"What do they want?" asked William, raising the hem of his tunic and drawing it over his head. Warwick opened the chest and withdrew a clean, white tunic.

"They did not say, Your Majesty," replied the chamberlain. "I was told only that it was of utmost importance that they speak to you at once, and before you speak to anyone else today."

"Impertinent lot," observed William, pulling the tunic over his head. The garment, though handsomely wrought, was made for a slightly smaller frame; the fine fabric stretched over his expansive gut. "Warwick," he said, "go see who it is and find out what they want. I have not broken fast yet, and I'm not in a humour to brook any silliness."

"To be sure, Sire," replied the young earl.

William nodded, picked up a scrap of bread from the remains of last night's supper, sniffed it, and took a bite. Seeing the servant still stood staring at him, he threw the rind of dried bread crust at him. "Bring me my food!" The servant ducked the missile and darted for the door. "And be quick about it," William called after him. "Important people have come. We must not keep them waiting."

CHAPTER 41

S 'truth, I'd never make a sailor. Even the smallest stretch o' water seen from the deck of a ship brings me out in a sweat. If a wave should rock the boat, it's me there hanging onto the rail and spilling my supper into the briny deep. Oh, and I had cause enough. Even the master of the ship said it was the worst storm in many a year o' sailing. And he should know-he's crossed that narrow sea more times than a rooster with a henhouse across the road. Our own small voyage might not have been so bad, and indeed I had allowed myself to imagine that the worst was over when we entered the wide estuary of the Thames and sallied slowly upriver to the White Tower of Lundein to pay our ruddy King William a visit.

Alas, the king was not in residence.

Gone to Rouen, they told us-gone to parley with his brother, not to return till Saint Matthew's Day, maybe not till Christmas.

Never mind, said Bran, we've come this far, what's a little further? "Master Ruprecht!" he called, and I can still hear those fateful words: "Cast off and make sail for France!" As it had turned out, our man Ruprecht, the ship's owner and master, was Flanders born and raised, and could speak both French and English into the bargain. His ship was a stout ploughhorse of a vessel, and he was kept right busy fetching and carrying Ffreinc noblemen and their knights back and forth to England from various ports on the coast of Normandie. Thus, he knew the coasts of both lands as well as any and far better than most. Seizing his ship had been easier than rolling off a stump. We lifted nary a finger, nor ruffled a hair-we simply bought his services.

This easy conquest was not without its moment of uncertainty, however. For as we came in sight of the docks at Hamtun that day and Bran gave Iwan, Siarles, and Jago the command to secure the ship, those three hastened down to the wharf. Cinnia and I arrived close behind and scrambled onto the dock hard on their heels. "Let me talk to them first," offered Brother Jago, as they dismounted. "Do nothing until we see how things stand."

"Hurry then," Iwan said. "We do not have much time before the others get here."

"What will you tell them?" asked Siarles, swinging down from the saddle. "Maybe it would be better to take them by surprise."

"Force is the first resort of the coward," suggested Jago lightly. "Peace, Brother. We have enjoyed great success with our disguises until now. We can trust them a little further, I think."

"Go then," Iwan told him. "See if they will talk to you."

"Whatever you do, make it quick," said I, urging them on.

"All the same, we will be ready to stifle any objections with our fists," Siarles called after him.

I myself could not have stifled so much as a sneeze with my fists, weak and miserable as I was just then. My months of captivity had left me exhausted, and the last few days of travel had all but killed me. It took my last strength to clamber down from the wagon and, on Cinnia's tender arm, hobble onto the dock and make my slow, aching way aboard the waiting vessel where, if it had not happened, I would not have believed it: the ship's master himself welcomed us with open arms.

"Greetings, friends!" he called, leaping lightly to the rail to help me aboard. "My ship and myself are at your service. I am Master Ruprecht, and this is the Dame Havik." His English was flat and toneless, but clear, and the ruddy face beneath his floppy red hat was friendly as it was wind-burned. "The good brother has told me of your urgent mission. Never fear, I will see you safely to your destination." He paused to wave at the approaching Ffreinc, and to Father Dominic.

What Jago had told him, in the first part, was that Father Dominic was a papal legate, which was no more than de Braose and his lot already believed. Jago merely added that we were all on a secret embassy to England bearing a message of utmost importance for the king. As it happens, this last part was true enough. Bran did indeed bear an important message for the king-the one I had sent him through Odo from my prison cell concerning the letter we had stolen in the Christmas raid. Now, as a result of his sojourn with Count Falkes and Abbot Hugo, our King Raven knew better what that letter meant. The importance of reaching King William might have been overstated somewhat. But in light of the mounting suspicions of Falkes and the sheriff, it was simple good sense to make the captain think our errand urgent. Even so, that excuse was closer to the truth than any of us could have guessed, and it was to be the saving of us.

The Dame Havik's master had only one small impediment towards our leaving straightaway-he had no crew. He had come to England shorthanded, and with a cargo of fine cloth, which he had sold days before; he had put in at Hamtun to pick up more sailors and a load of hides and wool. "We will have to wait until I can find some more hands to help with the sails and such. I hope you understand. It should not take long," he hastened to add, "no more than three or four days maybe."

"Even that is too long," Jago, as Brother Alfonso, informed him. "Perhaps you would allow my fellow monks and me to serve as your crew at least as far as Lundein. If you tell us what to do, we will do it. And," he added, "the king will reward you well when we tell him how you have helped us."

Ruprecht of Flanders pulled on his chin and cast a weather eye at the sky, then to the river. "The tide is beginning to run, and the wind is in a favourable quarter." He made up his mind with a snap of his fingers. "Well, why not? As soon as His Eminence is aboard, we will cast off. Here! I will show you what to do. Step to the music, friends!"

And just like that, Iwan and Siarles were no longer lay brothers, but sailors. Under Ruprecht's direction, they hauled on the ropes and picked up the poles and, in as much time as it takes to tell it, we were away, leaving the Ffreinc standing on the shore, mouths agape, eyes a-boggle at the swiftness of our departure. The ship, light of its load, spun out into the deeper channel; the tide lifted her and carried her off. We saw the dock and Hamtun town growing small behind us and laughed out loud. We were so relieved to have done with those treacherous Ffreinc, we laughed until the tears streamed down our cheeks.

We made for Lundein, sailing along the coast and up the wide Thames until we came in sight of the White Tower-a splendid thing it is, too, all gleaming pale and tall like an enormous horn rising from the bank of the muddy river. But we had no sooner made anchor and summoned a tender alongside to carry us to shore than we learned that the king was not in England. "Gone to France," said the tenderman. He counted the days on his fingers. "A week or more ago, give or take."