Alexander’s gaze sharpened and darkened. “Many. And I am beginning to suspect there is more to this. I scoffed at the first reports brought to me.” The king brought his head up as though listening for something and then shook it. “I would not have believed it either had I not witnessed . . . something.”
It took only a glance at Alexander’s face for William’s urge to laugh to be quelled. The king took in a deep breath and let it out slowly and, for just a moment, the confidence of someone born to royalty slipped and Alexander appeared a tired, old man filled with fear.
“Tell me, Sire. What makes you think that Lord Hugh is something other than your man?” The king held out his cup, and William retrieved the pitcher from the table and filled it. Thinking on this situation, he filled his own and waited on the king once more.
“I was journeying south to visit Melrose Abbey, and we stopped to see the progress Hugh was making on his new keep. He invited us to stop to see the high tower he had designed himself. It was . . . ungodly,” the king ended on a whisper, as though afraid to say the words aloud. “He wore the strangest garb when he greeted us. A long robe unlike any I have seen before. It seemed to glow as he moved, and his hands shimmered,” he said, staring at his own hands as though living the moment again and again.
The king reached out and gripped William’s wrist. “And the sounds coming from the lowest vault made my skin crawl and caused me to want to rush forth from the place and never return. I prayed two novenas at the abbey and still the feeling of being near evil remained.” The shivers that shook the king’s body reinforced his words. “He controls demons, William. He casts spells. He”—he paused and swallowed several time before finishing the words—“he speaks to the otherworld.”
William stood then and walked away. How could this be happening? It did not surprise him that the king would not speak of such things before other witnesses, for the words would damn him as a madman. Demons? Spells? What folly was this that plagued the king’s mind? He turned back to urge the king away from such . . . fears when his arm began to burn once more. Clapping his hand over the intense pain, he tugged the sleeve of his tunic up to look at the area.
Where there had been nothing before, a raised and burning red patch took form on his arm. It changed before his eyes into something . . . something he could not yet discern. Covering it from the king’s view, he realized that this situation was quickly growing out of control. Worse, there was something now wrong with him.
William reached up to touch his head and felt the sweat pouring down his forehead. His lungs could not draw in a full breath, and his skin burned everywhere. His thoughts jumbled, and the chamber before him grew hazy and smeared as though rain had run over it all and washed away the colors and textures. He lifted his hand to find support and instead grasped the king’s hand.
With a jolt, his head cleared. Then plans for attack appeared before his eyes, as drawings would look. A stone castle surrounded by acres of farmland. The hills in the distance. As he watched the scene unfold, William knew the weaknesses in the castle’s defenses, the best path to approach and the strength and numbers of the guards. His blood heated and surged through him as his vision strengthened and his mind raced with options for deploying his men for the attack, how to control and even destroy Lord Hugh’s unholy demesne.
He stumbled back at the realization of the vision before him. The king watched without a word, slowly nodding as though he could see what William did.
“Something is awry in my kingdom, William. You are part of it.” At the solemn declaration, William shook his head, denying the truth of it.
“Sire, I know not of what you speak,” he argued, but the visions flooding his mind and the need to fight, defeat, destroy, and conquer filled him, body and soul. His fists clenched against the strength of the need now flowing through him. He shook his head again, but it convinced neither him nor the king.
“I was led to you, William. I cannot explain that part of it, but I knew you would be the one to help me in this task,” the king assured him.
Whether the king’s words were madness or part of some bigger plan, William knew not. He was publicly a minor member of a very large and powerful family, and the king had had no way of knowing that William would arrive to request his sanction against another branch of the family.
“I am your man, Sire, but this . . . this is not something I have experience in. Why not speak to Bishop—” Before he could continue with a list of possible people who could help him in this endeavor, the king leapt to his feet and grabbed William’s shoulders, forcing him close.
“You must do this for me, William. For my kingdom. For all of Scotland and more,” he demanded.
Regardless of the unexplainable things going on, no matter the strangeness of the request, this was his king. Obedience was a foregone conclusion, even if the methods of executing such a task were questionable.
“Aye, Sire,” he said, with a bow of his head. “I am at your service.”
The mad expression in the king’s eyes seeped away, leaving the one he recognized. With a nod of his head, Alexander released him. Stepping back, the king called out to his ministers.
“Speak to no one about this, William. No one. The royal Exchequer will provide what you need. Mention the name of your holdings and he will understand.”
The king’s counselorscounselors and servants returned quickly at his call, and soon they were surrounded with many other courtiers and concerns. William met the king’s gaze and bowed his head, acknowledging his orders.
He backed from the chamber and turned down the hallway to return to Roger . . . and sanity.
But as he strode toward the larger waiting area, the intense burning on his arm increased as some shape was drawn—burned—into him. Between that and the plans rushing through his thoughts, he was convinced that he, too, might be part of the king’s madness.
With only hoursleft before darkness fell over the city of Edinburgh, William led his two closest and most able friends to a table in an alcove at a noisy inn. Doubting this whole endeavor, he had followed the king’s instructions and visited the Exchequer. The bag of gold coins now lay beneath his hauberk, tied firmly to his belt where none could see. They’d eaten their fill and consumed a fair share of the inn’s finest ale before he allowed himself to think on what to say to them.
Their lack of questions to this point in time spoke of their longtime friendship and their shared past of covering one another’s backs in battles large and small. Their patience was wearing thin now—he could tell from their exchanged glances and nods—but he doubted that either one of them would believe the tale if he told it.
Which he could not, for so many reasons.
“You were with the king a long time, Will.” Roger’s keen blue eyes watched William’s face for any sign and signal that he could not speak openly. Lifting the mug to his mouth, Roger asked, “Did he relent and promise his support?”
“He has,” William began.
“What is his price?” Gautier interrupted. When William and Roger looked at him, he shrugged. “There is always a price for the king’s consent.”
Nothing camefree in this world, and even kings commanded a fee of some kind—whether men to fight, gold to pay, or in this case, his soul. William needed to examine whether the cost of his claims to his lands was worth the odd price the king placed on it. To reveal it to his friends, however, the ones he would rely on to carry out the task, was against the king’s orders. So for now he would keep Alexander’s strange behavior and request to himself and give only the most general of explanations.
