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“Of course I will,” she replied, looking surprised at the
question. “Worry will not break Prince Edward, only make him more bitter. I am
sorry for Henry de Montfort too. He has a thankless task. I cannot imagine what
was in his father’s head to put him in such a position. He would have done much
better to give the responsibility for keeping Edward to his cousin, Peter de
Montfort, or to one of the bishops.”

“No one could agree with you more heartily than Henry
himself,” Alphonse said, stabbing at his trencher of bread with his eating
knife.

Barbara laid her own knife down and covered his restless
hand with hers, stopping its movement. “What worm is gnawing your belly,
Alphonse?”

He looked at her squarely and said, “You know I am not of
your opinion about Leicester’s right to force the king to bow to the will of
his barons. I am not exactly overjoyed to have lost a husband’s usual right to
demand that his wife think as he does, but I knew you were of Leicester’s party
before I asked you to give me your hand—and it is stupid to demand a change of
loyalty from a wife in any case. One cannot change beliefs as one changes
gowns.”

“I am of no party,” Barbara said, gently pressing his hand
before she let go of it. “I am sure I told you that before. Nonetheless, it is
true that I think King Henry needs a keeper. He can be led by anyone, and for
years he has been sucking the lifeblood out of this realm to feed the band of
monsters that sprang from his accursed mother’s womb in her second marriage. I
am not sorry to see the power in other hands. Since Leicester and his friends
are the victors and my father supports Leicester, I am content that he should
control the king.” She sighed. “Anything is better than more war. All I care
for is that there be peace and that my father and uncle and cousins, all of
whom I love, do not come to blows.”

Alphonse also sighed. “Then you would like Prince Edward to
support the peace terms Leicester has proposed even if that means agreeing to
give up his right to rule as a king should?”

“Why should
Edward
give up his right to rule freely?
Edward will make a fine king.” Barbara lowered her voice, which had risen. “I
pray nightly that King Henry will drop dead so we can be rid of this strife.”
Then her expression changed and she said, “Oh, I see. Henry de Montfort asked
you to talk to Edward about the peace terms and you want my help.”

Alphonse opened his mouth and shut it again. He was appalled
at his carelessness and relieved at the same time. He had never felt
comfortable about concealing his arrangement with King Louis from Barbe. And,
though he did not look forward to the storm that might blast him if she
disapproved, he was still glad no longer to need to watch his words. There
might not even be a storm if what she had said about being of no party was
true.

Seeing that Alphonse had decided not to speak, Barbara
asked, “But why should Edward object to the peace proposal?” And then before he
could answer, went on, “Are the terms different from those proposed at the
parliament in June?”

“I do not know,” Alphonse answered. “But I think they must
be, partly because Henry would not tell me what they were.”

Barbara stared fixedly at the table and then said slowly,
“If it is so important that Edward give his public approval to the peace and
not merely submit to his father’s acceptance of the terms, it must be because
the barons’ control of the king—Leicester’s, really—will not end with Henry’s
death but be extended into Edward’s reign.” She stabbed a piece of cheese with
her knife. “That is not fair.”

“And also unnecessary,” Alphonse said. “Edward was not very
happy with the way his father ruled, you know. He was careful not to say
anything disrespectful, but from remarks he made when we were touring France
doing the tourneys two or three years ago, I believe he would amend many of
Henry’s injustices out of simple good sense. And he does not love the Lusignan
brood much more than his mother does.”

“Who could?” Barbara snapped. “You would not believe how
cruel and greedy they are, and they all but spit publicly on English law.” She
popped the piece of cheese into her mouth and chewed vindictively for a while.
Then her gaze, which had gone out of focus, sharpened. “You will have to agree
to persuade Edward to sign the terms, though.”

“I do not
have
to do anything,” Alphonse said sharply.

Barbara drew in her breath. “I did not mean to give an
order.” She smiled. “You should know that I am far too clever to give orders to
a man if I want a thing done. When I command and stamp my foot, you may be sure
that what I demand is the last thing I truly desire.”

