Read Online Isabeau, A Novel of Queen Isabella and Sir Roger Mortimer by N. Gemini Sasson - Free Book Online Page B

months. But as he held his cup, I could see his hands trembling with weakness and the fear stark in his sunken eyes.
    As much as he sometimes aggravated me, his recalcitrance had always been a part of his very sinew. To see it gone from him  ... I found it hard to look upon him thus. I needed to leave. There were matters that required attention and not enough hours to do them all. “You wish to go later – in the afternoon?”
    “I wish – ” A cough tore through his words. He let the cup fall from his grasp with a clatter and braced his hands on his knees until the fit had passed. Before he straightened, he spat at his feet and drew a shaking hand across his mouth. His words were raspy, his tone wistful. “I wish to get it bloody over with. After this, I’m going to go back to Chirk – that is if the king keeps his word. That is where I’ll stay, until I die.” He laughed dryly. “If I make it so far.”
    I nodded, understanding that he had at last abandoned his stubborn pride and yielded to reason. Hastily, I backed out through the flap. A pair of light hands grabbed my shoulders and spun me around. Edmund. I passed him the letter.
    He did not take even a moment to think it over. “I’m coming with you.”
    “You’re to stay here,” I told him flatly.
    Word had spread rapidly. The camp buzzed with preparations: the honing of blades, the packing of supplies, the strapping of armor and the fitting of bowstrings on their staves.
    “Why?” He threw a sweeping glance around him at our diminishing army of rebels. We both knew that they were as much preparing for a fight, as they were preparing to run. “Lord Badlesmere is my father-in-law. I’ve as many marks against me as you, if not more. I’d rather go to the king and pray for mercy than have him come after me. If he’s in a forgiving mood, as Pembroke says, it’s best we all take advantage of it, don’t you think?”
    “Go to Picardy. Find your brother Geoffrey there.”
    “Run and leave Elizabeth to languish in the Tower? What would that say of me?”
    The gnawing feeling in my gut told me not to let him come, but there was a raw truth to his argument. I pushed past him to find Maltravers.
     
    *****

    Snow was falling in huge, wet chunks when we went to meet Pembroke at the south end of the bridge. On the floodplain of the Severn, the king’s soldiers flanked us on both sides. I knew as we rode between them toward the earl there was no turning back. My bones jarred with every stride of my mount and the stiffness of my muscles plagued me. Even so, my blood coursed with alertness, as if I were marching to battle to fight for my life. In a way, I was. Only it would be words, not weapons, I would fight with.
    I held a flat palm up to Pembroke as we halted our horses. “You said you had proof against Lancaster.”
    “I do,” he said.
    “What proof?”
    “A letter intercepted near Pontefract. Written to the Bruce. Lancaster signed it as ‘King Arthur’.”
    My uncle spat and planted a fist on his hip. “I could call myself ‘Merlin’ if I wanted to. What sort of proof is that?”
    “Proof enough,” Pembroke said.
    “And where is this proof?” I asked. “Do you have it with you now?”
    “I do not.” Pembroke’s left eyebrow crept upward. He tilted his head back. “The king does.”
    My uncle had nothing to say to that. True or not – and in likelihood, it was – if Edward believed it, he would be bent on getting his revenge on Lancaster for betraying him with the Scots. With the king’s anger focused on Thomas of Lancaster, we were the lesser of two evils.
    Pembroke swore on his honor the king would grant us pardons, although they would not come without cost: heavy fines, the loss of lands, and the stripping of high titles. It was a sore point with my uncle that almost sent him back to our camp, but I convinced him that in time Edward could be reminded of Mortimer loyalty and our influence among Marcher lords. I do not think he