"I'm afraid so, dear." Bella nodded. "It would be very unwise for you and me to spend a day alone at the beach when we are at war with France."

"But what about Grandpere St. Pierre? He'll be at Winchelsea on the first. Are we going to visit him? I want to show him my pony. He'll be very proud of me."

"Ah, yes." Bella was reminded of Lady Isabella's father. War or not, trade would continue as it always did, sometimes more briskly. Historically war was very good for the economy. "Well, that is still a few days away. I shall have to talk it over with Sir Neville. He is in charge, you know."

"Oh, aye." Henri nodded. "I know that. It's time for me to feed the puppies. Gunnie said that I must be very responsible and take good care of them while he is gone with Papa and Sir James to beat the French. Good-day, Maman, Sir Neville."

"Don't forget to listen for the Angelus bells, Henri,"

Bella reminded him. "I expect you to be on time for your lessons with Master Owain."

"I will," Henri chirped.

"That one grows brighter with every pa.s.sing day, milady." Neville's indulgent gaze followed Henri's bouncing curls as he skipped down the stone steps.

"He's the spitting image of his father, I think," Bella said drily. She wondered who a child between her and Chandos would favor. Geoffrey, like her Iain, was all Saint Pierre. Robin and Henri were pure Chandos. Bella sank her teeth into her lower lip, tugging upon it, thinking she might never have the chance to know the answer to that question. The lost opportunity to nurture another child made her very sad.

"Should you care to travel to Winchelsea on the first, milady, I will arrange safe escort," Sir Neville said to her. "There is a sufficient garrison at each of the Cinque Ports. I shouldn't expect any trouble at Winchelsea or at Portsmouth."

Bella looked up, distracted, catching the gist of Neville's offer belatedly. "Well," she ventured, "I suppose for Henri's sake, life should go on with as much normalcy as possible. There are a few things that I would like to look for at market."

"I shall see to the arrangements then, milady." Neville responded, surprising Bella with his easy acquiescence. She didn't think she was under house arrest exactly--with Sir John out of the country--but she hadn't antic.i.p.ated being granted the freedom to travel inside England. Having something to look forward to was an unsuspected boon and lifted Bella's low spirits considerably.

Her trouble now was history and her acute knowledge of it. They were inching closer and closer to the dreadful battle of Crecy--August 26. What if Geoffrey was caught unawares by someone, or was in the wrong place at the right time? It would be like re-living the horror of Iain's death all over again. Bella had d.a.m.ned that dirt racing bike and the poor old lady who'd been driving the car every single day since Iain had so recklessly crossed her path. Who could she blame for harming Geoffrey in a war? Only the man who had taken him to it. She couldn't live with that. She would go mad, truly.

So what that Bella knew Edward and his n.o.ble heir, the Black Prince, would come out of their battles unscathed? Each night since Sir John had sailed she paced the floor of her solar and chewed her nails. Would John, Robin and Geoffrey return alive, whole and in one piece? Fatalities on the English side weren't going to be high, but she had no idea what to expect in the line of casualties. Where men fought on the same ground, hacking at one another with battle axes and broad swords, the wounds resulting from that combat would be grisly.

The day had been warm and oppressively humid. Bella couldn't sleep at all that night. She finally gave up the pretense of trying, dressed and went outside to walk the south allure. That was a new habit she had just acquired, watching and waiting for a ship to sail up the Erne and dock at the watergate.

She watched the rising of a blood-red sun as a silver shooting star dropped to the earth like a spear from Mars, the G.o.d of war.

Of the men on the allure who also saw it, many shouted, and others dropped to their knees, crossing themselves and whispering urgent prayers as if what they'd seen was some grave omen.

It was hardly an omen, Bella scoffed. Such phenomenon was explainable, not some superst.i.tious or portentous thing. The sun was red because of dust in the atmosphere. After all it was summer, almost August. There could be sandstorms in the Sahara or volcanos spewing ash into the upper atmosphere world over.

The shooting star was a meteor, a fleck of s.p.a.ce dust that burned to nothing on contact with earth's atmosphere. What could be mystical about that?

