Last Tales of Mercia 1-10 Page 6

  *

  “When do we get to fight?”

  “I don’t know, Osbern.”

  “Will it be soon?”

  “I don’t know!”

  The only times Richard escaped his son’s impatience was when he made his way to the king’s council, leaving Osbern in the streets of Lundenburg with his trusted knights. Nevertheless, he really couldn’t blame Osbern for such restlessness. After only a short while in Lundenburg, Richard came to realize that King Edward’s summons had not been a call to war so much as a way to showcase the size of his army.

  Lord Goodwin had amassed a large fyrd to rival King Edward’s, but both sides were reluctant to fight one another. The English nobles on each side were long familiar with each other and maintained ongoing respect despite their differences. When King Edward pressured Goodwin’s thegns to honor their old oaths to the king of Engla-lond, many of them relented. Goodwin’s forces gradually deteriorated. King Edward and Lord Goodwin exchanged hostages and attempted negotiations.

  The abundance of King Edward’s troops, along with the constant demands of court, distracted the king from noticing the insufficiency of Richard’s own little fyrd—a fact for which Richard was grateful. His neighboring Normans did notice, however, and though they said nothing, their disapproving glances pricked constantly at Richard’s pride. From now on, they would think of him as the crippled Norman who failed to keep a firm hand on his Saxon tenants.

  The next day at the king’s council, Goodwin demanded more hostages from the king and would not enter Lundenburg until he received them. At the advice of Richard and the other nobles of the council, King Edward refused. He sent an envoy back to Goodwin telling him he had five days to leave the coast of Engla-lond in peace with his family.

  Earl Goodwin complied.

  The king dismissed his council, and as Richard prepared to leave, he found himself relieved. He thought perhaps his failure in this case would go largely unnoticed and altogether unpunished. He shuffled slowly to the door, waiting for the other nobles to leave first, so that he would not risk tripping amongst them.

  “Richard FitzScrob.”

  Richard’s heart froze against his ribs as the king’s soft, chiming voice rang through the chamber. It was just the two of them now; everyone else was gone. A ring of torches in the room allowed him to watch his own shadow flickering around him, contorted into that of a hideous monster’s. He turned around slowly.

  “My liege.”

  “Please, sit back down.”

  Richard heard his own teeth grating together. Did King Edward think Richard could not manage to stand just a few extra minutes on his twisted feet? “No need, my lord.”

  King Edward smiled sweetly, the soft down of his beard spreading across his cheeks. The man had a delicacy about him that harmonized with his profound gentleness, so exuberant it emasculated almost anyone in its range. “Thank you for your advice these last few days.”

  “Of course.”

  “Politics here can be so very … messy, sometimes. As if no one really knows his place. I try to think of this problem as a practice in my own humility. But a king cannot always be humble, would you agree?”

  “Yes, of course he cannot.”

  “That is why I miss Normandy sometimes. Do you?”

  Richard hesitated, then bowed his head. “Sometimes, yes.”

  “I think Normans like you can help my people. You can teach them order and discipline. You can remind them that nobility and privilege exist for a reason. That first and foremost, one’s loyalty should be to one’s king, and secondly to those who do his bidding—not wayward earls like Goodwin.”

  “I couldn’t agree more, my liege.”

  “Good. In that case, I have to ask you: do you need any … help, up there in Shropshire?”

  A stone seemed to lodge in Richard’s throat. Edward’s eyes had flicked, ever so briefly, towards Richard’s feet. The glance was so quick and fleeting that Richard hoped he had imagined it. But then he knew by the way Edward held himself—by the way he suddenly avoided Richard’s gaze—that the king was making a point of his big clubbed feet.

  His fists clenched at his sides. He felt the muscles of his arms twisting into knots. Then it took a great deal of effort to pry his jaws apart so he might speak, rather than grind his teeth to powder. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need any help.”

  “Where you reside, you’re practically in Herefordshire. I’m sure Lord Mantes would be happy to lend you some—”

  “I don’t. Need. Help.”

  Their eyes met. For a moment even the gentle king seemed irritated that Richard would interrupt him, as well he should be. But Richard lifted his large chin and did not back down.

  “Next time you require my services,” said Richard, “I will ride with all of Shropshire to your banner.”

  Edward hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you, Richard. I pray that you are so successful. Dismissed.”

  Richard bowed. Then he walked from the room, expending all his strength into ignoring the bite of pain in his ankles so that he might do so proudly.