“It would seem so,” Hoyt walked towards them, slowly. “Many years ago, I served John and Richard’s father. When Henry died, my loyalties naturally fell with John because he was Henry’s favorite and, I believed, rightful heir to the throne. But over the years I have come to see what a weak ruler he would be. Already, the man tears this country apart and he is only a prince. What would happen if he were king?”
“You sound like my father,” Garren said quietly.
“Your father is correct,” Hoyt agreed firmly. “At a tournament a few years ago, I came into contact with William Marshal. I knew him from when he served Henry, as we both fought for the king in our prime. After a few hours conversation, I realized I was in complete agreement with him. Richard was our best choice for king. So, with a convenient bump on my head at the very same tournament, suddenly I am crazy and my brothers pay little attention to me. Better to observe for Richard’s cause in such a way and never be suspected.”
Derica’s jaw hung open. “Then the dress, the rouge, was an act? You were spying?”
“Nay; not really. I never completely gave over my support to the Marshal, as my loyalties to my family were stronger than my loyalties to the king. But, as I saw necessary, bits of information made their way to the Marshal for the king’s cause. I walked a fine line between betraying my brothers and helping England. It wasn’t until very recently that I decided to lend full support to Richard. From now on, the Marshal will know everything that I know. I hold back no longer.”
Garren listened to the very clever explanation, but he couldn’t help probing for his own peace of mind. “What finally caused you to lend full support?”
Hoyt looked him in the eye. “Two thousand French mercenaries due on the shores of Norfolk within the week.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. With the several thousand Teutonic and Irish mercenaries already at Nottingham and Bolton, they’ll create a formidable army for the prince.”
“How do you know this?”
“The same spy who identified you to my brother also reported this. The man is a frequent visitor to Framlingham. When I saw him skulk through the front gates, I knew something was amiss. I heard everything he said.”
“Spy? What spy?”
“His name is Alberic. He has worked for the prince’s cause for several years. He knew you on sight and told my brother of you.”
Garren nodded in understanding as it became clear how Bertram knew of his loyalties. “As I would probably know him on sight as well,” he muttered. “’Tis wise to know the face of the enemy even if you do not know his name.”
“Precisely.”
Satisfied with that mystery solved, Garren returned to the subject at hand. “How soon do you estimate that the mercenaries already on English soil will merge with the French?”
“Within four to five weeks.”
Garren was grim. “They will tear England apart.”
“Exactly.”
“Does the Marshal know?”
“No,” Hoyt said. “That is why you must go to him immediately. I must return to Framlingham and resume my place. It is up to you, Garren. You must tell him.”
Garren tore his gaze away from Hoyt long enough to look at his wife. She was ashen with fear.
“I must get my wife to safety first,” he said after a moment. “I will tell the Marshal once she is settled.”
Hoyt could not disagree. “I do not dispute you, especially with my brother on the rampage. I will try to hold him off as best I can, but I cannot promise success.” He looked at his niece and his manner softened. “I will not ask where you are going. I do not want to know. But I do hope that you are truly happy, wherever you may go.”
Tears filled Derica’s eyes. She had always been particularly close to her uncle. Dismounting the charger, she embraced him, drawing strength from the Hoyt of old and not the strange creature he had been over the past few years. Yet she understood his reasons; politics and deep beliefs were strong motivators for men’s loyalties.
“God be with you, Uncle Hoyt,” she murmured. “I pray we meet again, very soon.”
He kissed her forehead. Derica went back to the charger and Garren lifted her up once again. He could see how upset she was and kissed her hand to comfort her. By the time he turned around, Hoyt was disappearing into the mist.
“De Rosa,” he called. “We shall meet again.”
“I am sure we will. If you do not take good care of my niece, it will be sooner than you think.”
Garren could barely see the man’s outline through the sea of white. “There is one last thing, my lord.”