The Baron looked at me then, properly, for the first time that evening. “Do you stand by what you said, about neither side winning?”
“I stand by it,” I said. My voice came out thinner than I intended.“If the broad shape of history holds, then yes. The war ends in compromise. The charter survives in a softer form. Neither side achieves total victory.”
“You can be wrong about details.”
I thought about the fact that I was sitting in medieval England briefing a baron on a civil war I had once taught to bored undergraduates at eight-thirty in the morning.
“I don’t know the small details,” I admitted.
The Baron absorbed that without expression and made a small note on the parchment in front of him.
“Acceptable,” he said again.
We worked for two more hours, working through alignments and households and which lords were likely to declarefor which side and which monasteries would shelter which messengers. Some I knew, but many I did not. Aldwin asked sharper questions than I expected, mostly about geography and supply roads. Geoffrey asked about personalities at court. Which bishops could be trusted. Which royal officers could be cultivated. Which men were vain enough to mistake flattery for loyalty.
I answered what I could and refused to answer what I could not, and the Baron let me refuse, which was the closest I had come to being treated like a colleague in this castle.
When the candle had burned nearly to nothing and the river outside the window had disappeared into darkness entirely, the Baron finally set down his quill.
“You understand,” he said, looking directly at me now, “that what you know is a resource.”
“I understand.”
“I manage resources carefully. They are not wasted or risked unnecessarily.” A pause. “That includes you, and why you must stay here at Thames.”
It was, I realized, the closest thing to a promise of safety I was likely to receive from him.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
He nodded once and rose. “You have until first light to prepare to ride your separate directions. Neither of you leaves this castle the same way. Aldwin, north road, three companions, no banner. Geoffrey, south road, smaller party, traveling as a private gentleman on courtesy business. You will both be gone before the King’s couriers reach Thames.”
“You have already drafted the letters,” Geoffrey said.
“I have drafted three. We will choose one based on what the messenger says.”
He left without another word. Aldwin lingered at the doorway for a moment, fastening his gloves slowly.
“Well briefed,” he said to me at last.
From Aldwin, it was practically tenderness.
Then he vanished into the corridor.
Geoffrey and I remained alone in the dying candlelight. The room suddenly felt much quieter without the others in it.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“For what?”
“For being right.”
His mouth curved faintly. “You were observant. There is a difference. My father is the one who decided what to do with your future information.”
“That’s a generous distinction.”
“It is the correct one.”
He leaned back slightly, exhaustion visible now that no one else remained to witness it. “I have been to court before,” he said. “I am not unprepared. I only…” He stopped.
