The sun struggled through wisps of cloud, casting a pale glow over the walls of Pembroke. In the shadow of the keep, Estienne pored over a book, lips moving silently as he traced a finger beneath the Latin text. His brow furrowed as he wrestled with a particularly knotty passage. The concepts seemed to twist away from his comprehension, dancing just out of reach, until with a sigh, he leaned back against the sun-warmed stone, letting the book fall closed in his lap.
It was a perfect day for riding, or trading blows in the yard. Anything but having his head crammed with dusty philosophies, but the yard stood empty, the whole castle seeming to hold its breath. And Estienne knew why.
Earl William had been absent for days now, riding between the king and his barons, acting as peacemaker. Estienne had heard snatches of gossip from the servants – whispers of the barons’ mounting discontent, their fury at King John’s callous rule. Of the storm brewing on England’s horizon.
Still, there was nothing he could do but apply himself to his studies. Reaching for the book again, Estienne flipped it open to the offending page, steeling himself to untangle those Latin knots once more.
A feather-light touch ghosted along the rim of his ear, raising gooseflesh on his nape. He twitched, swatting at the damned fly that plagued him, but the touch came again, delicate as silk, and this time Estienne slapped at it hard.
A peal of laughter sounded behind, and he turned to see Eva grinning down at him, a long stalk of grass between finger and thumb, which she’d used to tease his ear.
‘Lost in your books again?’ She dangled the stalk of grass from her mouth.
‘Some of us have studying to do,’ he replied. ‘I’m sure you can find something else to occupy your time rather than tormenting me. Needlepoint, perhaps? Or prayer?’
Eva screwed up her nose. ‘Prayer? I’d sooner watch grass grow.’ She leaned over him, peering at his book. ‘What’s this one about then? More dull history?’
‘It’s… Latin. Theology and the like.’
‘Sounds thrilling.’ She plucked a flower and set about shredding it, showering Estienne’s book with yellow petals.
He snapped the volume shut. ‘Did you want something, Eva?’
A sly smile curved her lips. ‘I wanted to know when you were going to take me riding. You promised, remember?’
Estienne cast his mind back. He had promised her a trot through the fields, in a moment of weakness, but she had a way of needling him until he gave in, just to shut her up.
‘I don’t recall saying today.’
‘Well, it’s not like you’re doing anything important.’
‘I’m studying. You know, that activity you avoid like a plague.’
Eva’s grin only widened. ‘The book will still be here when you get back.’
There was a certain pull to that impish smile he found increasingly difficult to resist. ‘I can’t. Your father charged me to be diligent in my studies. I won’t abandon that duty.’
Eva rolled her eyes. ‘Fine then. Read your mouldy book. I’ll just waste away from boredom, shall I?’
‘Do whatever you think is best, Eva. Just do it away from here.’
Eva stuck her nose in the air. ‘When I’m a shrivelled crone, old before my time, you’ll regret those words, Estienne Wace.’ She turned to flounce away, but paused, pointing right at him. ‘Oh, and you’ve got petals in your hair.’
Her laughter pealed out, bright as church bells. Estienne couldn’t hide his own rueful smile as he brushed the petals away.
The clatter of hooves on flagstones shattered the relative peace of the courtyard. Estienne saw a familiar figure riding through the barbican, surrounded by a small train of men-at-arms.
‘Father!’
Eva went tearing across the bailey, skirts hiked up around her knees, propriety forgotten. William Marshal swung down from his destrier, moving stiffly from the long ride. When Eva barrelled into him, he caught her up in a strong embrace, a weary smile breaking across his face.
‘Hello, little hellion.’ His voice was gruff, but warmth threaded the words. He set Eva back to look at her, large hands engulfing her shoulders. ‘Keeping the devil busy in my absence?’
Eva looked back at him with concern. ‘You’re back so soon this time. Is everything all right?’
The lightness faded from William’s expression and for a moment he looked every one of his years. ‘That’s nothing for you to worry on.’ Eva’s face set into defiant lines, but before she could open her mouth to argue, William forestalled her with a raised hand. ‘I mean it, Eva. These matters are not for a child’s ears.’
‘I’m not a child,’ Eva muttered.
‘I’m weary to the bone, and I’ll not have you pestering me with questions. Now off you go and plague your maids or the scullions.’
Eva looked set to protest, but something in William’s expression stopped her. With ill grace, she turned and stomped back toward the keep.
The Marshal watched her go, a shadow passing over his features. Estienne knew that he was only taking care to preserve his daughter’s innocence, shielding her from the kingdom’s woes.
He shut his book and scrambled to his feet as Earl William approached. ‘My lord. Is all well? You look as though you’ve had a hard road.’
William smiled, but it was a thin, strained thing. ‘That I have, lad. That I have.’
‘What happened with the barons, my lord? Did you not reach an accord?’
William blew out a heavy breath. ‘Accord. Would that it were so simple. The archbishop and I rode to Brackley to entreat with the barons. To hear their grievances and seek some path to peace. Instead, we were handed a list of demands as long as my arm. Clauses and conditions, each one more galling than the last.’
‘What manner of demands?’ Estienne asked.
‘The kind that would strip the king of his power. Hobble him like a gelded stallion. They call it a charter. I call it a blatant bid for power.’
‘I take it the king did not receive these demands kindly.’
William barked a laugh devoid of humour. ‘That’s putting it mildly. When I laid the demands before him, he was enraged. Called the barons traitors and outlaws, the lot of them. Swore he’d see them all hanged before he bent to their yoke.’
A sick dread settled in Estienne’s stomach. ‘What will happen now?’
William looked suddenly very old, the lines of care deepening. ‘John has commanded his sheriffs to seize all the rebel barons’ lands and holdings. To bring them to heel through force of arms.’
‘But that will only enrage them further.’
‘Aye,’ William agreed grimly. ‘They will not bend to such actions. Not proud men like FitzWalter and Vesci. They have too much to lose. And now, with John branding them traitors, declaring their lives and lands forfeit, they’ll fight like cornered rats. I thought I could make King John see reason. Appeal to some shred of wisdom in that overgrown boy’s head, but there is no reasoning with him. No yield in his marrow. And now we’ll all pay the price for his spite.’
Estienne stared out over the inner ward, watching as William’s men-at-arms led their horses to the stable, weary to the bone. Their grim faces and terse movements only underscored the air of urgency, the sense that time was swiftly dwindling.
‘You’ll be leaving again soon, won’t you?’
William nodded. ‘I must. Everyone is jumping for each other’s throats like half-starved dogs. If I don’t get between them, force some measure of restraint, this land will be drenched in blood before the season’s out.’
‘Let me come with you.’ The words were out before he could call them back.
William blinked, refocusing on Estienne as if seeing him anew. ‘I don’t doubt your courage, lad, but this is no tourney. If it comes to battle, it will be a grim and bloody business.’
‘All the more reason to have loyal men at your side.’
‘Aye, I’ll need loyal men in the days ahead. Men I can trust, when all around is cast in shadow.’
‘I will not fail you. I swear it.’
William’s smile was grim. ‘I hope you won’t.’
The earl walked on, disappearing into the keep. In that moment, Estienne felt the weight of his oath settling over him. He had pledged himself to Marshal’s cause, and his life to the service of a doomed peace. And now, come what may, he would have to see it through.