Alphonse laughed aloud. “You devil! Now I will never know
which way to jump when you say ‘leap’.“

“Is that not as it should be?” she asked blandly. “Not
knowing will leave you free to do as you think best, which you would do in any
case, I am sure.”

“Flatterer,” he growled. “What do you want of me?”

“I want you to dismount from the destrier Dudgeon and think
of what is best, without regard for your pride.”

Alphonse laughed again. “You mean you
were
giving me
an order when you said I would have to persuade Edward to accept whatever terms
are offered.”

“Will you just hold the reins of the high horse while you
listen to me instead of galloping off on it at speed? After all, you can mount
it at any time.” Barbara sighed with ostentatious patience. “I do not see why
you will not listen. I cannot force you to do anything, can I?”

“Can you not?” he asked, the humor gone from eyes and voice.

“No, I cannot,” Barbara said, looking down at her hands.
Then, raising her eyes, she added, “And I would not if I could. You were my
teacher for too long for me to set your opinion at naught. If I explain and you
still do not agree, then I will know there is a fault in my reasoning.”

Intense pleasure swamped Alphonse’s normal caution, and he
nodded. “Very well.”

“First is my private reason. I have told you already that my
father is not completely trusted. If you refuse to talk to Edward, and if we
then marry, I fear that will reflect more suspicion on Papa. Second, I fear for
Edward. Not for his life or limb, but for him to refuse to agree to Leicester’s
terms can only make his situation worse, and harsh usage may sour him beyond
saving. Edward has a long memory and can be vindictive. Third, we do not know
that the terms of the peace will be too harsh. And last, and most important of
all, what difference does it make what Edward promises? No oath given under
duress can be held binding. I am quite sure either the archbishop or the pope
will absolve him.”

“Barbe!” Alphonse exclaimed, horrified. “To swear falsely is
dishonest.”

She shrugged impatiently. “To force a man to swear to his
own disadvantage is dishonest too.”

“Women!” Alphonse groaned.

“Men!” Barbara retorted.

Barbara was surprised as the word came from her lips. She
would not have used that tone to her father. If she had, he would have slapped
her. Alphonse only cast up his eyes to heaven and prepared to argue her around
to his position. She was beginning to believe that her marriage to Alphonse—if
she did not allow jealousy to destroy it and her—might be the gateway to
heaven.

Alphonse had been demolishing her first reason, which she
admitted was not compelling. As she yielded the ground and saw his
satisfaction, she was tempted to yield all. It was Alphonse who yielded on the
second point, however, confessing that Edward was already very bitter and that
part of Henry’s purpose in inviting her to visit the prince was to soothe him.
Still, Barbara realized she would never get Alphonse to agree to urge Edward to
confirm a peace without knowing the terms. Edward had not contested the terms
proposed by the parliament after the battle of Lewes. Perhaps he had yielded to
that proposal out of guilt or fear, but Barbara thought it was partly because
the agreement only bound him to obey his father and when the king died he would
be free.

If the new terms made Edward subservient to the council and
bound him—except not to wreak vengeance on those who had defeated him, after
his father’s death—Barbara was not at all sure that was right. Henry was a
hopeless ruler and must be prevented from driving the realm further into ruin,
but to try to control Edward was entirely unfair.

“I am sorry, Alphonse,” she said as he paused, realizing she
was not listening. “I seem to have said something I did not mean at all.
Naturally you cannot promise to persuade the prince to agree to anything, no
matter what. If you did, he would simply class you among his enemies and ignore
you. All I meant was that you should try to soothe him so that he does not
refuse to do what would be best for him and the realm out of bitterness and
rage.”

Instead of answering, Alphonse leaned forward and kissed
her. Taken unaware, Barbara pulled him closer, her lips parting naturally under
his. His arm tightened around her shoulders and he began to rise so that he
could bring their bodies together. With a clash and a clatter, the table went
over, cups and flagon spilling their contents amid the scattered cold meats and
broken pasty.

