The Splendid Hour by Kathryn Le Veque

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Hold still, Father!” Agnes begged. “If you do not hold still, the surgeon cannot pull the root out!”

Walter was being held down by two of the surgeon’s men while the surgeon used a slender pair of pliers and a hammer and chisel to remove the roots of two teeth that had been broken off at the gumline when he’d been beaten within an inch of his life after leaving Lonsdale.

And he knew by whom.

That’s what had him so angry.

Yelling in pain and rage, he strained against the men holding him down as the surgeon removed the roots of the teeth, butchering his mouth in the process. Walter bit down on already-bloodied rags to stop the bleeding, shouting at the surgeon and his helpers to get out. Gladly, the surgeon packed up his grimy tools and shuffled out with his burly helpers, leaving Walter exhausted from pain.

He lay on his bed, grunting, drooling blood and saliva all over his linens.

“Is there anything else I can do, Father?” Agnes asked with concern. “Anything you need?”

Walter just lay there and groaned, staring at the ceiling. He finally pulled the damp, bloodied rag from his mouth.

“Those bastards,” he said, his speech odd because he was missing his front teeth. “This is what Hereford’s men did to me. He thinks to stop me from telling what I know about his son, but he is wrong!”

Agnes was trying to mop up the blood and saliva that was flying from his lips as he moved around on the bed, restlessly. He was agitated, and in pain, but the words out of his mouth were purely about revenge. He had told her how he’d tried to blackmail Hereford with regards to Peter and the jeweler’s daughter and he was convinced that his beating was in retaliation for that.

But Agnes wasn’t so sure.

“If it was Hereford, then it was a warning,” she said. “He is a powerful man. No marriage is worth your life, Father. Mayhap we should try something else.”

Walter grabbed her by the arm. “What else is there?” he said. “I must be close to the truth if he is willing to threaten my life.”

“If you were close to the truth, I am certain you would be dead.”

Walter’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before releasing her. “His son is engaged in espionage and he does not want me to speak of it,” he said through swollen lips. “And the Jewess… she could have no other interest in Peter than to press him for secrets because her father has the ear of the king.”

Agnes had been listening to this inane drivel since her father had been brought back to the London townhome of their cousin, who had seen Walter’s injuries, listened to the madness he was spouting, and promptly left the home. The Earl of Winchester held no belief in Christopher de Lohr being behind a beating his cousin had received and considering the man had lost his purse and several expensive pieces of jewelry in the ambush, it was clear that robbers had set upon him.

But Walter seemed to have a different opinion.

Winchester didn’t want to hear it.

“Father, it is also possible that Hereford had nothing to do with what happened,” she said, picking bloodied rags off the floor. “You did not see who ambushed you – you said so yourself. Given that men are robbed all the time outside of London, that is more than likely what happened to you. You cannot blame Hereford for that.”

Walter didn’t like the fact that Agnes didn’t seem to be on his side. “Plain and stupid Agnes,” he said, eyeing her with contempt. “Ever ready to defend de Lohr, aren’t you? You do realize the family does not want you. Peter does not want you. If he did, I would not have to resort to great lengths to marry you into that family.”

Agnes’ cheeks flushed a dull red as she put the rags into a bowl for the servants to take away. There was a second bowl with ingredients for a compress, including arnica. She began to pack the ingredients into a soft, clean cloth.

“I am not defending the family,” she said. “But seeking revenge against de Lohr does not work in our favor. Do you think he is going to cower to you? Of course not.”

“He will cower to me when I go to the warlords and tell them that de Lohr’s precious son is a traitor,” he snarled. “I will tell them that… wait… wait just a moment…”

He was on to something. Agnes could tell by the tone of his voice and she turned around, watching him with trepidation as he lay there, staring at the ceiling with the bloodied rag to his mouth.

“What is it?” she asked hesitantly.

Walter held up a finger. “Telling the rebels that Peter is a traitor will not have the desired result,” he said thoughtfully. “That will only cause confusion, and anger, and Hereford will be forced to send Peter away for his own good.”

“How do you know?”

“Because if I was Hereford, I would send my son away if he was accused of treachery,” he said. “I would send him away to remove him from the situation and let suspicions cool. Nay… we do not want him sent away. We want him here, with us, because if he is sent away, arranging a marriage would be difficult. It is not Peter we need removed, but Peter’s problem.”

“What problem?”

“The jeweler’s daughter.”

Agnes came over to the bed with the compress in her hand, frowning at him. “She is not his problem, she is my problem.”

Walter snatched the compress from her. “Peter’s attention is not on you because he has the jeweler’s daughter to occupy his time,” he said. “If we send her away, then there is no more problem. We can return his focus in your direction.”

“How are you going to send her away?”

Walter tried to sit up but with his broken ribs, it was nearly impossible. He finally shouted at Agnes to help him and she did, pulling him into a sitting position as he grunted and groaned and bled from the mouth. He sat there a moment, eyes closed, holding that compress against his lips until he was able to speak again.

“I need a scribe,” he rasped. “Someone who can write a missive for me to be delivered to the king at Westminster. Find me a scribe immediately.”

Agnes wasn’t sure what he wanted to send to the king, but she hoped it had something to do with the jeweler’s daughter. She was more than willing to help him.

“I can write,” she reminded him. “Tell me what you want to say and I shall write it down.”

“Good,” Walter said quickly. “Find vellum and ink. We are going to send a missive to the king.”

“What are you going to say?”

A hint of a smile crossed Walter’s swollen lips. “We do not want Peter removed, so we must remove the jeweler’s daughter instead,” he said. “We are going to tell the king that his jeweler, the man he spends a good deal of money with, is harboring a rebel in his bosom. We tell the king that the jeweler’s daughter is involved in de Lohr’s rebellion and if he wants answers, then he should interrogate her. If she is close to Peter de Lohr, there is no telling what she knows.”

Agnes’ eyes widened when she realized what he was doing. “But you do not know that for certain,” she said. “I am in support of removing this woman, but what if the king finds out you are lying? Won’t it go badly for you?”

Walter’s head snapped in her direction. “I shall not sign my name to the missive, you fool.”

“But won’t the king want to know who sent the information?”

“Do you want to marry Peter or not?”

Agnes did. She wasn’t going to worry about being caught in a lie if her father wasn’t. Besides… who was to say if they were lying or not? It would be the word of a Jewess against the word of Walter de Quincy, lord of Astley Cross. Surely her father’s word held more weight than that of a common woman.

But it didn’t hold more weight than that of Peter and Christopher de Lohr.

Still, she was willing to do it. Anything to get that woman out of her way.

Agnes found her vellum, quill, and ink, and scribed a missive to the king, carefully dictated by her father. He described the treachery of the jeweler’s daughter and how she was using her father’s place of business to mask her deceitful activities, mostly with the House of de Lohr. By the time the supper hour arrived, the missive was off to Westminster Palace, anonymously. But in the end, Walter used the Earl of Winchester’s seal on it. He was afraid an anonymous missive might be cast aside, but one from a rebel warlord would be read with interest.

It was a hope he had.

Walter slept well that night in spite of everything, with dreams of a changed situation come the morning.