Tired, she watched till the sun rose completely then returned to her chamber. She could sleep in a while if Aristotle and Pepper didn't get into another knock-down, drag-out like they had for the past three mornings.

Old Aristotle had no patience for a puppy that was growing by leaps and bounds. They were at each others throats again, when Bella opened her door. Aristotle shot up to the top of the canopy over the bed and posed there hissing and howling. Pepper tore all the linens off the bed and had made a mess in the corner by Bella's desk.

Picking Pepper up by the scruff of her neck, Bella scolded, "You are uncivilized dog."

Pepper yapped and licked Bella's chin unrepentantly as Bella tugged on the servant's bell that would summon someone from the kitchens.

"Put this beast outside, please," Bella requested of the footman who arrived moments after she'd disposed of Pepper's aromatic sampling down the drain in the garderobe.

Clarise arrived as Bella was trying to coax Aristotle down from the velvet canopy. The serving woman set to straightening the linens on Bella's bed.

"He won't come down," Bella surmised. She didn't feel at all well--what with the smell Pepper had left behind and the lack of fresh air moving through the chamber.

"See if you can get him down, Clarise. If not, then just leave him there. Excuse me," Bella choked. Slapping her hand across her mouth, she ran for the garderobe.

Once the bout of sickness subsided, Bella returned to her room, blotting a dampened cloth against her cheeks and throat. The bed was neatly made and Aristotle parked in the middle of it, cleaning his face.

"You're a wonder, Clarise, a true treasure. Thank you." Bella collapsed face down in the soft mattress.

"I'll fix you a tray, milady. It's time you paid attention to eating properly."

"Whatever you say, Clarise." Bella groaned. Food was always the last thing she wanted in the morning. She closed her eyes and fell asleep with Aristotle purring contentedly at her side.

Bella dreamed she was back at graduate school. The professor of the cla.s.s she was taking was lecturing on J. W. Dunne's Theory of Time and making broad a.s.sumptions and speculations on ancestral memory. He cited as proof for his theories the curious example of the MacViccar clan of Scotland--unusual souls who were born with the gift of second sight time after time.

Oddly enough, Bella woke up smelling the fragrant aroma of bacon and dreamily thought she was back home in Texas. One look at her surroundings disabused her of that fanciful notion. Stone walls most a.s.suredly a castle made.

August first, Henri got his outing. Eight outriders accompanied the boy and Bella to Winchelsea. Comte Saint Pierre welcomed Bella and Henri with open arms, delighted by their visit. Over a protracted luncheon in the Guildhall's private quarters, they exchanged what news there was of King Edward's war.

Comte Saint Pierre said, "Thus far, war has not affected our trade in Flanders. I don't expect it shall. You and Henri should come and enjoy the rest of the summer with me. The wine harvest this year will be especially bountiful. Besides, the weather is much more pleasant than here in England. What say you to that, Bella?"

"What a marvelous idea," James Saint Pierre agreed. A bright smile creased his pleasant face. "You haven't forgotten that Flanders is the most glorious place in late summer, have you, Isabella? The wine harvest is such a splendid event."

"Can we?" Henri immediately wanted to know.

"But Henri's lessons?" Bella ventured a weak protest all the while really thinking, Thank you G.o.d for showing me the way to get to Geoffrey and bring him safely home.

"Why, that is no problem," Eustace reasoned. "I will hire him the best tutors available on the continent. Henri would not miss a day of study."

Bella hardly knew what to say to this mad impulse that sounded like a G.o.dsend to her aching heart. She looked at Henri and saw the excited thrill of adventure in his young eyes. She looked at Lady Isabella's brother and father and saw benign approval, so she thought, Why shouldn't I? Sir John won't be home for another year.

"'Tout compredre, c'est tout pardonner' is an error, the fact being that the secret of forgiving everything is to understand nothing." GEORGE BERNARD SHAW -26.

August 5th, 1346 Windsor Castle "My dear lord Chandos, I know the Tower of London is full," Queen Phillipa entreated. "Does the king expect me to house prisoners here at Windsor?"

