The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [53]
‘True. But I don’t think so. I know too much and’ – he smiled – ‘through your brother in London I’ve taken certain precautions. I think I’ll be safe.’
‘Won’t they need someone to blame, then?’
‘Good. I see you’ve got a head on your shoulders. They will. He’s already been chosen, as a matter of fact. That I know. And they’ve chosen very well. A clever fool, who thinks he’s part of the charmed circle, but who actually knows very little.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘Walter Tyrrell.’
‘Tyrrell?’ Edgar gave a tiny whistle. ‘You mean his own family, the Clares, would sacrifice him?’
‘Did I say the Clares were involved?’
‘No, Father.’ He smiled. ‘You said nothing.’
Tyrrell. Adela felt herself go cold. Her cousin Walter was being set up, just like a target. God knows what danger he was in. Her throat went dry at the thought that she, too, was witness to such a terrible secret. Trembling, afraid that the sound of her own thumping heartbeat might give her away, she stole back.
What should she do? Her mind was in a whirl. But in the cool grey darkness her duties began to loom like ghosts before her. They were planning to kill the king. It was a crime before God. There was none more terrible. Yet was he her king? She did not think so. Her loyalty was actually to Robert until such time as she married a vassal of the English king. But Walter was her kinsman. She might not like him; he might not be very loyal to her. But he was her kinsman and she had to save him.
Very quietly she began to get dressed. After a little while, through her open window, she saw Cola ride out alone in the half-darkness. He had a bow and a quiver on his back.
She waited until he was out of sight. The house was quiet. Cautiously, she climbed out of her window and let herself down to the ground.
She had not realized, in her nervousness, that as she went to the window Martell’s letter had fallen to the floor.
Dawn was just breaking when Puckle set off with his cart. Cola had told him to go to the lodge at Brockenhurst where there would be further instructions, and to be prepared to carry any deer killed to wherever he was directed.
His wife saw him off. As they parted she remarked: ‘You won’t be back tonight.’
‘I won’t?’
‘No.’
He gave her a curious look, then went upon his way.
Adela had been careful. Saddling her horse in the darkness, she had not mounted but led him carefully out, keeping on the grassy verge beside the path to minimize the sound until she was well away from Cola’s manor. Then she rode slowly across the valley and up into the Forest.
It was terrible to her that she should miss Martell, yet what could she do? She could not send word to him. Neither could she abandon Walter to his fate. When she reached the castle at Burley she waited as long as she dared, until the sun was well over the horizon, in the hope that he might come early. But he did not. Then it occurred to her to ask Puckle or one of his family to wait there with a message and she rode down to the narrow stream in the hope of finding them. But, unaccountably, none of them was there, and she did not dare go into Burley and start gossip by asking some stranger from the dark village to deliver her message.
So she gave up. Perhaps, she prayed, if she could find Walter quickly, she might even be able to return to Castle Hill while Martell was still there. She rode on quickly, therefore, anxious not to be late.
As it happened, she need not have hurried.
The movements of King William II, known as Rufus, at the start of August in the Year of Our Lord 1100, are tolerably well known. On the first of the month he issued a charter, from the lodge at Brockenhurst. He ate with his friends and later went to bed.
But then he slept badly. As a result, instead of leaving at dawn, the sun was well over the horizon and glistening on the treetops by Brockenhurst before he finally stirred to join his waiting courtiers.
They were a small, select company. There was Robert FitzHamon, an old friend; William, the keeper of the treasury of Winchester;