THE WHISPERING NIGHT
CHAPTER ONE
The month of January
1197 A.D.
Chepstow Castle wasa bastion that sat along the edges of the Wye River, protecting the English borders like a great lion. It was a foreboding place, with dungeons and soldiers and a feel about it that reeked of power.
On this night, the moon hung low in the sky and there was ice in the air. Sentries walked the wall, watching the surrounding countryside for hints of danger. There was a light in the keep, a single glow emitting from a lancet window near the top of the structure. It was the only warmth in the silence of the dead, cold night.
This was William Marshal’s fortress. He was the Lord Chancellor of England, appointed by Richard the Lion heart. From this place, William issued commands and directives that controlled most of the kingdom. He was the law while the king was away battling the infidels in the Holy Land. Until Richard returned, there was no man more powerful in England, save the king’s brother. And therein lay the danger.
In the solar of the great keep, smoke curled up from the hearth in ribbons of gray and white. The Marshal sat near the heat, in a chair that was designed for a much larger body; his weight tended to rise and fall with the seasons. He was an old man and his health suffered at times. But in his youth, there had been none stronger in the land. Those were the days of old, whenmen were larger than legends, fighting for the new country and living to tell the tales.
Now, this man of legend had eyes that were yellowed with years. He still counseled men, great men in the current day. He sat in the chair, gazing across the room at a familiar figure lurking in the shadows; it was a man who had the potential to be one of the greatest of his time. A protégé of the Marshal, groomed with the greatest of care. Bright silver glints of mail reflected off the figure in the corner; every time there was movement, the Marshal could hear the grate of the armor. It was a tense, uneasy sound.
“So you have no comment on my suggestion?” William finally broke the silence. “It would be a tremendous opportunity and a tremendous honor for you. Have you nothing to say?”
The profile in the shadows waited a nominal amount of time before emerging into the light. A massive knight materialized, moving with the stealth of a panther, stalking the older man huddled before the fire. He didn’t speak, but the expression on his handsome face said enough. He was displeased.
The Marshal fought off a grin at the sight of him. “So you do not like the idea of marriage.”
“That is not true.”
“Then you like it?”
“Under the proper circumstances.”
“And you do not consider these the proper circumstances?”
The warrior pursed his lips. “When I entered the knighthood, I was prepared to die for my liege. When I came into your service, I was prepared to die for my king. I am not, however, prepared to marry for him.”
“So you consider that a fate worse than death?”
“It could be,” the man shot back softly. In truth, he was off-guard by the Marshal’s suggestion and fading fast. When he had been summoned this night, a marriage, especially his own,had been the last thought on his mind. “You are speaking of something far beyond the call of duty, my lord.”
“How?”
The knight was frustrated to realize that he could not adequately debate the subject. “Simply that. To fight, to kill, and to die for one’s king is honorable and expected. But to marry for the king… I am, after all, only a knight, the son of baron, and….”
“The barony of Anglecynn is older than England herself and you will inherit it when your father dies. You are descended from Saxon kings. Your forefathers conquered England with William the Bastard and married Saxon princesses.” The Marshal’s voice tightened. “You are Sir Garren Beaupre le Mon of Anglecynn and Ceri, heir to an ancient and rich kingdom had we not been united by the Normans. You’re more than suitable for this task.”
The Marshal made it sound as if he was someone of importance. But Garren knew differently. “Then if you place such significance on my heritage, let me point out that the woman you suggest is no one of any particular consequence.”
William jabbed a wizened finger at him. “She is the daughter of one of John Lackland’s most powerful supporters. Her father serves the Earl of Norfolk. To position you within the House of de Rosa as her husband puts you in direct communication with her father.”
“And the prince’s plots.”
“That is the hope.”
Garren fixed the Marshal with an icy stare. He was a big man, well over six feet in height, with shoulders so broad that he sometimes had to turn sideways to enter a door. He was accustomed to using his size as an intimidation tactic, but that particular method failed to work on William. The old Marshal had battled kings and princes and was not about to be put off by a mere knight, no matter how large or powerful.
“Your father knows Bertram de Rosa,” William said steadily. “They served together as young knights under Henry the Second, and, as I recall, supported the sons against their father in their quest for the throne.”
“Until my father realized what an unscrupulous character John was.”
The Marshal knew all of that and nodded his head. “Yes, yes, and then he married your mother and withdrew from politics all together, which is no easy feat in this world.”
