‘Martin is a child, not yet nine years old,’ Agnes snapped. ‘He’s hardly a threat.’
‘Even so, I know that Joscelin is not here with the intention of disinheriting his brothers,’ Linnet defended. She thought, but didn’t add, that they were quite capable of accomplishing that feat themselves. ‘The only other reason we are here is that Joscelin has brought his uncle, Conan de Gael, to make his peace with Lord William.’
Agnes’s face drained of colour. ‘You dare to come here to my private chamber and utter the name of that hell-begotten, swindling whoremonger?’ she hissed and took two threatening steps towards Linnet.
Linnet hastily rose from the chair, afraid that Agnes was going to assault her and Robert. The maid, who had been about to present Linnet with a cup of wine, quickly sidestepped to avoid spilling it. With Robert in her arms, Linnet headed towards the door. ‘I think it best if I leave, my lady,’ she said. ‘You are obviously unwell.’
‘No, you will hear me out first.’ Agnes continued to advance on Linnet but the sole of her shoe caught in the hem of her undergown and sent her sprawling.
The maid, a look of horror on her face, set the cups aside and stooped to her mistress. Linnet hesitated on the threshold, desiring nothing more than to make her escape but prevented by her conscience. Supposing Agnes had broken a bone or was having a seizure?
She set Robert on his feet. ‘Do you think you can go down to the hall and find Conan and Joscelin?’
Robert looked up at her. ‘You come, too.’ He tugged on her hand.
‘I cannot. Lady Agnes needs help. Find Joscelin and stay with him until I come. Yes?’
Robert nodded, his underlip caught in his teeth.
‘Good boy. Go on then, quickly.’ Linnet hugged him and shooed him on his way. It was astonishing how Joscelin’s name had become a talisman to the child. Mention it and a hundred doors opened where doors had not existed before. Here he was in a place he did not know, turning from the security of her skirts because Joscelin was the prize.
Giving brisk orders to the frightened maid, Linnet checked Agnes for broken bones. Thankfully there were none and she helped Agnes to rise and wobble to her bed. The sheets had a stale smell and there were smears and crumbs upon the coverlet. Linnet urged a cup of wine upon Agnes. Grey-faced, the woman sipped and gradually her colour began to return. Her eyes cleared and focused on Linnet. ‘How I envy your innocence,’ she said wearily. ‘I, too, was innocent once. I can see it in your eyes; you think I am mad, don’t you?’
‘I certainly think you are ill,’ Linnet said, pity softening her attitude.
Agnes looked bleakly at the wall where a plasterwork scene depicted two lovers seated at a merels board in a garden. ‘William wants to lock me up in a nunnery. I’m past childbearing and naught but a burden to him, but I would have him carry his burden until it kills him and then may he rot in hell with his precious whore!’
When Linnet rose to leave, Agnes did not try again to stop her but rocked gently back and forth in her bed, cradling her cup, and muttering softly to herself.
It had been more than twenty years since the last encounter between William de Rocher and Conan de Gael. On that occasion, William had taken his sword and fought Conan from tower to tower, room to room, across the ward and out of Arnsby’s gates. Then he had slammed them in the mercenary’s face and ordered him never to return on pain of hanging.
Now, face-to-face, eyes on a level, they confronted each other.
‘Going to string me up, then?’ Conan asked, lounging upon his sword hip.
‘Don’t tempt me,’ William growled. His hands gripped his belt in lieu of Conan’s throat. ‘What are you doing here except to cause trouble?’
Conan looked reproachful. ‘You do me an injustice, William, but that’s nothing new. You’ve always believed my motives to be the worst in the world. Don’t worry, I’m not staying long. I’ve about as much taste for your company as you have for mine.’
‘Then why are you here at all?’
‘He’s working for me,’ Joscelin said. ‘I need seasoned men with the trouble that’s brewing and Rushcliffe’s garrison is as magnificent a collection of oafs and lack-wits as ever graced a fool’s banquet.’
‘You must be one of them if you’re hiring him!’ William snapped.
‘Not so much that I would cut off my nose to spite my face.’ Joscelin fixed his father with a hard stare. ‘Would you rather he sold his sword to the rebellion?’
Ironheart ground such teeth as remained to him.
Conan smiled, the creases at the corners of his eyes deepening with sardonic humour. ‘I think he would,’ he said to Joscelin. ‘I could keep my eyes open for Ralf and Ivo then, couldn’t I?’
Joscelin cast his uncle a warning stare and made a chopping movement with his right hand. Unperturbed, Conan continued to smile, his scar turning his expression into a leer.
‘Is he really your uncle?’ asked Martin, who had attached himself to the three men without being noticed. He looked upon Conan with the same bright curiosity he had given to the bear at Smithfield Fair.
Joscelin chuckled and tousled his younger brother’s chestnut curls. ‘I’m afraid he is but don’t let his appearance deceive you.’ He looked at Conan. ‘Although he’s a liability when there’s no one to fight, there are few people I’d rather have at my back on the battlefield.’
Conan raised a mocking eyebrow. ‘Kind of you to admit it,’ he said but Joscelin could tell he was pleased.
‘Why aren’t you at sword practice?’ William snapped at his youngest son.
Martin regarded his father without fear. ‘Sir Alain sent me to get another sword. The old wooden one I was using broke.’
‘And you are on your way now?’
‘Yes, sir. But I thought it good manners to stop and greet our guests.’
Ironheart’s lips twitched. ‘I suspect that a long, inquisitive nose is nearer to the truth. Go, hurry now, before you find yourself answering to Sir Alain for your tardiness. ’ He gave the boy’s shoulder a swift shake.
No sooner had Martin gone than Robert appeared at a run and flung himself at Joscelin, who swung him up into his arms.
‘Where’s your mother? Does she know that you are here?’
Robert nodded and burrowed his head against Joscelin’s throat, his arms tightening. Joscelin could feel the rapid pitter-patter of the child’s heartbeat beneath his fingers. ‘She sent me to stay with you,’ Robert said. ‘The lady we went to see wasn’t very nice. I didn’t like her, but she fell over and Mama stayed to help her get up.’
Joscelin looked across Robert’s fair head at his father.
‘Agnes has been very difficult of late,’ Ironheart said with an impatient shrug and a look of distaste. ‘She spends all her time brooding about Ralf and Ivo and plotting ways to see them back into my favour.’
Joscelin cuddled Robert and said nothing.
‘In the spring, once Martin has gone for fostering in de Luci’s household, I’m going to buy her a corody and settle her with the nuns at Southwell,’ William said.
‘Should have done it years ago, man,’ Conan said bluntly.
William’s mouth twisted. ‘She is my penance. I have worn her presence like a hair shirt for more than half my life.’
And she had worn his, too, for the sake of her sons, Joscelin thought, and was unlikely to agree to enter a nunnery while their future remained in doubt.
‘I saw another lady on the stairs,’ Robert piped up as his hero’s attention strayed. ‘A nice lady. She smelled like flowers.’
‘Did she?’ Joscelin said, not taking much notice.
‘Her hair was longer than Mama’s, nearly to her knees, and she was wearing a pretty green dress with dangly sleeves,’ Robert babbled.