April 1418
Rouen was a prize second only to Paris. From La Chartreuse de Notre Dame de la Rose, the Carthusian monastery set on a hill to the east of the city, Stephen could see over Rouen’s walls and watch the bustle of this prosperous city of 70,000 souls.
The city’s defenses had been strengthened since English forces last tried to take it, some thirty years ago. Stephen scanned the long line of the wall, with its sixty towers. To lay siege here, King Henry would have to bring an army large enough to encircle the city and guard all six gates. He would also have to block supplies from reaching the city from both the south and the north via the Seine, which flowed beside the city.
Besieging Rouen would be an arduous task. All the same, the city would fall. Stephen did not hold out much hope he could convince the men of Rouen of that truth, though.
As the king’s envoy, he was tasked with putting a single question to them: Would Rouen submit willingly, or would its people be starved into submission?
Stephen wondered again why the king chose him for this mission. He sensed his brother’s hand in it. Perhaps it was Robert’s. Stephen had plenty of time to contemplate that puzzle on the two-day ride to Rouen. Instead, all he thought of was Isobel—and what he was going to do about her when he got here.
It had been two weeks. Two weeks since she lay naked beneath him. Two weeks since she refused him.
Two weeks since she made her pledge to another.
For the thousandth time, he asked himself why she did it. How could she? How could she do it right after she agreed not to? She did it so soon after he left her bed, his smell must have been on her skin as she made her pledge to de Roche.
Somehow the king had suspected Stephen’s intentions toward Isobel, or so Robert believed. The king was not the only one to guess. Apparently, Robert, William, and Catherine had planned to speak to the king on Stephen’s behalf that very day. King Henry acted swiftly, before his friends could approach him.
Robert insisted the king surprised Isobel, as well. But still, it was she who spoke the promise of marriage. Stephen’s only comfort was that Isobel did not look the happy bride that morning, with her eyes swollen and her skin as pale as death.
A betrothal between a man and woman of consenting age was very nearly irreversible. But surely pregnancy by another man was a valid ground for breaking it. Time was short. Her marriage to de Roche could be completed in a week or so.
If Isobel was with child, it would be a simple matter. Stephen would carry her off and deal with the consequences later. If she did not agree to marry him at once, he would wear her down by the time the child was born.
What would he do if she did not yet know if she carried his child? Or worse, if she were certain she did not? He would not let himself think of that.
“Stephen!”
He turned to see Jamie and Geoffrey hurrying toward him.
“The city has replied to the message you sent today,” Jamie said, holding out the rolled parchment.
Stephen scanned the long and flowery missive.
“The city will graciously welcome King Henry’s envoy on the morrow,” he summarized for Jamie and Geoffrey. “But they ‘invite’ my escort of English knights to remain here at the monastery while I conduct my business in the city.”
“You cannot agree to go alone,” Jamie protested. “At least take Geoffrey and me with you.”
“They will not permit it,” he told them. “And there is no need, since they have guaranteed my safety.”
“Their guarantee!” Jamie scoffed. “These Frenchmen murder even sworn allies and close relations.”
“If they mean to violate their guarantee,” Stephen said, “one or two men could not save me.”
He would ride into Rouen alone on the morrow. Within a day or two, he would know the city’s fate. And his own.
Linnet rushed into the solar and slammed the door behind her. “De Roche has returned!”
Isobel’s stomach clutched; her reprieve was over.
“The servants are all abuzz, because no sooner was he in the house than he left again,” Linnet said, her cheeks pink with excitement. “You’ll not believe it! ’Tis even worse than we thought!”
“Slow down, Linnet. What will I not believe?”
“François overheard the men talking while he helped with the horses,” Linnet said. “De Roche was in Troyes, not Paris!”
Isobel tried to make sense of this news. “Troyes? Is that not where the Duke of Burgundy and the French queen are?”