The king spat. “He’ll be lucky he doesn’t have to report that I shoved the iron up his arse… Oh, very well, tell me when the executioner’s ready. Now then, who’s next?” He caught sight of the pig. “What’s that doing here?”
“I believe Mistress Hackthorn has a petition, my lord.”
“No, I ain’t.” The countrywoman raised her bulk off the bench, still holding the pig. “I come for to say thank you, I have. This here porker’s a present for you, King Henry, dear soul.”
“Is it?” Henry went up to her, intrigued. “What for?”
“My lad Triffin, master. Lord Kegworth, him as owns Gurney Manor, he said as our tenement was his. He said as my Triffin weren’t a freeman of it and took it away from un. The which was a lie, us holding that land since the time of King Harold…”
Henry looked toward Master Robert.
“Ah, yes, my lord,” the clerk said, searching his notes. “A plea by a Master Hackthorn of Westbury that he was unjustly dispossessed of his land by Lord Kegworth. He purchased a writ of Novel Dissiesin, and the matter was put two days ago to a jury of his peers, who had knowledge of the case before the justices…”
“Was it?” asked Henry, suddenly delighted. He looked at Mistress Hackthorn. “How much did the writ cost you?”
“Two shilling, master. The which ’twas worth it for them… what’s that they do call theyselves? A jury?”
“Twelve good men and true,” Henry said, nodding.
“An’ so they was, master. We’d a been homeless else. Saw the right of it, they did, an’ give the land back to us. For which we do be grateful and hope as you’ll accept this porker for our thanks, master, our sow havin’ farrowed nicely this spring so’s we got this un to spare.”
“God, I love the English,” Henry said. “Madam, I am honored.”
The pig was handed over and the king carried it into the receiving room, shouting “Next” over his shoulder.
“That’s you, mistress,” Master Robert told Adelia.
Captain Bolt bowed and went on his way, duty done.
Followed by Millie and Mansur, Adelia went in and leaned the basket against the wall next to the door. The clerk followed her, shutting the door behind them and hurrying to close the windows.
It was a lovely room, very large and sunlit, with a molded ceiling that took Adelia’s breath away. Tables, chairs, and chests were carved and polished so that they seemed to writhe with a life of their own, a jeweled astrolabe, bronzes… The bishop of Wells did himself well.
Henry had put his mark on it. Scrolls and parchments with hanging seals littered every surface. His favorite hawk sat on a perch, below which were its droppings; two muddy gazehounds lay stretched out before the enormous marble fireplace.
The king was richly dressed for once, but Adelia, knowing him, guessed he’d been out hunting at dawn.
He put the pig down. The two gazehounds raised their heads to look at it and then, at a word from their master, closed their eyes again.
There was a splatter as the pig made its contribution to the bishop’s Persian rug. The smell of manure overpowered the scented potpourri in the bishop’s rose bowls.
Henry patted it fondly. “My sentiments exactly,” he told it.
“Mistress Adelia,” his clerk prompted him.
“I know who it is,” the king said nastily. There was the briefest of salaams to Mansur and an even briefer nod at Millie before he clicked his stubby fingers and Master Robert put the scroll that was Adelia’s report into them. “I saw the bishop of Saint Albans this morning, mistress-he’s looking very spry. Been giving him his oats, have you?”
Adelia compressed her lips; there would be worse to come. She’d lost the king money-the most heinous sin to be perpetrated against a man who needed to employ armies-but, Lord, he was offensive. This is the last time I work for him, she promised herself, the very last time.
He waved the scroll at her. “I’ve a good mind to make you eat this. What I wanted when I sent you to Glastonbury was Arthur and Guinevere. What have I got? Two sodomites.”
“You asked for the truth, my lord,” Adelia told him. “You have it. What you do with it is your affair. They can be resurrected as Arthur and Guinevere, I suppose.” Henry wasn’t the only one who could be rude.
It made him crosser. “Not by me, mistress, not by me. I also have a regard for the truth. If I hadn’t, you could have stayed in the bloody fens where you belong. If they were sodomites, they’ll have to remain sodomites.”
He was right, of course; she shouldn’t misjudge him, but it was as if the mutual respect he and she had established over these last five years had vanished. The blue eyes looking at her through their almost invisible ginger lashes might have been regarding a stranger.
“Yes, my lord. I’m sorry, my lord.”
“You should be.” He thought a bit. “Mind you, when I’m dead I wager the abbey’ll resurrect them as Arthur and queen.”
He glanced back at the letter. “What’s all this about Abbot Sigward and quicksand?”
“Suicide, my lord. Out of remorse for the murder of his son-it’s all there. However, the bishop of Saint Albans has informed the monks that it was an accident.”
“A pity. I liked Sigward; he was on my side. God knows who they’ll want to elect now. You realize this is going to cost me? Where’s the money coming from to rebuild that blasted abbey now, eh?”
“I’m sorry, my lord.”
The king went on reading. “ ‘I would wish that Godwyn, landlord of the Pilgrim, might suffer no more grief than he already has…’ God’s knees, woman, he was accomplice to his wife’s attempted murders… You’ll be asking that Cain be let off for killing Abel next.”
“Even so, my lord, the man was instrumental in saving the life of Emma, Lady Wolvercote, and her child…”
“Ah, yes, the rich young widow.” The king’s face, looking at her sideways, became that of a predator. “I’ve had some pleasing offers for her.”
Alarmed, Adelia said, “My lord, you promised me you would not sell her in marriage. She wishes to wed her champion, I beg you to allow-”
“That was before I got a sodomite instead of King Arthur.” He tapped the scroll. “We’ll see. In view of this, I may have to husband my resources. Now then, about the dowager Wolvercote… ‘You, who prize justice above all things’… yes, yes… ‘right this great wrong… What do you want me to do about the woman? Throw her out of her manor?”
“It would be only just, my lord. She sent her own daughter-in-law and the others to their death…” Adelia heard her voice become shrill and tried to lower it. “Only the mercy of God and her champion’s good right arm saved Emma and her child…”
“Can you prove it?”
Why did he keep interrupting? Prove it? Adelia tried to think.
Wolf got a message from there saying as there’d be a rich lady and party a-leavin’ of Wolvercote… Will’s words. The assassin who’d received the message was dead. The person who’d taken it would have been one of the dowager’s most trusted servants and was unlikely to testify against her. The tithing’s knowledge was therefore hearsay. Anyway, disreputable as they were, their evidence would hardly stand up against that of a respected, well-connected, and rich Somerset aristocrat.
Adelia shook her head. “I doubt it.”
“So do I.”
“But it’s not fair.” It was the shriek Allie used when she was crossed. “My lord, she as good as murdered six people.”
Henry shrugged. “It may not be fair, but if I step in and evict her without evidence it would be something worse, it would be injustice. I must abide by the law of the land like everyone else or we revert to tyranny and from there into chaos. Law is my contract with my people.”
And what of the contract with me? Adelia thought. What of the dealings between individuals, promises, the return for loyal service, even a bloody thank-you?