Jocelin’s sharp eyes scanned the hall. It was like being in a roomful of predators; each man had the look of both killer and prey. There was an odd air about the place, of both suspicion and friendship. His gaze came to rest on a group several yards to their left and he visibly perked. “See there,” he said quietly. “The Bishop of Rochester and his party. And I also see with him the barons Fitz Gerold and Fitz Herbert, men from the Welsh marches.”
“Do you see de Warenne?”
“Nay.”
“Coventry or Rochester?”
“Not yet.”
Sheridan tried not to be too obvious about staring. “If you point out these men to me so that I may recognize them,” she whispered, “perhaps I will be able to set up the meeting we’ve all longed for. No one will suspect a lady in these circumstances of subversion.”
Jocelin cocked an eyebrow. “’Tis only subversion if what we are attempting to accomplish is thwarted. If successful, we shall be loyalists.”
“There is no one that disputes our rightness,” her voice grew stronger. “No one on earth that would dare to…”
Jocelin cut her off. “Look,” he almost gestured but caught himself in time. “There is the Earl of Arundel. I haven’t seen the man in years.”
Sheridan caught sight of a short, red-haired man as he disappeared into a well-dressed crowd. Before she could comment, Jocelin crowed again.
“And look there,” he bordered on excitement. “William Marshall in the flesh.”
Sheridan found herself gazing at a man that was relatively close. He was tall and lanky, with thinning gray hair. When he turned in her direction, she was struck by the sharpness of his gaze. His eyes fell upon Jocelin and he walked straight for him. Jocelin rose to his feet and extended a hand.
“My lord,” Jocelin said. “It’s been a long time.”
William Marshall brushed his lips against Jocelin’s papal ring. His dark eyes twinkled. “Too long,” he said. “I am surprised you have managed to stay out of trouble since the last I saw you.”
Jocelin grinned. “Who has been spreading such lies? Trouble is my bed fellow. We’re good friends and keep each other company.”
William laughed softly. Then his gaze fell on Sheridan and he bowed gallantly. “My lady.”
Jocelin took the opportunity to introduce her. “My lord William Marshall, may I present the Lady Sheridan St. James, eldest daughter and heiress of the late Henry St. James, 3rdEarl of Bath and Glastonbury.”
The Marshall appraised her courteously. But Sheridan felt as if God himself was scrutinizing her. She curtsied before the man and he took her hand chivalrously.
“My lady,” he greeted. “I knew your father. He was a righteous and cunning man.”
She smiled, mortified that her lips were twitching with nerves. “Thank you, my lord. May I say that it is indeed an honor to finally meet you.”
“And you.”
“May I introduce my sister, the Lady Alys.”
William turned to the redhead. “My lady.”
He took her hand in a gentlemanly fashion and touched his lips to her fingers. But that was the end of it. With a lingering glance at Sheridan, the Marshall turned to Jocelin and the two of them lowered their voice in private conversation. Sheridan looked over at her sister, now on her third goblet of wine. Alys was gazing adoringly at the Marshall.
Sheridan went pale.
“Oh, no….”
*
The feast commencedwhen the king entered the hall. It was with great pomp and ceremony, as befitting the monarch. Barons called to him, women waved at him. John, a short man with a droopy eye and noticeably bad hygiene, gestured benevolently to the group in the hall. It was reminiscent of the Pope making hisrounds among his admiring subject, with all the flair of a holy parade. Some of the older men who had served his father were less friendly towards him, yet there was respect as due the king.
It took several minutes for the king to make his way to the dais where the royal table was lodged. Festooned with a variety of fine goblets and a huge centerpiece of marzipan sculpted into naked cherubs, John took his leisure time in reaching his seat. He was more intent to linger over the adoration of his subjects.
Jocelin watched him with disgust.