Page 31 of Wolfehound
“I’ve not found lodgings yet, Your Grace.”
“Then go to the cloister and tell them you need a bed, on my request,” Canterbury said. “You will stay there until I send for you.”
“Aye, Your Grace.”
Canterbury waved him off again and St. Zosimus took the hint. He bolted to his feet and quickly fled the chamber, leaving Canterbury still standing with the cup in his hand. When he was certain that the greedy priest from the marches wasn’t going to return, he took another sip of his wine.
“Well?” he said. “Did you hear all of that?”
The room was surrounded with tapestries on the walls and alcoves covered by heavy curtains, dusty things that kept the chamber warm in the brutal winters of London. On the left side of the room, one of the curtains flipped back and a big man with a sword strapped to his thigh appeared. He was tall and handsome, with dark hair and hazel eyes. He fixed on Canterbury, an almost amused smile on his face.
“I did, Your Grace,” he said. “I must say that is not what I was expecting.”
Canterbury grunted. “Nor I,” he said, moving to reclaim his chair. “I do not know what I expected, but that priest has been trying to gain an audience with me for three weeks. I assumedthat whatever he wished to discuss was something of local corruption or complaining about his lodgings or profession. God only knows what I thought. But hearing what came out of his mouth… Nay, I did not expect that.”
“Seems fantastic.”
Canterbury looked at him. “Do you think it is true?” he said. “You knew William de Wolfe, Ronec. Your family is allied with the entire de Wolfe empire.”
Sir Ronec de Nerra nodded. “There is a collection of us who have been allied with one another for centuries,” he said. “A tight band of allies—de Lohr, de Wolfe, de Shera, de Lara and the like. Most of the families came over with the Duke of Normandy, ancestors who formed a band of knights called theanges de guerre, men who forged this nation.”
“Was your ancestor with them?”
Ronec shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “My ancestors came from the Carpathian region, believe it or not. Long ago, we were rulers. We were not from Normandy or Brittany and theanges du guerrecame from that area. But our rule was taken from us in some damn bloody wars, and we migrated to Rome, where we entered into service for the church. We came to these shores because we served the pope at the time and he lent legions to support the Duke of Normandy. We stayed in service with the Normans once they settled these lands, mostly with magistrate duties or within the army of the church. That is how I came into your service, Your Grace. I was gifted to you, if you recall, by a grateful prince of the church.”
Canterbury smiled faintly. “I remember very well,” he said. “You are one of the greatest gifts I have ever received—but do not let that swell your head, and if you tell anyone, I will deny it.”
Ronec chuckled softly. “I will not speak of it, I promise,” he said, but he quickly sobered. “So now we have something of a volatile piece of information given to us by that fool.”
Canterbury snorted. “You thought him a fool, too?” he said. “The man is greedy. He only gave me the information because he wants something. I know an ambitious man when I see one.”
“What are you going to do?”
Canterbury sighed heavily and set his cup down. “I am not entirely certain,” he said. “A few things were crossing my mind as I heard the news.”
“Like what?”
“Like using the information as leverage against Edward,” he said. “You know as well as I do that he has increased the taxes on the clergy and I have little ground to stand on in protest. Edward is old, but he is cunning and he’ll do what he can to exert power over me, yet if I had Gwenllian of Wales in my possession…”
He trailed off, and Ronec could see where this was going. He was the unofficial advisor to the Archbishop of Canterbury, an elite knight who was supposed to be the man’s protection and nothing more, but Canterbury had discovered early on that Ronec was so much more than muscle and skill. The man had impeccable advice and wisdom. Canterbury relied on him more for his moral and ethical advice rather than the religious kind. He had an army of priests for that. But Ronec kept him grounded.
“If you have Gwenllian of Wales, I do not think it will have the effect you are looking for,” he said. “We all know the story of the children of Llywelyn the Last and his brother, Dafydd. The girls were sent to a convent and the sons were taken somewhere and disappeared. But Gwenllian has the distinction of being the granddaughter of King John, so she shares that with Edward. They are related by blood. That means she is treated differently.”
Canterbury nodded. “She was sent to a priory in Lincolnshire,” he said. “But why do you say that taking her hostage will not have the desired effect against Edward?”
Ronec tried to phrase his advice carefully. Canterbury was a powerful man who always believed he was right, so this had to be handled delicately. “Because right now, it is simply a power struggle between the two of you, Your Grace,” he said. “You have a tense relationship, but he is not out to destroy you. He tolerates you as you tolerate him. If you take Gwenllian and use her against him, however you choose, then he will see this as an assault. He will go to war with you, and I can only imagine that it will make the situation between the Crown and the church that much worse.”
Canterbury pondered the advice carefully. He picked up his cup again, drinking deeply, as if that would somehow help his mind work.
“I do not want to make things worse than they are,” he admitted. “But this information cannot be ignored.”
“I agree, Your Grace,” Ronec said. “You need not ignore it. But be strategic. Think about the gratitude the king would feel if you told him about her. He would think you were doing him a favor.”
That lit a fire in Canterbury’s eyes. “Of course,” he said as if a tremendous idea had just occurred to him. “If I told him about her, then that would put him in my debt.”
“That is precisely what I was thinking.”
So was Canterbury. “Think on it, Ronec,” he said excitedly. “I tell him about Gwenllian and William de Wolfe’s betrayal and the next time I make a request of him, he will grant it because he is beholden to me.”
