Page 38 of Retribution

He’d been staying in a residence near Bishopsgate.

Everald de Beaumont spent a good deal of time in London these days, far from the stark walls of Lerryn Castle, far from the dank wilds of Cornwall, simply because he preferred a city to the countryside. He wasn’t a country lad, but rather born in the town of Nalliers, in France, so he felt more at home when there were a lot of people around. The energy of a city fed him.

But there was more to it.

Everald de Beaumont was Lord Nalliers, a vassal of Louis IX. When the seventh crusade failed to capture Jerusalem, he had fled to England, to his wife’s family, because he’d already bled his town and family dry for his crusade and he essentially had nothing left to return to. Before he’d gone on crusade, however, he’d met and married the fair Cleodosia de Sauster when he’d come to England for a specific purpose—to gather men and funding for the crusade of Louis IX, as a vassal of the French king. He’d married a young woman with a wealthy family, but her father was onto him.

Marc de Sauster could see Everald for what he was.

An opportunist.

After the marriage, Marc had refused to give Everald any money at all, which was a great disappointment. Everald, however, had gathered what he considered enough and he’d departed England, and his pregnant wife, and followed the French king into battle. But a few years later he returned to a dead wife, a tiny daughter, and a father-in-law who detested him. Everald had returned poor, sick, and addicted to the juice of the poppy.

That, in and of itself, had been his greatest challenge.

Finding the medicines he needed to feed that addiction had been difficult over the years. He’d stolen from Marc, from his allies and friends, to pay for what he needed. When his daughter came of age, he saw her rare and unique beauty and hoped to capitalize on that and find her a rich husband so he wouldn’t have to steal anymore, but what he found instead was beyond his wildest nightmares. A king who’d trained her to be a political pawn and, finally, an archbishop who took possession of her. Even in that, Everald had tried to leverage his position and Cambridge surrendered, keeping him supplied with money and medicine so he would not cause trouble about his daughter’s position.

And that was how Everald found himself in London today.

The Archbishop of Cambridge had arranged it.

The man had properties and friends throughout London, or at least people who were afraid of him and would do anything he asked, so Everald found lodgings near Bishopsgate in the home of the family of one of the archbishop’s men. Langford de la Rosa was his name and his family was an old one from Norfolk. Langford’s mother and uncle lived in a rather large house near Bishopsgate and Everald had been lodging with them for months. In London, he was closer to the apothecaries who could supply him with his poppy juice and he was also closer to the archbishop should the man summon him, as he had today.

Now, Everald stood on Cambridge’s doorstep at his fine home of Thornhill. He’d managed to wash himself, so he didn’t look or smell particularly bad, but he hoped this meeting would result in the archbishop’s giving him more money. There was a horse he had his eye on at a livery in London, down near the river, and he’d very much like to purchase the animal. As it was, he had to rely on borrowed livery for his transportation, so he wanted a horse of his own. Somehow, a beast like that would help restore an old knight’s dignity, since he’d had to sell his fine warhorse to feed his habit.

He could hope, anyway.

Langford himself answered the door once the gate guards had admitted him. The man with the black hair and black eyes, usually quite silent, was silent once again as he simply led Everald into the archbishop’s great hall. Everald always received the impression that Langford disapproved of him, worse still since the man was staying with his mother, but Everald ignored his attitude. He was only a servant, anyway.

Once he was seated, he await the arrival of the archbishop with anticipation.

And perhaps some nervousness.

He wasn’t long in coming. Clarence de Fulbourne, Archbishop of Cambridge, could fill up a room with his sheer presence. He was clad in white robes—many of them—all of them moving and flowing as he walked. His hair was dirty, to his shoulders, and oddly, he was barefoot. He came into the room and Everald immediately stood up, but the archbishop waved him to sit. As Everald collected his seat once more, Cambridge sat leisurely at the head of his table.

“Welcome, Everald,” he said as servants moved in to bring wine. “And how has your stay in London been this time? Pleasant?”

Everald nodded. “It has, my lord,” he said. “Lady de la Rosa is a gracious hostess.”

“She is,” Cambridge said, watching his servant pour the wine before taking the cup. “She has told me that you have been ill, however.”

So that’s what this is about, Everald thought. “Not terribly,” he said. “The medicine I take… I received some that was not of good quality and it made me ill, but nothing to worry over. As you can see, I am well.”

Cambridge sipped at his wine, eyeing Everald as he did so. “So it would seem,” he said. “But I’ve not summoned you to speak of your health.”

“How may I be of service, my lord?”

“You can ensure your daughter does as she is told.”

Everald’s brow furrowed. “Has she been disobedient?”

Cambridge shook his head. “Not exactly,” he said. “But I have asked her to protect me and it seems that she is hesitant to do so.”

Now, Everald was extremely confused. “Protect you?” he said. “I do not understand. Has she been a threat to you, then?”

“Nay,” Cambridge said. “Not in the true sense. But there is a man who wishes to kill me and your daughter has the opportunity to defend me against him, yet she has so far failed to do so.”

Everald still wasn’t any more clear on what he was being told. “You want her to protect you against a man sent to do you harm?” he said. “My lord, if it is a sword you need, I have a good one. I will protect you.”