A Murdered Peace

“That was the last contact with the family?”

“No. Years later, when I was at my lowest, Montagu’s man found me. He offered me a task. Clean in comparison with what I’d been doing. If I managed this, I would be deeded the land he’d once offered me. He was dying, and he felt he had failed me. Failed me. For his repentance, he must give me a chance to right myself, to be the person I might have been had he not sullied my honor with such a request, to wed a woman to save his son. I will never know why he had such faith in me.”

“You agreed?”

A nod. “Fulfilled my end of the bargain and the land was mine.”

“And now, years later, Merek hoped to persuade you to do something for Rosamund?”

“He told me that her life – and that of her son – was in my hands. If I would not help, she would have no protection from his enemies. If I agreed to help, they would be safe, whether or not Salisbury succeeded in his plan to restore Richard and his good name. When I’d completed my mission to Pontefract I would be free to return to York, I was needed only for the planning.”

“Why you?”

“I once succeeded in extracting someone from the castle who’d been held under close guard.”

“Your favor to Montagu?”

“Yes. I rescued his – kinsman.”

“But you did not love Rosamund, nor do you now, I presume.”

“No. I told Merek that Salisbury was mistaken about my feelings for her. And then, as I stormed away, righteously cursing Salisbury for his callous use of another of God’s creatures – my own body rebelled. Bile rose in my throat. Callous cur! Who was I to judge Salisbury when I’d so used Rosamund? And after that, my work as an assassin. No mercy. Coldly playing God. I choked on my own sins. What in the name of all that is holy had Montagu seen in me? What had Katherine seen in me? What if someone used Petra or Marie as I’d used Rosamund?”

The girls, but not Katherine herself. Of course. She would slit the gut of anyone who attempted to seduce her. “So you agreed to go to Pontefract – why?”

Berend looked him in the eyes. “Knowing a woman and child might die if you refused a summons, what would you do?”

Those eyes, burning into Elric. He knew what he wanted to say, but was it true? “I don’t know.”

Berend thanked him for his honesty. “I thought it would be easy to say no. And, knowing Merek, he might be using the ghost of Rosamund and the hint that the boy was mine. She might be years in the grave. The boy as well. But I couldn’t sleep. The child knew.”

“I’m confused. Rosamund’s son knew what?”

“Not the boy, Petra, Katherine’s niece. She sensed something. She kept taking my hand, assuring me that I am a good man.” He looked away.

Elric could believe that. The child had a way about her, as if she saw into one’s soul. “This boy. He might be your son? Was Rosamund with child when you left? Your child?”

“I don’t know. It is possible. And how could I refuse to help my son? What would Katherine–” He pressed his hands to his eyes. “Look how she loves and protects children who are not even hers. Marie and Phillip – no one can prove Simon Neville was their father, yet Katherine took them in. Without question. Can I not do as much for a child who might be mine?”

Elric understood. This was what Berend could not bring himself to confess to Katherine, and who could blame him?

“So I went to Pontefract. Not for Rosamund, but for the boy. And to prove to myself once and for all that I was worthy of Montagu’s faith in me.”

“But this summons had nothing to do with Montagu.”

“I did not promise to make sense. Only to recount what I did.”

Elric took a swig of the brandywine while he considered his next question. “Did you discover where Richard is kept?”

A nod.

“And then you went to Oxford.”

Berend eased his legs in and resettled on the bench. “On the way I had time to think, and I reckoned they were planning far more than the rescue of Richard.”

“Tell me how it went in Oxford. Who was there?” This might be information to barter with the sheriffs.

“I knew three of them. Salisbury of course, his manservant, and the Earl of Kent – Thomas Holland, the former king’s nephew. He was none too keen to speak with me. Another sign that there was more to the plot.”

“Was Ralph Lumley there?”

“I heard his name, but I kept my head down, avoided meeting anyone’s eyes. I went straight to my business, showing Salisbury my drawing of the castle. He wanted me to stay while one of his men reconciled their larger map with what I’d drawn. When I’d told Salisbury and his man all I knew and thought to leave, he said not so hasty. Handed me a map of Windsor Castle and ordered me to draw a route to the royal apartments that would have the fewest guards. I refused. He threatened. I said I had fulfilled my part of the agreement, now I wanted his assurance that Rosamund and the boy were safe.”

“Windsor Castle. You knew it well from your days as an assassin?”

A nod.

Elric had not guessed that Berend had done such work for the highest nobles in the land. Did Salisbury understand the danger in antagonizing him?

“You must have many powerful men who would come to your aid rather than have you reveal their secrets. Why have you not called on them?”

“Why would they come to my aid when they would not come to their sovereign’s?”

Elric rose to ease a cramp in his leg. “What did Salisbury say to your refusal?”

“Only if I completed the map for Windsor would Rosamund be spared. I demanded to know what they meant to do with it. He said that Duke Henry had sworn that he did not mean harm to King Richard, that he merely wanted the inheritance that was his by right. To Salisbury’s mind, when he broke that oath and took the throne he forfeited the honor of his family. Salisbury and his fellows meant to kill King Henry and his sons.”

“He did not intend to let you go.”

“No. I told him his father would have wept. He told me his father would have understood that with Henry on the throne, or any of his sons, his own family was doomed. As were the men who remained loyal to him. He said it was the same for all those loyal to King Richard.” Berend rubbed his injured knee. “For all I know, Rosamund is dead.”

“What of the boy?”

“He spoke mostly of Rosamund.”

“He might be Salisbury’s son.”

“Marie and Phillip might not be Simon Neville’s children. They look nothing like him. But Katherine did not demand proof.”

“No, she did not.” What proof could there be? For Berend, the boy’s age might expose the lie.

Berend shrugged as if to say no more need be said.

Elric left that line of questioning. “Did they try to hold you?”

“For a day, and then – confusion. Something alarmed them and they fled, leaving me locked up in a windowless room. Warren, an old friend, released me after Salisbury and his companions had ridden off.”

“And then?”

“I settled into a corner of the tavern and drank myself into sweet oblivion. Woke on a flea-ridden pallet to the news that the plotters had been routed. Warren meant to seek sanctuary at St. Mary’s Abbey in Cirencester. He wanted me to ride with him, guard his back.”