read their dire message.

“Demon spawn,” she hissed, and with a sweep of her hand, wiped the offensive prophecy out of her sight.

All of Ardith’s possessions fit into a small trunk. As she spread her yellow veil atop her good gown, she grumbled, “I still do not understand why I must go along.”

“Ardith, when a baron invites a vassal on a journey, the vassal accepts,” Bronwyn stated from her perch upon her own large trunk. Beside her trunk sat another, as large and as full. Bronwyn, sensibly, was taking advantage of traveling with the company about to depart Lenvil.

“Baron Gerard invited Father. My accompanying Father, as nursemaid, was an afterthought.”

“Well, I surely cannot care for Father. He will not listen to me. Besides, I am glad you are coming. We can keep each other company on the road. Oh, Ardith, we will have such a merry time at court.”

“Are you sure Kester will not mind our unexpected visit?”

“Not in the least Kester’s position as adviser to the king entitles him to lodgings at Westminster Palace. There is plenty of room for us all. Ardith, do cease looking for an excuse to beg off. All is ready. You are coming.”

All was ready because Ardith had spent most of the night gathering provisions, with the help of John, whom Gerard had assigned to oversee Lenvil in Ardith’s absence.

She still couldn’t understand why Elva had refused to take charge of the manor. She’d thought her aunt would enjoy the task, if only for the luxury of sleeping in the bed.

Ardith was of two minds about the journey.

Granted, Father hadn’t been to court for many years to pay homage to the king. But Harold wasn’t a well man, as Gerard knew. Why now? Why with such haste? Could they not have had more time than one night to prepare? And starting out on a journey under the threat of inclement weather was ill-advised.

Yet Ardith had never seen London, never traveled farther than the market at Bury Saint Edmunds, a mere two hours’ ride to the west. Bronwyn made court sound exciting, full of interesting people and wondrous sights.

“You will need several new gowns,” Bronwyn observed. “I have a few that might suit you with a bit of altering. If you do not care for them, I have stacks of cloth from which you can make your own.”

“Surely, I will not need so many.”

“Oh, three or four, at least. Ah, they have come for our trunks.” Bronwyn slid off her perch to allow the men of her escort to lift the trunk. “Be careful, now. This one goes on the right of the cart. And make sure the tarp is secure. The sky looks ready to burst. You know how the snow sticks to the top and makes it hard to…” Bronwyn’s voice trailed out of hearing as she followed the bearers out of the chamber.

Ardith looked about the room. All of her life she’d slept within Lenvil’s walls, within this chamber.

“Ardith? Are you ready?” Corwin asked as he strode in.

Ardith tried to return the smile but found she couldn’t.

“Why so glum, Ardith? Ah, I understand. ‘Tis always hardest the first time, leaving home.”

“Did your heart ache the first time you left Lenvil?”

Corwin shook his head. “I thought it a grand adventure, going off with Baron Everart to Wilmont. Of course, I had Stephen for company. The two of us became fast friends on that journey. Where is your mantle? Here, put it on.”

Corwin held up Ardith’s warmest mantle, lined with rabbit fur, and draped it over her shoulders. Ardith wrapped a long piece of wool about her head and neck.

Her brother grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the chamber. “Come, Bronwyn is waiting for you in her litter. You two can gossip all the way to Westminster.”

Ardith scampered to match Corwin’s stride. “I thought to ride my horse.”