Chapter Eleven

A rush of inn servants in response to the crash saved
Barbara and Alphonse from disgracing themselves in the grass. Their meal was
quickly replaced, and at first they ate in silence, Barbara’s cheeks flaming
and Alphonse much tempted to press his luck when the meal was over. After a
swallow of wine, however, Barbara made a comment in a cool voice on a neutral
topic. A single glance told Alphonse that she was now double-armed and almost
angry. He replied pleasantly, and for the remainder of the time they spent
together, they kept their talk to safe subjects.

Nonetheless, because Barbe knew the political positions of
the parties in conflict so well, she kept sparking ideas in Alphonse’s mind. He
resisted the temptation to stay in the lodging with her that night, which
recurred as he walked her back there. His resistance was supported by the faint
chagrin he believed he detected in her manner when he left her at the door and
by his need to be quiet and work out a compromise between his promise to Louis
to see Prince Edward and his unwillingness to lie to Henry de Montfort. In that
he was successful…and as for Barbe—Alphonse smiled, his strong teeth very white
in his dark face—he had only four days more to wait.

He caught Henry de Montfort at mass just after dawn the next
morning and told him that he would like very much to speak to the prince but
felt it would be foolish in the extreme for him to espouse the peace terms
Henry’s father was demanding.

“All that will accomplish is to make Edward angry with me
too and even more bitter. What I am willing to do, and that gladly, is try to
make him see that you are little happier than he and wish most sincerely to
give him more freedom. If I can abate his rage, you can present your terms in
the best light yourself.”

“I cannot promise him more freedom unless he will agree—”

“Henry, listen to me. I will sound like a traitor, and a
fool too, if I urge him to accept terms I do not know, terms you are plainly
not ready to tell me.”

“I cannot,” Henry said unhappily. “The final form is not yet
settled, but Edward already knows the major provisions. All I am asking you to
do is beg him to consider them.”

“Useless. I have told you why. And from what you have said
to me, I can guess that Edward is too angry now to be reasonable, no matter who
appeals to him. Do you not see that if his rage can be assuaged, he will be
much more likely to look at the real merits of a proposal instead of rejecting
it out of hand?”

“But what can be done? You do not know what he is like now.”

“I can guess,” Alphonse remarked. “I have seen Edward in a
temper. Still, much can be done, at least to ease the strain between you and
him. First, Barbe will tell him that his wife and child are safe and well. That
will soften him at once. Then I can remind him in a private way of the
misfortunes he has brought on himself by ungoverned rage. I can suggest that if
he were more reasonable and gave a limited parole—say for an hour to walk on
the walls or any other small liberty you think is safe and reasonable—you might
approve it.”

Henry de Montfort’s bright gray eyes narrowed in thought,
but after a moment he shook his head. “No. If he asked for what I could not
give, he would be angrier yet.”

“Then you tell me what you would be willing to let him do
and I will propose that,” Alphonse said at once. “Or, better yet, let us keep
the first visit very short. Let Barbe soothe him with talk of Eleanor and the
babe. I will come back in the evening after you know how our visit has affected
him, and we can decide then whether I should speak to him again or not.”

“God bless you,” Henry said. “I will be your debtor, and so
will my father and all England, if you can pacify the prince.”

After tierce that morning, Alphonse brought Barbara to the
castle. She was shocked when Henry de Montfort asked, although he was plainly
embarrassed by needing to do so, that she and Alphonse strip themselves of
anything that could be used as a weapon, even their small eating knives. The
fact that Alphonse was already unbuckling his sword belt, only shaking his head
sadly as he did so, silenced her half-spoken protest. But she found very little
to say to Henry after she handed him the bejeweled toy with which she speared
her food.

Later her indignation passed as Henry spoke on neutral
subjects with Alphonse. She had always liked Henry de Montfort, who had his
father’s strong conscience without Leicester’s pride and stiff righteousness.
Then, because he was so uncomfortable and she was sorry for him, she managed to
find a faint smile in response to his good wishes on her forthcoming marriage
and another when he assured her that he would come with a glad heart to be a
witness.

