The smell of urine and body odor hit him in the face and he fought off the urge to wrinkle his nose in disgust. But the Lord of the Shadows never outwardly reacted to anything. He was, if nothing else, enigmatic. It was part of his mystery.
The carriage before him contained a bed near the front, right behind the drivers, and then two cushioned benches on either side. There was one advisor sitting on the cushioned bench, looking ill because of the sway of the carriage, and the king in the bed at the front.
Bracing himself against the wall so he wouldn’t fall, Sean made his way towards a man covered in furs against the cold weather. A short man but strong for his size, his auburn hair had mostly turned to gray and one droopy eyelid gave him a rather dense appearance, but there was nothing dense about him. He was clever, crafty, bold, and without boundaries of any sort, as he had proven many a time. King John of England had been raised with wolves and behaved like one. Every time Sean was summoned, he wondered what fresh new hell he was going to face.
John didn’t keep him waiting.
“How long until we stop for the night?” John asked.
“The village of Scole is not too much further, your grace,” Sean said. “About an hour.”
John nodded, hitting his head against the side of the cab when the wagon lurched. He grunted unhappily, hand to his head.
“I think I shall ride tomorrow,” he said. “The roads have not been kind to us.”
Sean felt some relief in that directive. “Nay, your grace, they have not been,” he said. “We can leave the carriage in Scole and move much swifter on horseback. We will collect it when we return to London.”
John nodded, but it was an absent gesture, as if his mind were elsewhere. “Monnington and I were just discussing the coming festivities at Norwich,” he said. “It has been at least two years since we were last there.”
“Two years last August, your grace.”
John lay back on his cushions. “Norwich Castle has always been a particular favorite of mine,” he said. “The only problem is that the House of de Winter has taken it over. It belongs to them more than it belongs to me.”
“That is because your ancestor who came to these shores with the Duke of Normandy was given stewardship of the castle, your grace,” Sean said. “The crown may hold Norwich, but it has never been out of de Winter hands. The only time it has even fallen was when the garrison was weakened by a disease that swept through it and the Earl of Norfolk was able to capture it when you and your brothers revolted against your father. Had the garrison been at full strength, it would have never been captured.”
John lifted his shoulders. “It is of no matter now,” he said. “It belongs to me. Or, to Old Daveigh de Winter. I could not take it back if I wanted to.”
“That is true, your grace.”
“At least I am paid well for the privilege of having de Winter as my steward.”
“Aye, your grace.”
John scratched his head thoughtfully. “Do you think all of the de Winter allies will be in attendance?”
Sean braced himself as the carriage bumped over a particularly bad rut. “I would think so, your grace. This is to be a very special feast in your honor.”
“Du Reims? Summerlin? De Vaston? Even de Lohr?”
“More than likely, your grace.”
“Those men are not my allies, you know.”
Sean nodded. “It puts them in an awkward position, your grace,” he said. “De Winter serves the crown but has always and historically been allied with those houses. With them attending this feast, it will be like attending a feast with a disagreeable old grandfather. You know you should go and tolerate him purely out of respect, but the awkwardness of the event is almost unbearable.”
“And I am the old grandfather?”
“To them, I would imagine so, your grace.”
John fell silent as he looked up at the ceiling, mulling over the situation. “Monnington told me something interesting,” he said. “Christopher de Lohr’s eldest daughter, Lady Christin, serves at Norwich.”
A warning bell went off in Sean’s head. Whenever John began to speak on women, there was usually trouble ahead, so he proceeded carefully with the conversation.
“I do not know, your grace,” he said. “I do not bother myself with details that do not concern me.”
It was a lie; he knew very well that it was true. Christin de Lohr did serve at Norwich Castle. But John was oblivious to the change in his tone.
“I have been thinking on something,” the king said. “Monnington gave me the idea. Christopher de Lohr was my brother, Richard’s, champion. In fact, he held the title of Defender of the Realm until my brother’s untimely death. After that, he allied with me for a time but that relationship turned sour. I believe I know how to bring the man back into the fold.”
“A brilliant idea, your grace?”
John rolled onto his side so he could face Sean. “I have a son in need of a wife.”
Sean’s eyebrows lifted. “Young Henry, your grace? But he is only six years of age.”
John shook his head. “Not him,” he said. “Robert.”
Sean understood. Robert FitzRoy was the illegitimate son of the king, born almost thirty years before from the daughter of John’s old tutor, Ranulf de Glanvil. Ranulf’s daughter, the fair Isabella, had died in the birth and John’s father had insisted the boy be raised as part of the royal household, so he’d had every advantage.
Another spoiled Plantagenet offspring.
When his father became king, Robert had been given land in Norfolk and a title, Lord Brimington. He even had a fine manor home in Bishop’s Lynn called Fairstead. The problem was that Robert was just as cruel, ruthless, and immoral as his father, or so Sean had heard. He didn’t know the man and didn’t want to, so for John to bring him up was curious. John usually didn’t give much thought to his first-born.
“I would have thought Robert to have married by now, your grace,” Sean said.
“Not yet. But I believe I have the perfect match.”
“Who?”
“Lady Christin de Lohr.”
Sean struggled not to react outwardly, realizing he should have seen that coming. John had brought up Christopher’s daughter and Robert in the same conversation, so it was only logical he’d meant to merge the two subjects.
But this merger was worse than anything Sean had imagined.
“I see,” he said, hoping his shock wasn’t evident. “And Monnington gave you this idea, your grace?”
John nodded. “He knows de Lohr’s family,” he said. “Monnington’s father was close to Christopher, so Evan knows the children. He mentioned Lady Christin and her younger sister, Lady Brielle. He says they are both beauties.”
Sean shrugged, trying to appear casual. “Given their mother’s comely looks, I would believe that, your grace,” he said. “But marrying Robert to de Lohr’s eldest daughter? Have you spoken to anyone else about this idea?”
“A few.”
“And what did they say, your grace?”
John shook his head. “It does not matter,” he said. “I want to know what you think.”
Sean eyed him. “The truth, your grace?”