The Conqueror

Alex pulled the mail basinet up over his head. Its metal links sat heavily on his blond hair, framing the incredulous look now on his face. “You’ll ride to Saint Alban’s Abbey, drop your cargo, and be at the Wareham docks the same day as we, who leave straight away for the docks now?”

“Aye.”

Alex shook his head and called to Hervé Fairess.

“What is it?” he asked, hiking up his hose as he came.

Alex gestured to Griffyn. “Pagan is going to Saint Alban’s.”

Fairess glanced at the inn. “The girl? Aye, well, she can’t stay here. I’ve done a few fool things myself for the ladies.”

“And we’re waiting here for him,” Alex continued. “The others will go on.”

Griffyn shook his head. “No. You all go on.”

“No,” Alex retorted, copying Griffyn’s tone and urgency. “Hervé and I will wait here.”

“Alex’s idea has some merit, my lord. If I may.”

Griffyn ran the palm of his hand over his face. “Or even if you mayn’t.”

Hervé had an expression of determin

ation on his wet, red face. “You’ve never asked me to bind my tongue before, Pagan.”

“And if I were to start now?”

“I ’spect it’d be a little late,” Hervé reflected uncomfortably. He hiked up his breeches again. “But as I was sayin’, you’re the one to say what’s this and that, and I always said you should be—”

“My thanks.”

“—but if you’re thinking of going anywhere alone, especially the docks, that’s bad thinking, if I may say so.”

Griffyn rubbed his hand over the shadow beard on his chin and cheeks. Hervé never meant insubordination, but he always, somehow, did it.

“That’s what I said,” Alex said, seconding the notion. “If this goes badly—”

“If this goes badly,” Hervé cut in, looking at Griffyn with such intensity the only thing he wasn’t doing was wagging a finger, “the last person we need captured is yourself. Us, they’ll ransom off, if they even bother capturing us. You?” He shook his head sagely, his lips pursed, and ran his finger across his neck in a swiping motion.

Griffyn exploded in laughter. “I’m not a child, these aren’t bedtime stories, and you’re not going to frighten me.”

“’Tisn’t your fear I’m speaking to, Pagan. ’Tis mine, and the men’s. It’s unwise to be risking your head. And,” he added significantly, “the fitzEmpress will surely have ours if anything happens to yours.”

Alex crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s right.”

“He may well be right,” Griffyn said firmly, “but you will simply have to manage Henri’s moods. If I die, I suggest telling him the news after he’s had a few cups of wine and been with the Lady Eleanor.”

Hervé frowned. “Now, sir, ’tisn’t a laughing matter.”

“Indeed it is not. And therefore, I will not endanger either of you, so important to me, for something I alone have taken on. This is not your burden. You go with the men. I need you there.”

“We need you there,” Alex countered.

“And so I shall be. Within a day. Now go.”

They didn’t look happy, but their protests subsided. The rest of the group, after a final consultation on plans and backup plans, mounted their horses and reined into the woods. Alex and Hervé sat on their horses, one like a willow tree, the other like stump of petrified wood, in the centre of the clearing. Griffyn looked pointedly over his shoulder.

They reined around and plodded under the dripping eaves of the forest, then paused just beneath a low-lying branch. A shower of rain dribbled down on them. Hervé glanced up dismally.