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“I
do not doubt Richard. He acknowledged his fault most handsomely and has
supported me since then. But you asked me what such a small man hoped to gain.
Is it not clear he hoped to gain a king who would raise him up among the mighty
of the land?”
    Raymond’s mouth opened and closed without sound, his voice
being suspended by horror. This time the emotion was so apparent that Henry
could not miss it, and he laughed and shook his head.
    “No, no, I am not accusing Richard of treason. However
mistaken my brother may have been in his actions, he never thought harm to me.
He thought, of course, that he would save me from harm by preventing me
from some act that would anger my barons. But I do not think Sir William wished
to save me from harm. He, I think, hoped Richard’s action would so turn the
nobles against me that I would be killed in war or by murder. Then he would sit
at the king’s right hand.”
    That made a kind of sense. Raymond frowned in thought. “Have
you spoken to Earl Richard and—”
    “You do not know my brother,” Henry said. “He is the most
loyal man in the world. You heard what I said just before. As Richard would not
for any reward be disloyal to me, so is he to other men. If I spoke to him, he
would defend his friend. No, I need proof. Hear me. I do not think this Sir
William is a fool—Richard does not suffer fools gladly. He would not speak open
ill of me to Richard, no man could do so and retain my brother’s good will. He
would say, ‘The king harms himself much by this thing he does. For his own
good, it would be well to curb him at all cost.’ But perhaps among his own
family and friends he speaks differently.”
    That, too, might be true, Raymond thought.
    “I cannot act against Sir William because Richard would be
furious. I have made enquiry and so much is true that they are frequent
companions. Whenever Richard is at Wallingford, he spends some time in Marlowe
or Sir William goes to him.”
    “Are you perfectly sure the tale is true?” Raymond asked.
    “No. That is my second reason for holding my hand. I am this
sure, that the clerk who carried the tale had no private reason to do so. He is
not connected with Sir William in any way except that the abbey in which he was
trained is nearby. It seems he heard by accident some talk that betrayed Sir
William’s purpose. Still, things overheard can be misunderstood. There is a
chance, indeed, that Sir William is not guilty.”
    The feeling of being trapped by his own too hasty offer of
help, of being a dirty instrument used to cut a man down, receded. Raymond
smiled. The king was well within his rights to weed out disloyal subjects.
Raymond still felt a little uneasy about acting the spy. However, so long as
his purpose was to discover the truth, not to find evidence by hook or crook to
condemn an innocent man, Raymond was willing to gain his freedom by a small
subterfuge.
    “But I do not know this man,” he pointed out, “nor even Earl
Richard. What am I to say to him? I do not see—”
    “Oh, I will give you a letter, saying—if you will forgive me
the jest—that you came penniless to my court seeking succor. I will ask Sir
William to take you into his household. As to why I send you to him rather than
to another, I will say Richard has spoken well of him to me and so I thought he
would be a kind master to a young man needing kindness.”
    At that Raymond laughed aloud with relief. He could scarcely
be accused of spying if he came with a letter from the king. Apparently Henry
did not wish to deceive his brother’s vassal, only to discover the real truth.
    “Excellent,” he agreed. “I can be a simple Sir Raymond from
Aix. That will not give me away. Every third man in Provence and Aix is named
either Raymond or Alphonse.”
    “Perfect,” Henry approved, and they laughed together like
children over the mischief they were brewing.
    Then Raymond’s smile faded. “But how long am I to stay with
Sir William? What if I