De Montfort eyed him narrowly. ‘Would you, for example, be prepared to welcome the accession of the lord Edward in the event of the King’s ill health?’
William knitted his brows, for he suspected trickery, although it was a sensible question. ‘If the King becomes unwell, then of course Edward is the rightful successor. I would not disagree with you.’ He hazarded that de Montfort was exploring how William would react if Henry was deposed and replaced by Edward, perhaps as a puppet ruler controlled by de Montfort. If so, the latter was underestimating Edward. William could taste the danger, and not only to himself. It was a case of either drinking the poison or being stabbed in the back, and the whole scenario sickened him. Whatever the circumstances, he would not go against Henry, but he had to play the game.
‘Well, we are agreed on that then,’ de Montfort said. ‘Would you support Edward’s aunt and myself as his protectors?’
‘I would see you as part of the wider family who would support their nephew in his role of successor to my brother, and I would not veer from this.’
De Montfort gave him a hard look. ‘Then you will serve the King, and England, best if you take such an oath now.’
William felt such intense revulsion that he wanted to vomit. ‘What do you wish me to say?’
‘That you will serve the King, whoever he is, and that you are loyal to the trust the King puts in me.’
William turned away for a moment. The oath itself was innocuous, but what it might mean in practice was entirely different. They were in a church, and he sent up a silent prayer asking God to send him the wisdom to come through this morass.
‘You know I am loyal to the King,’ he said. ‘I have never once been disloyal to the Crown and I would never stoop to that dishonour. If you yourself keep your faith to the King, then we have no quarrel on that score, but I will not give my oath to disloyalty of any kind either to my brother or to my nephew. I will die first.’
‘Then we are agreed and we can make our peace,’ de Montfort said smoothly. ‘In the fullness of time you can return to England, providing you swear to the provisions laid down at Oxford.’
William set his jaw. ‘We are agreed in principle, but I refuse to give up what the King has given to me without the strongest of guarantees. I am prepared to move my stance but there is a line that I will never cross. In Oxford, I spoke unwise words in the heat of the moment and I should have curbed my temper, but I have not forgotten your threat to take my head, my lord.’
De Montfort bared his teeth in a humourless smile. ‘We all say things that are better left unspoken. We have no love for each other, but fortunately it is not a requirement of our mutual business. Let us call a truce for the moment and I hope I can count upon your support in future negotiations.’
William was disgusted by de Montfort’s efforts to manipulate and bribe him. He could have his lands restored, but at a price that would beggar his honour. He inclined his head without saying anything and, keen to escape, walked towards the door.
‘Wait, I have another matter to discuss.’ De Montfort went to refill his cup.
William turned. He could smell the wine; he badly needed a drink, but refused to raise a cup in de Montfort’s company. ‘You should be quick, my lord,’ he said. ‘I have little stomach for any more of this tonight.’
De Montfort gave him a hard look. ‘Then swallow your gorge,’ he said. ‘I have interests not that far from you in Bigorre. It is necessary for me to arrange a truce between myself and other factions in the region, but I have little time to deal with the matter. I am asking you to act as my go-between in the interests of that truce.’
William’s throat burned with bile. ‘I am not your dog, to do your bidding in the hope of being tossed a bone, but I shall certainly give your request some thought.’ He had been expecting de Montfort to bring up the subject of the Pembroke lands, and the Bigorre request had thrown him. However, agreeing to it would increase his bargaining power when it did come to that matter. He suspected de Montfort was calling on him because his own rapport and reputation with the people of Bigorre were unsullied by atrocities.
De Montfort nodded curtly. ‘I would have you say nothing of this meeting to anyone else.’
‘My wife shall know,’ William said. ‘I am sure yours does.’
De Montfort’s mouth twisted as if he had taken a drink of sour wine. ‘We have a truce?’
‘Yes,’ William said. ‘Because it suits both of us for now, but nothing is forgotten.’
‘As you said earlier, there are times when a man speaks words that he should have kept to himself,’ de Montfort said. ‘We need to discuss the matter of Bigorre in detail, but it can await another moment. It is sufficient for now that we have an understanding.’
*
Joanna leaped to her feet when William returned and hurried to take his cloak. ‘I was beginning to worry; you were gone so long.’
‘He wants a truce,’ William said in bemusement. ‘For his own reasons of course.’
She brought him wine and he told her what had happened. ‘I swore to honour the King and his rightful successor,’ he said, ‘but I sidestepped the issue of swearing to de Montfort in person. The only binding oath of loyalty I will ever swear is to my brother the King.’
‘But you are still in a dangerous position.’
‘Not as dangerous as before. My agreement to a truce has given us room for manoeuvre. I shall go to Bigorre and sort out this matter for him.’
‘But no sign of a return to England yet?’
He shook his head. ‘Not unless we become de Montfort’s allies. That is his price. I suspect he has some scheme to depose Henry and set up Edward in his place and then rule as Edward’s chief adviser. I only hope Edward’s head is not turned by dreams of wearing a crown before his time. If he usurps his father there is no going back.’
