“I cannot disagree,” Bertram said. He watched more bugs leap onto his floor. “If there is nothing else, then I say you should leave. ‘Tis unwise for you to remain here for any length of time.”
Alberic stood up, stiffly, feeling his age this night. It was cold outside, threatening rain, but he dare not ask for shelter from de Rosa. They both well understood his role, and he was clearly not a guest. Slipping from the solar without another word, he made his way out of the tower and into the bailey. The gates were still open, even in the night, and his worn mule was tethered outside the walls. As he hurried across the ward, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible, something caught his attention over by the western tower.
Alberic paused, dipping into the shadow of the wall as he was so used to doing. Hiding was second nature to him. He watched a large figure cross from the large western tower and into the stable block. Puzzled, he tried to follow but stopped short of the wooden steps into the structure. He could not risk entering the stables and being cornered. He stood there a moment, unsure what to do, unsure of what he had seen. But he knew he must seek Bertram.
Bertram and Alger were still in the solar, deep in discussion. Lon had since vanished. Alberic paused at the solar door and removed the soiled cape that covered his head.
“My lord?” he said.
Bertram looked up from his conversation with his brother, somewhat annoyed to see the dirty spy standing in the doorway.
“I told you to leave.”
“I was, my lord,” Alberic took a hesitant step into the room. “But… I saw something….”
“Well, what is it, man, and be quick about it.”
The spy wasn’t sure where to begin. “As I was leaving, I saw a man come from the western tower and enter the stables.”
“What man?”
“He was large, quite large. Young and strong, with light-colored hair.”
Lon looked at his brother. “He must mean le Mon. If he has left Derica’s side, then she must be doing well enough.”
“Now is our chance to see to her ourselves.”
“Agreed. The man was as unmoving as a guard dog.”
“My lord?”
The spy was demanding attention, interrupting their conversation. Bertram snapped at him impatiently. “So you have seen my daughter’s intended. What of him?”
Alberic appeared taken aback. “He is to marry your daughter?”
“Yes, what of it?”
The spy would not be intimidated; he was, in fact, growing suspicious and disturbed. “I know that man, my lord.”
Bertram’s temper took a strange, cooling twist. “You do?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Where do you know him from?”
Alberic thought carefully on his reply. “As you know, my lord, I have been in the service of the prince for many years. I have seen many things, and many people. Those of us who covertly serve our masters tend to hear of one another, if only by reputation. It is wise to know one’s enemies. Sometimes, however, we are fortunate enough to put a face to the name or reputation.”
“Get to the point.”
“What do you know of your daughter’s intended, my lord?”
Bertram’s temper flared again. “Alberic, if you do not tell me your meaning, I will throw you from this room. You waste my time.”
The spy cocked a long, dirty eyebrow. “I think not, my lord,” he said coolly. “I think you betray your prince.”
Bertram moved for him, but Alger stopped him. In spite of the insult, he suspected there was true motivation behind it. “Explain yourself before I let my brother gut you.”
“Gut me and you will not know who your daughter’s intended truly is.”
“Le mon?” Bertram glanced at his brother, a thousand unspoken words of doubt and fear in his expression. “Who is he?”
Alberic put his filthy hood back on and turned for the door. His plan was to go directly to the prince with what he had just seen. But he would do de Rosa the favor of letting him know that his fate would soon be sealed, and his loyalties questioned.
“That man,” he said slowly, ”works for William Marshal.”
***
“My lady?” Came the whisper. “My lady, are you awake?”
Derica heard the murmuring, a soft voice in her ear. She sighed deeply as she emerged from her warm slumber, opening her bleary eyes to see Aglette’s pale face. Blinking, she struggled to orient herself in the bright room.
“Aglette?” she yawned. “What is it? What time is it?”
“’Tis nearly noon, my lady,” Aglette said. “Something awful has happened!”
“What’s so awful?” She gasped as she moved her arm the wrong way; it was stiff and sore but, thankfully, had no signs of poison yet. She looked around the room. “Where is Sir Garren?”