Free To Defy a King by Elizabeth Chadwick

was spitting in the sea.

    A cold sensation at Hugh's nape made him look up, and suddenly he was on his feet and then down on his knees. Everyone else made shrift to follow as the King himself walked into the firelight, jewels winking around his neck and rings glittering on his fingers. John gestured to the company to resume their seats and praised them all fulsomely for the day's accomplishments.
    His gaze settled on Longespee. 'I have a desire to throw the dice tonight,' he said. 'What say you, brother?'

    Longespee inclined his head. 'If that is your wish, sire, nothing would please me more.'

    John smiled around the gathering. 'You see, my lords, how easy it is to accommodate me.'

    Roger of Norfolk raised a laconic eyebrow. 'Indeed, sire, but I also wonder how much my lord of Salisbury is going to lose.'

    John chose to be amused by the remark and thus everyone else felt safe to laugh. 'Nothing of his own, for certain,' he retorted, 'because everything he is or he owns has been vouchsafed by his royal family. His life, his lands, his wife, his privileges: all in our gift. He knows well not to bite the hand that feeds - unlike some.' His glance darted with brief eloquence over Will Marshal before settling on Longespee with the benevolence of an owner eyeing up a favourite hound. Longespee flushed and lowered his eyes. John took a pace as if to move on, but paused and turned, one hand fiddling with the jewels round his neck, the other gripping his black leather belt. 'While I think upon it, Marshal,' he said. 'I was sorry to hear of your father's grave illness. I shall pray for him.'

    Will stared at John in shock. 'My father's illness, sire?'

    'You did not know?' John looked concerned and apologetic. 'Ah well, I suppose my messengers are faster than those from your family. They can't have forgotten you, surely? A congestion of the lungs, so I understand, and quotidian fever. Such things are dangerous for a man of his years. As I have said, I shall pray for him, as should we all.' John went on his way, gesturing to Longespee with a flick of his fingers.

    Looking uncomfortable, Longespee hesitated. He reached out to grip Will's shoulder. 'If this is true, I am deeply sorry. I shall pray to the Virgin for your father's safe recovery, and I'll try to find out more.' He rose and left in John's wake.

    Will stared round, breathing hard. 'I should not be here; I should be at home.
    Why haven't I been told?'

    'Because as the King says, his messengers are swifter,' Roger said. 'Perhaps it is nothing. Your father or his representatives would not write unless there was real need. Calm yourself, lad. We'll find out the truth of the matter on the morrow.'

    Hugh well understood the eloquent look his father sent to him. By the word
    'messengers' John had meant spies. Probably the Marshal was sick, and he did not want the world at large to know, unless it was strictly necessary. But then John was renowned for his casual cruelty and was not above fabricating stories in order to cause people grief. If it were true, they would have to watch the situation carefully and take stock. Even if it was a lie, John's remark to the youth revealed how much the Marshal's oath of fealty to Philip of France still rankled.

    Mahelt knelt before the altar in the family chapel at Striguil and crossed herself repeatedly. 'Holy Mary, Mother of God, Holy Mary, Mother of God, mercy, mercy for my father's life.' To her own ears, her voice sounded small and ineffectual. She had never felt so helpless, and because of it she was angry - furious that this was happening to her beloved father and not to King John. He was the one who should be suffering.

    The priest had come to sit with her father this morning. At first Mahelt had been terrified that his condition had worsened and that he was about to receive final unction. Reassurance that the visit was only for spiritual comfort had brought no relief because she didn't believe it. She knew she was not always told