“My subjects here must see that I come not to conquer, but to rule as their rightful sovereign. ’Tis time to establish order and good governance in the lands we have thus far reclaimed. To that end, I have appointed Sir John Popham as bailli of Caen. I want you to assist him.”
Stephen could not believe what he was hearing. “You want me to be… to be…” He had to grope for the word, and it felt distasteful in his mouth when he found it. “Anadministrator?But I am a skilled knight, sire.”
“You would make a fine commander, as well,” the king said in a flat voice. “But until a French army is willing to face us in battle, I have more commanders than I need.”
Two years before, the English army decimated the cream of French chivalry at the Battle of Agincourt in a defeat so resounding it would be remembered through the ages. The French commanders had studiously avoided fighting the young English king head-to-head ever since.
“What I need is a man of wit and charm who can earn the people’s trust,” the king said. “Your charge is to hear their complaints, resolve their disputes fairly, and convince them they are better off under English rule.”
Sweet Lamb of God.“I am glad to be of service, sire.”
“Leave us,” the king called out. When the heavy doors closed behind the soldiers keeping guard at the entrance, the king said, “I knew I chose the right man. No one would guess from your countenance you are seething.”
The smile on the king’s face brought to mind a cat with an injured bird under his paw.
“That deceptive charm,” the king continued, “and your much-lauded talent for learning secrets, will prove valuable in your second assignment, as well.”
It was a family joke that no secret was safe from him. Stephen tried to guess which of his loved ones saw fit to share this with the king. His musings were stopped dead as a panel in the wall behind the king swung open. When a tall, elegantly dressed man with distinctive white-blond hair stepped through the opening, Stephen re-sheathed his sword.
“Robert!” Stephen shouted. “What are you doing in Normandy? Does William know?”
He and Robert thumped each other on the back, then stepped back to look more closely at each other. Though Robert’s face showed a few more laugh lines, Stephen didn’t doubt women fell at his feet—and into his bed—with the same regularity.
“SirRobert now,” the king said. “After twenty years, our friend has given up the guise of traveling musician. He has returned to claim his rightful place as a nobleman of Normandy.”
“You are full of surprises,” Stephen said, laughing.
Robert grinned back. “How it would grieve my uncle to know I’ve inherited his estates! I went into hiding because he was determined to have me murdered.” Robert leaned close to Stephen and whispered, “His second wife favored me a bit too much.”
“Despite his change in circumstances,” the king said, “Robert has agreed to continue his service to me.”
Steven knew what that “service” was. As a troubadour, Robert traveled widely and was welcomed everywhere. That had made him a useful spy in the years when England was roiled in rebellion and King Henry was yet Prince Harry.
“I cannot tell you how many evenings the family spent speculating about who you truly were,” Stephen said.
Robert’s eyes crinkled with good humor. “We can speak more of that another time. Now we must discuss the king’s plans for you. We shall be working together, my friend.”
When the king dismissed Stephen and signaled for him to remain, Robert felt no sense of alarm, no foreboding. Though they were very different men, their relationship was one of long-standing and mutual respect.
“Order and good government will not be enough to bind Normandy to England,” Harry began. “We must have marriage alliances among the nobility, as well.”
Apprehension crept up Robert’s spine. Marriage alliances? Could the king mean—good God, the saints protect him!
“I received a letter today from my uncle, Bishop Beaufort, regarding one such young lady. If the weather holds, she could arrive any day.”
A drop of sweat trickled down Robert’s back. “A young lady, sire? How young?” Please God, not some young innocent. He was years and years too old for that.
“She is a widow of two and twenty.”
Better than fifteen or sixteen. But only slightly. He must think of an excuse, but what? Blast it, if he were yet just a troubadour, the king would never ask this of him.
“I want your advice,” Harry said, touching the points of his steepled fingers to his chin. “Which of the French noblemen who have pledged loyalty to me should I bind more closely through a marriage alliance?”
Praise God!Relief coursed through Robert’s body. He hoped it did not show in his face.
“The only city that lies between my army and Paris is Rouen,” the king said. “I want a man with influence in that city. A man who might convince them it is in their interest to surrender quickly.”
Robert sucked in a breath to steady himself and set his mind to the king’s question.
