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Day Twenty-five
Rhys
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“He can’t want me.”
”Of course he wants you. You are Reese de la Croix, master of arms, defender of princes.”
“Edward’s men assassinated one of those princes I defended. And the other he had hanged, drawn, and quartered, and dragged through the streets of Shrewsbury.”
“You are splitting hairs.”
“Am I?” Rhys folded his arms across his chest but exposed himself as a coward by refusing to look into Simon’s eyes.
“Before you fought for Lewellen or David, you fought for Edward and Edmund, both princes at the time, as you may recall.”
Rhys managed a glance at his friend before returning his gaze to the Gwynedd landscape. He and Simon were standing above the Queen’s Gate, which had become a favorite retreat. “Why me?”
“Why does it matter? You are the best at what you do. Isn’t that enough?”
“I wasn’t the best this time. It was Catrin who figured out how to trap Guy.”
“You knew already it was he.”
“I was lucky.” But before Simon could reply, Rhys waved a hand, dismissing the comment. “I am actually not bitter. You are right that Guy fitz Lacy was never going to openly pay for those deaths.”
“The king can, however, pay you.” Now Simon put up a hand, this time to forestall Rhys’s natural protest. “Know that he doesn’t offer you money because you can be bought, but because you love your people. One commission from the king will provide you with enough wealth to keep a dozen families fed next winter. You could alleviate a great deal of suffering.”
“A suffering he causes.”
Simon was silent.
Rhys scoffed. “Are those the same coins Guy stole from the king in the first place? I would be like Judas with his thirty pieces of silver.”
“How is working directly under me for the king different from what you’re doing now? Don’t you understand yet? Everything in this entire land comes from the king. There is no piece anywhere anymore you can carve out for yourself alone.”
Rhys looked down at his feet. The money was the carrot. The king didn’t have to offer it. Fundamentally, he didn’t have to pay anything for Rhys’s services if he didn’t want to.
Which meant Rhys needed to know the nature of the stick too. “What if I were to refuse?”
Simon tapped his fingers on his thigh as he studied Rhys, who was finally able to meet his eyes. What he saw in his friend’s face had Rhys shaking his head again.
“You can’t say no,” Simon said.
“I can always say no. I just might not like the consequences of doing so.”
“Your brother-in-law would never work again, not on any castle the king commissions. He might find work among lesser lords, but who would want to defy the king in so small a matter?”
Rhys knew the answer: nobody.
“And that is before we talk about the next Norman to whom Catrin would soon find herself betrothed.”
Rhys drew in a quick breath through his nose. “He wouldn’t.”
Simon’s smile was mocking. “Of course, he would. You know he would. And she could not refuse the man to whom the king gave her. My guess? Rolf le Strange. We know he wants her. Why would the king favor you over his new coroner?”
Rhys clenched his hands into fists. In truth, he had been warring with himself all day, desperate to think how to prevent Catrin from leaving. He loved her. He always had. Whether that love could be something that could carry them into the future together he didn’t yet know, but he very much wanted to find out. This last fortnight since the birth of the king’s son had been the best of his life. He couldn’t imagine how gloomy his world would become if he couldn’t wake up every morning knowing he was going to see her.
Simon was offering the opportunity for him to stay close. He would be the king’s new spymaster—and quaestor when needed—masquerading as a member of his guard. That meant Rhys would always be at King Edward’s side, charged with the safety of his person as well as that of the queen herself. And since the king and queen were never separated if they could help it, chances were, he would be spending a great deal of time with Catrin.
It would mean leaving Wales, however, sooner rather than later.
“Who better to protect your people, Rhys,” Simon said softly, saying Rhys’s name the Welsh way one more time. Maybe, in fact, for the last time. Each successive conversation cleared the air between them a little more. They were going to disagree—maybe often—but they loved each other, which meant they needed to find a way through those disagreements and out the other side. “Accept that you still have a future and a role to play.”
Rhys let out a breath. Simon was right. From the moment the king learned Rhys was alive, he’d never had a choice. “So be it. But if I stay with him, I won’t pretend not to hate everything he’s done to Wales.”
“He takes that as a given. But you don’t lie, and you keep your word, once pledged. He knows you will fight to the death to protect him.”
Rhys managed a real laugh, maybe the first one in a long time. “Rhys de la Croix, member of the king’s guard.” He shook his head.
Simon laughed too. “God help us all.”
