The room was silent with the heaviness of the realization. Everything they had been planning, the secret happenings of months past, was finally coming to bear. They were perhaps a bit ashamed that a woman had been the first one to offer arms. Arundel finally spoke.
“I have two thousand men just north of the city,” he said. “They can be ready to march at dawn provided we are all in agreement.”
Guy had been relatively unnoticed since the moment he entered the room. He, too, had been shocked by the men unexpectedly receiving him in the St. James antechamber, but his shock had just as quickly disappeared. His father had told him to expect something like this and he was moderately prepared.
“I speak for my father, gentlemen,” he said, his voice wise beyond his years. “If London is to be taken, you have de Braose support. Though we’ve war on the Marches, I have brought five hundred men with me. My father sends his approval for this action.”
“It’s not merely the action,” Sheridan said, still hesitant to speak her mind in such auspicious company but feeling strongly that she should. “Once London is captured, what then? Where is this document I have heard tale of from my father, a charter that will ensure the monarchy will treat the barons with fairness?”
“I have it,” William Marshall spoke, like the voice of God. “As Earl of Pembroke, I have appointed myself constable of the document. It has been worded mostly by Stephen, Archbishopof Canterbury and William, Bishop of London, but certainly we have all had a say in the content.”
“Is it complete, my lord?” Sheridan asked. “Is it something that will justify our actions should we decide to move forward?”
William shook his head. “It is not yet absolute, my lady. That is why we’ve met here this night, to complete this document that the king will be bound to govern by.”
William snapped his long, gnarled fingers and a man emerged from the shadows, a steward bearing the Marshall cross. From the folds of the man’s tunic appeared a long, cylindrical tube, from which he pulled forth a fragile, yellowed vellum. The steward set it upon the table in the center of the room and the others looked at it with varied degrees of interest. It was a large document, full of careful writing.
Sheridan watched the others vie for a better look at the manuscript. She stood back, out of the way, her mind churning with thoughts that Henry St. James planted in her head. She could not rest until she had answers.
“My lord Marshall,” she said. “I mean no disrespect, of course, but if I am to order my army to march on London and in essence, create an act of treachery, then I would have my deed supported by a valid foundation from this body of men. That is to say, if I am to march, then let it be for a reason. Let the king be able to behold that reason and fulfill it as required. I will not march for marching’s sake. I will not be a traitor for traitor’s sake.”
As she finished, nearly every man in the room was looking at her. Arundel actually smiled but deferred all comments to the Marshall. He was, after all, the one she had addressed.
“Well said, little Henry,” the Marshall said after a moment. The men around the table chuckled softly, as did Sheridan. “The reason is before you. We are reviewing it as you speak. But you will draw your own conclusion; if this document is not sufficientreason for you to march on our king, then I shall not require it, nor will I be disappointed if you do not. You must make your choice.”
“Then if we approve the contents of this charter, we will move immediately to secure London in an effort to force the king into agreeing to our terms?”
“London is our hostage. By agreeing to our terms, the king can save her. By saving her, we can thereby save all of England.”
“You make it sound simple, my lord.”
“Simple, no. But necessary.”
Sheridan had no more questions at the moment. William’s gaze drifted over her, carefully; he had a good deal of respect for her as Henry’s daughter. But there was something more to Lady Sheridan than met the eye; they could all see that. She had intelligence and she was well-thought. Henry had raised a sensible child.
Sheridan could feel his gaze, hoping he didn’t think that she was an idiot. Here she was, surrounded by some of the most powerful men in England, all of whom were treating her with a great deal of respect. She supposed it was because of her father, never imagining it was because she was in the process of establishing her own foundation of support. Eyeing the men around the table, she walked towards the document, her gaze running over the yellowed parchment. She finally looked to the Marshall.
“I cannot read, my lord,” she admitted. “Would you be so kind as to read what the document says?”
William smiled at her and wedged himself in between Fitz Herbert and Salisbury. His gaze focused on the first clause.
“First, that we have granted to God, and by this present charter have confirmed for us and our heirs in perpetuity, that the English Church shall be free, and shall have its rights undiminished…”
A knock at the door interrupted him. The mood of the room turned black with apprehension as Jocelin spoke quickly to Sheridan.
“Do not open the door,” he instructed firmly. “Ask who it is and send them away.”
She nodded and went to the door, followed by Neely with a dagger in his hand. He stood to the left of the door as Sheridan spoke through the panel.
“Who calls?” she asked.
“’Tis me,” Alys’ voice filtered through. “Let me in!”
Before Jocelin could stop her, Sheridan threw open the door. Alys stood there, looking perfectly safe, whole and sound. Sheridan was about to throw her arms around her when she saw a figure lingering behind her, nearly obscured by the dark shadows of the hall. The figure, in fact, had hold of Alys’ arm as an escort would. It took Sheridan a moment to realize that it was de Lara.
And he could see everyone in the room beyond.
*