The Penwyth Curse Read Free Page B

white foam that dried very slowly on his mouth.

2
    Present
London
May 3, 1278
    K ING EDWARD I OF ENGLAND stretched out his long legs, crossed his ankles, and admired the new pointed slippers that adorned his big feet. Perhaps they were a bit too beautifully embroidered for a warrior king, but his sweet Eleanor had fancied they would look splendid on the royal feet. At least she didn’t expect him to wear them into battle.
    A slice of sun shone down on the royal head from the beautifully worked glass windows installed by his late father, Henry II, making Edward’s thick hair glisten an even richer gold—like a freshly minted coin, his mother was wont to tell him many years before. Edward looked about at the expanse of stone and tapestries and lovely windows. He quite liked Windsor, what with all the improvements his father had made.
    He looked up to see a large, hard-faced young man walking beside his Robbie. It was Sir Bishop of Lythe,the young warrior who had rescued his dear daughter, Philippa, from one of her own foolish escapades three months before. The king’s son-in-law, Dienwald de Fortenberry, earl of St. Erth, obviously hadn’t managed yet to control his precious somewhat-royal wife. Edward would certainly give him more counsel about that. At least Dienwald had thanked the young man by knighting him. If Edward had but been there, he doubtless would have thought of it first.
    He watched the young man straighten from a low bow, and said, “I called you here, Sir Bishop of Lythe, to give you thanks myself for saving my gentle daughter, my sweet Philippa, from those oily scoundrels. Is it true that one of them held a knife to her side?”
    Sir Bishop nodded.
    â€œHe threatened to shove it into her if you didn’t throw down your arms?”
    Sir Bishop nodded again.
    â€œHow did you manage to get the knife from him?”
    Bishop paused, then said slowly, “The man wasn’t a good fighter, nor was he quick of wit. I managed to distract him long enough to kill him before he could hurt Philippa. No more than that.”
    â€œHmmm.” Edward didn’t believe it was that simple for an instant. “My daughter was unknown to you, I understand. Yet you still came to her rescue, even though you’d never seen her before.”
    â€œShe and her men were in my path, sire. I had no choice.”
    The king laughed and buffeted Sir Bishop of Lythe on his broad shoulder, causing him to stagger a bit.
    â€œYou know that Philippa is the wonderful result of my own royal prerogative, do you not?”
    Sir Bishop perhaps wasn’t certain of this.
    â€œBy that,” Robert Burnell whispered close to Sir Bishop’s ear, “his majesty means that she is his own personal bastard.”
    Bishop smiled. “Aye, sire, I know.”
    â€œGood, then you will also know that by saving her, you saved a part of the very essence of your king.”
    â€œGranted by God, I doubt it not.”
    The king detected that slap of wit and decided he was amused. “If you are wondering if I plan to give you the hand of one of my own dear daughters who are legitimate and therefore princesses of the realm, unlike Philippa who is only a princess in my heart, disabuse yourself of that notion right now. Nay, Sir Bishop, I intend to reward you far more suitably.”
    Since the eldest of the king’s legitimate daughters was only seven, Sir Bishop was pleased not to be offered such a reward. He pondered the king’s words. More suitably? What did that mean? The king fell silent while a servant garbed in crimson and white served him a goblet of wine, after dutifully tasting it, rolling it around in his mouth, and convulsively swallowing it.
    In truth, Bishop had believed that being knighted by Lady Philippa’s lord husband, Dienwald, was reward aplenty, but his father hadn’t raised a blockhead. He wasn’t about to question anything the king chose to do. After all,