The smile was gone by the time she passed the two guards
standing at the head of the torchlit stair, and she could not repress a shudder
when one of the guards outside Edward’s chamber lifted the heavy bar that
locked the door. Inside, her tight grip on Alphonse’s arm relaxed. She had
feared to see the prince shackled and filthy. The reality was not so bad. What
could be done to make the dank chamber, ordinarily a storeroom, comfortable had
been done. The floor was thickly strewn with fresh rushes, and the scent of the
herbs mingled with them strove with the musty odor from the damp packed-earth
floor and stone walls. Three rays of light from loopholes high in the eastern
wall penetrated the gloom, which was further mitigated by several bunches of
candles tied together and stuck into the wall brackets that were designed for
torches.

In these conditions, the huge chair of state in the middle
of the room in which the prince was sitting was a mockery that made Barbara
gasp. She let go of Alphonse’s arm and hurried forward to curtsy to the ground.
Her vision was blurred by tears when she looked up, but the face that stared
down at her seemed more like a marble effigy than a human countenance.

“My lord, I went to France with Princess Eleanor,” Barbara
said. “She misses you and worries about you, but she and little Eleanor are in
good health and have every comfort and consolation that King Louis and Queen
Marguerite can provide. Your mother is well also and wants for nothing.”

“I am sure my wife and mother sent some message for me,”
Edward said, his voice utterly lifeless.

“No,” Barbara replied, looking stricken. “I have no special
message. Oh dear, what with my betrothal, which was very sudden, and the fact
that I had to come back to England much sooner than I expected, I hardly saw
either Queen Eleanor or Princess Eleanor the last few days I was in Boulogne. I
did not think to ask for a message. Of course, I did not know then that I would
see you, but I am so sorry. I was stupid and cruel. I beg your pardon—”

“You need not,” Edward interrupted, a very slight curve now
showing on his lips. “I am delighted. I was sure that you would have a message
for me demanding that I make peace so that Princess Eleanor could come home.”

Barbara was aware that Alphonse had moved closer and guessed
he wished to warn her to be careful what she said, but she did not care. “The
princess would
never
send you such a message,” she cried. “My lord, you
must know her better than that. Even if she were suffering terribly—and she is
not, I assure you, except for her fears for you—Princess Eleanor would never
ask you to do for her what you would not do out of your own sense of right.”

“I do indeed know my Eleanor better,” Edward said, his lips
softening even more toward a smile and his voice taking on life. “I would have
known such a message to be a lie, only a new device to break my will. I hope
you will forgive me, Lady Barbara, for thinking you would lend yourself to such
a scheme.”

“I forgive you most readily, my lord.” Barbara barely
stopped herself from saying that in the prince’s situation she might believe
worse of the daughter of an enemy. But it was not fair for Edward to blame
Henry de Montfort for a crime he had not committed. She smiled slightly and
added, “It is true I would not agree to bring false messages for any purpose,
but I feel I must tell you that I was not asked to do so, nor was I asked what
I was going to say to you.”

Edward laughed harshly. “There is no need for that. I am
sure my guardian angels will relate the substance of our conversation to my
gaoler.”

The prince glanced over Barbara’s shoulder, and she turned
her head and saw two more guards sitting on stools on either side of the door.
She felt foolish not to have noticed them earlier or realized there must be
watchers even if she did not see them. A quick review of what she had said
rather pleased her and she looked back at Edward, but Alphonse’s voice made any
remark from her unnecessary.

“Henry de Montfort is not happy about the trust laid on
him,” Alphonse said. “I hope you will not lose your knowledge of him any more
than of your lady, my lord.”

“Good God! Alphonse d’Aix!” Edward exclaimed. “What do you
here?”

Alphonse smiled. He was sure that in his abstraction the
prince honestly had not realized who he was.

“I am the partner of Lady Barbe’s hurried betrothal,” he
said, “and the reason for her hurried return from France. She would not marry
me without her father’s approval, and I felt I had waited long enough for her.”

