Free Rhiannon by Roberta Gellis Page A

willing?”
    “He will be so glad to be rid of me,” Simon said merrily,
“that he would welcome it if I accompanied the Devil himself. He thinks me too
outspoken.” Then he added more soberly, “If you would consent to a small
subterfuge, my lord, and play the part of one of my men-at-arms until we are
clear of the gates, you would be safer, and the question of my being in your
company would never arise.”
    Simon was a little afraid Richard would be insulted by the
notion that he should conceal himself, but Richard was too practical to allow
false pride to endanger him. “Good!” Richard exclaimed. “Excellent! I do not
believe I was noticed coming in, and if I am not remarked leaving, it will be
less trouble all around. Also, it will be better if you are not known by the
court to be my man. If I wish to reach the king’s ear, I will be able to do so
through you and Lord Geoffrey. By all means, I will be your man-at-arms, with a
heavy cloak to cover my mail—you can say I have a fever, if asked.”
    It was obvious that Richard had become convinced by Simon’s
warning and had accepted the necessity of flight. His later conversation with
Ian and Geoffrey confirmed that beyond doubt. Geoffrey had heard enough to be
sure and make Richard sure that there was a definite plan afoot now to seize
him, which would make him an even more powerful object lesson and would destroy
the focal point of all opposition to the king. Geoffrey looked haggard as he
related what he knew.
    “It is a sickness,” Ian said, his voice shaking a little.
“This is not Henry—I swear it is not. He looks and talks like a man raving with
fever. I have known Henry all his life, from a babe, and he is a loving person
who greatly desires to do good.”
    “I cannot understand it,” Richard agreed. “It is not as if
Henry even enjoyed the business of ruling. You know he was happy to
leave that in de Burgh’s hands. William wrote me often enough to complain that
whenever he brought a matter to the king’s notice he would be told to ask the
Earl of Kent.”
    “No, Henry does not enjoy the business of ruling—but Winchester
does,” Geoffrey said tiredly.
    “That is silly,” Simon remarked. “If the king does not wish
to hold the reins in his own hands, why should he go to the trouble of casting
out de Burgh only to put Winchester in his place?”
    “There were reasons enough,” Geoffrey replied. “For one
thing, the barons were all crying that de Burgh had grown too great. There was
some truth in it, but there was also considerable ill will because Hubert was
foolish in one thing only. He believed that if he were truly devoted to the
interests of the king and the kingdom, he did not need to use smooth words to
explain what he did.”
    Richard Marshal snorted. “I know that, too. He set up
William’s back, and you know William was not one to seek a quarrel. There was a
matter of a parcel of land that he settled in William’s favor, but he was so
coarse that William was more affronted than if he had settled it against
William’s right.”
    Geoffrey sighed. “That was what really ruined the
chancellor—that manner. It was not only the barons that he treated without
proper dignity—it was the king also. He acted always as if Henry were an
ignorant child.”
    That time Simon snorted, and Geoffrey looked at him
reprovingly.
    “The king is no fool,” he said sharply, “and do not ever
think he is. Unfortunately, he is not interested, really, in governing. He
loves other things better—beautiful churches, music, books, fine clothes,
merriment—but his mind is very good. De Burgh fell because when Henry said he
wanted something, the chancellor replied, ‘No, do not be a fool.’ De Burgh
should have sought a way to satisfy the king’s desires or distract him from
them, although usually they were not bad in themselves. But de Burgh was too
busy governing. Henry was only a figure to mouth his words and sign his decrees—and
Henry felt