William’s jaw dropped.
Edward grinned. ‘I have found that God tends to help those who help themselves, Uncle.’
They settled down to cover the miles, constantly looking over their shoulders for signs of pursuit, but it appeared that Edward’s ruse had worked. William had girded on his sword, but if they were caught it would be useless, for they would be massively outnumbered. Their best protection was Edward’s presence – not even de Montfort would dare to harm him – but they were still in a bind, and William knew he might indeed lose everything. The thought of facing Joanna and the children and telling them they would have to live as penniless exiles made him feel sick with shame and he immediately pushed it aside. He and his brothers had to have a strategy, and that strategy depended on Edward and the King. De Montfort and his associates might have the upper hand now, but they would not have it for ever.
On arriving at Wolvesey, the gates were immediately barricaded behind them while guards ran to the battlements. William made sure that all the windows were shuttered and secure. Pausing in the hall as the lamps were lit, he drew a shuddering breath and wished he could awake from this nightmare.
John de Warenne gripped his shoulder. ‘Steady.’
William shook his head. ‘I am all right,’ he said, ‘but we are in no place or position from which to make a counter-attack or resist them if they throw their all against us.’
‘No,’ John said quietly, ‘but we can negotiate.’
‘And I have you and the lord Edward to thank for that. But what of the King and my family? How do I protect them?’
‘I will take care of Joanna and the children,’ John said. ‘Never fear, I will make sure they are safe. You are my dearest family and you have stood by me in my time of need. I will guard them with my life, although I do not believe it will come to that.’
‘Don’t you? I am not so sure,’ William said bleakly.
That night, rolled in his cloak for a blanket, William tried to sleep but without success. He left his pallet and prowled the room, checking entrances and exits, restless with tension. He hated being impotent and trapped. They had only bought themselves time by coming to Wolvesey, and the space to negotiate terms so that he and his brothers might survive, but he would be robbed of his wealth and influence – and his home. The only option was to go into exile and regroup. Henry, he suspected, would be unable to do anything, and the Queen was hand in glove with de Montfort and his followers. He dared not think about Joanna and the children.
Eventually he lay down and dozed fitfully, but every sound jolted him awake and at last he conceded defeat and rose to use the piss pot. A fair summer morning was breaking, tingeing the sky with pink and gold. He loved English dawns and dusks. Indeed, he loved England, and had become attuned to its changing seasons and its climate, cooler and greener than the place of his birth. And now he was being forced into exile.
As the light brightened, he went in search of food, but a guard forestalled him, reporting short-breathed that Simon de Montfort and his sons, the Bigods and other nobles from the Oxford gathering had arrived at Wolvesey’s gates, demanding that William and his brothers come out. Clearly it had not taken them too long to find new tack for their horses.
Edward arrived, fastening his hose to his braies and batting away the servant who was trying to dress him. His hair was sleep-tousled, but his eyes were alert and sharp. ‘Tell them we shall parley,’ he said, ‘but they must come inside to us and we shall hear what they have to say. And when they decide on their spokesmen, they will yield their weapons before they enter my presence.’ He turned to William. ‘I will do what I can, but do not expect miracles. Be prepared to leave England. It will only be for a short while, but it is like playing chess. In order to win, sometimes you have to bide your time and make sacrifices.’
William nodded stiffly. ‘I have come to that conclusion too, sire. I ask that you do what you can for your aunt Joanna and your cousins. Protect them if it be within your power, and do not forget them.’
‘It shall be done, I promise you,’ Edward said, sombre now. ‘And I promise you also that you shall return.’
Joanna was sewing with Agnes when Elias was ushered into her chamber, sheltering Iohan under his becloaked arm. Her son was pale with exhaustion, his eyes wide open as though they had seen the horrors of the world, but he stood manfully.
Her heart lurching, she rose to face them. ‘What has happened?’ she demanded. ‘Where is your lord?’
Elias came forward and, kneeling, presented her with a sealed parchment. ‘Madam, he has gone to the Bishop of Winchester’s castle at Wolvesey. He entreats you to remain calm and do what you can.’
Joanna opened the letter and read the brief words penned in haste and smudged because the message had been sealed before the ink was dry. Elias’s words did nothing to reassure her.
‘Simon de Montfort said he was going to cut off Papa’s head if he did not agree to his terms,’ Iohan piped up.
Agnes started to cry.
‘Be quiet,’ Joanna snapped at Iohan. ‘You are scaring your sister.’ She turned to Agnes. ‘And no need for tears. Your father is alive and well. Go with Mabel now and I will talk to you later.’ She gestured to the maid, who took Agnes by the hand and led her from the room. Iohan stiffened to resist, but Joanna indicated that he should stay. ‘Tell me what you know,’ she said to Elias.
Swiftly and succinctly he summarised what had happened. As Joanna listened, her alarm grew, for de Montfort would now be coming for her and her lands. Thank God they had possessed the foresight to hide their valuables.
‘What of the King?’
‘He is under the rule of the fifteen barons for now,’ Elias said. ‘I believe he is very shocked by what has happened. The lord Edward is with my lord, and so is the Earl of Surrey.’
‘I would like you to leave me to think,’ Joanna said. Her stomach was clenched to her spine. She needed time unobserved to digest this terrible news; she needed William, but he wasn’t here, and she only had herself to call upon.
When Elias had gone, taking Iohan with him, she sat down and read the letter again. The terse, smudged words were like stones crushing her and she crumpled the parchment and allowed herself to weep – harsh, racking sobs. If she cried all her tears now, there would be none left to betray her in front of the household when she had to be strong.
Eventually, she wiped her eyes and raised her chin. Her grandsire, the great William Marshal, had faced worse dilemmas when made the regent of England in the middle of a civil war with a nine-year-old king to protect. She had that heritage to carry her through – blood and bone and will.
William adjusted his sword belt and tugged his surcoat straight. He was wearing an alternative blazon, featuring the lions of England instead of his usual red swifts. He had eschewed full armour to go into exile, although he had considered it, for in order to leave he had to ride past a gathering of hostile barons, including the Earl of Leicester. Edward had negotiated a truce and safe conduct with their opponents, and they would not dare to attack him in the former’s presence, but he remained wary.