“Betrothal,” Edward repeated, then looked at Barbara again
and really smiled. “Yes, you did say that. I was thinking of something else and
it made no sense to me. Well! That is happy news.” He stood up and extended a
hand to help Barbara up from her curtsy. “I had thought you both hardened
celibates… Ah…perhaps that is the wrong word, but I did believe you both averse
to the married state.”

“Oh, no, my lord,” Barbara said with a laugh. “I was only
averse to marrying anyone but Alphonse.”

The prince flashed a glance at Alphonse’s face, made an
indistinct noise, and quickly gestured to the guards to bring forward the
stools on which they had been sitting. Barbara was astonished when the men did
not set the stools down until Edward had reseated himself, and further
astonished when they kept a hand on each stool until she and Alphonse had
actually sat down.

Alphonse had also watched their behavior attentively. Then
he looked hard at Edward, shook his head, and said, “Not wise, my lord. Not at
all wise. The man who wins most often on the tourney field has a tight hold on
his temper and never clings to a grudge over being defeated. Either fault can
be his ruin.”

“They have already been mine.”

Edward’s voice broke on the words, and Barbara looked from
one man to the other, totally bewildered.

Alphonse’s smiling reply, “Nonsense, you will see many new
tourney fields,” seemed to her like meaningless soothing, but the prince
glanced at him and then away in a flash.

Only then did Barbara realize that the chair of state, too
heavy for one man to move without great effort, had been set so that the guards
could watch the prince’s face. Swift as thought is, that flick of the eyes was
swifter. Edward was shrugging away Alphonse’s remark, as if that wild hope had
not come and gone in an eye-blink, and asking Barbara, “And does your father
approve your betrothal?”

Although she had no idea what information had been exchanged
between the men, it was clear enough to Barbara that Edward wanted her to talk
to mislead the listeners. Without stopping to think of party, she burbled of
Norfolk’s satisfaction with her choice and King Louis’s kindness in waiving the
fines for Alphonse and herself to marry as they chose. As she said that, her
voice faltered. She had forgotten until she spoke that one of the complaints
against Edward’s father was that, in his desperate need for money, he levied
unreasonable fines. But Alphonse, whose back was to the guards, was grinning
fit to split his head and nodding, as if in approval of what she was saying,
only Barbara was sure it was another signal to Edward.

“And we are to be married here in the cathedral on the
fifteenth,” she finished. “I would be greatly honored, my lord, if you would
come.”

Edward’s eyes flashed up to Alphonse’s face. The guards
could have seen nothing except perhaps a faint puzzlement, but Alphonse wished
he could cheer aloud, and he longed to embrace his clever betrothed. Barbe had
provided the perfect circumstance to loosen Edward’s leash for at least a few
hours. Possibly she meant it as a temptation, a reminder of the freedoms
yielding could bring, but the device could also be used to ease Edward’s
violent resentment of Henry de Montfort. If Henry was willing to suggest, or to
allow Alphonse to suggest, that Edward be permitted to attend the wedding,
Henry’s goodwill toward his prisoner would be clear. And Edward’s concession
would be minimal, merely a promise to return to his prison after the
celebration. That would cost him nothing at all.

“I, too, would be greatly honored by your presence,”
Alphonse said. He paused significantly, nodded again, and added, “It might be
arranged.”

Now Edward shrugged and lowered his eyes, but before he
could speak, a sharp knock sounded on the door. Alphonse stood up and the two
guards rushed forward, one to seize the stool he had vacated and the other to
reach for the one from which Barbara was rising more slowly.

“What—” Barbara began, turning angrily on the guard. But she
fell silent as Alphonse seized her elbow and squeezed it.

Edward laughed aloud as the guards interposed themselves
between the prince and his visitors when the door opened. “Oh, for God’s sake,”
he said, “do not be such fools,” and turned away to walk toward the back of his
prison.

Barbara would have spoken to him, but Alphonse pulled her
toward the door. Having been warned, she asked no questions until they had
retrieved their possessions and left the castle. She was aware that Henry de
Montfort had wanted to speak to Alphonse before they left and that Alphonse had
warned him away with a glance at her and a promise to return.