Sir John ignored the plaintive tone of the queen's voice as he turned the pages of his ledger. "Your Majesty, every last cell is taken by the three hundred defenders of the city of Caen. However, the hostages I am referring to are all men of rank; princes, n.o.bles, knights and squires of import who have surrendered their arms honorably and await ransom. They are not of the same category as the prisoners taken captive after the siege and King Edward insists they be housed accordingly."

"Yes, but," Phillipa interrupted Sir John. "I already have twenty such hostage-guests to feed and shelter. Pray tell me, how many more will there be?"

John regarded the queen with a grave expression, but he thought her astute enough to detect the proud gleam in his eyes. "Hundreds more, Your Majesty, at the rate things are going. I have orders to secure placement for the king and the Prince of Wales hostages at c.h.i.n.k Castle, Caerphilly and Warwick. Arundel and Kenilworth will accommodate two hundred each and His Majesty expects the same of Windsor."

"Two hundred!" Phillipa gasped. "How? I mean the protocol involved will have my chamberlain pulling his hair out. Sir Thomas will say we can't ask a prince of Bohemia to share a bed with the duke of Anjou."

"Your majesty, we can and we will. That is the victor's choice and no one largesse can be expected to do more. "

"What a coil." Phillipa sighed. "Well, if we must, we must. Bring that rascal Douglas in. What more can I say?"

Sir John refrained from smiling while she summoned her chamberlain and discussed the new arrivals with Sir Thomas Green. The queen was no more exasperated than any of the other chatelaines he'd spoken to on this sojourn from the battlefield to arrange housing for n.o.blemen who would eventually all be ransomed. War was a business. Men held for ransom were the most profitable part of it.

As they had found nothing but surrender this far into the campaign, someone had had to return to England to organize this part of the spoils of war. King Edward had selected John de Chandos to represent the crown's as well as the prisoners' best interests.

"Lord Chandos." Phillipa returned from her conference with her seneschal. "Sir Thomas informs me that we can open the new wing. You will understand that the construction is not finished. The walls are unplastered and it will be bare floors. But the roof is complete so our guests won't suffer from the elements."

"You are most gracious, Your Majesty. G.o.d bless you."

"I'm sure He shall add another jewel onto my crown in heaven," Phillipa said drily. "Chandos, give Sir Thomas your list and come with me. We have much to discuss in private."

"Of course, Your Majesty." Sir John pa.s.sed his ledger to Guilamu, instructing his servant and clerk to accommodate Sir Thomas in every way possible. That done, he followed Queen Phillipa to her solar.

"Sir John!" a small boy hollered from behind a stack of blocks. "Maman! 'Tis Sir John!"

"Ah, how kind of my young princeling to remember me." John put his knee to the floor, bowing very low to the impish child.

Edmund forgot everything he'd ever learned about protocol and manners as he launched himself at Sir John. Small, but very strong arms tightened possessively about the tall man's neck.

"Edmund! I am aghast," Phillipa gasped. "That is no way to accept a courtier's bow. Remember yourself at once!"

"But Maman! 'Tis Sir John. The war must be over."

"Oh." Edmund's words touched the mother in Queen Phillipa. With a chagrinned smile, she did what she could to untangle Edmund. "Do get up, John. He's just a child."

"Nay, nay, 'tis all right." Chandos rose with the small prince firmly supported by his arm. "G.o.d's Truth, Your Majesty, it feels good to receive such a warm reception."

"Have you more news, Chandos?" Phillipa took his other arm, steering him to a seat near the open windows.

"Much word and letters from your dear ones all. They are as hale and hearty as this young master here."

"Have you been home, Sir John?" Phillipa asked cautiously.

"No, Your Majesty. I had orders to see to the comforts of the Duc de Berry, Steven Douglas and others of his ilk. But I will be stopping at Chandos Enceinte before returning to the front. I sent Sir James and Robin ahead of me, so that they could have supplies readied while I dealt with the king's business."

"Hmph!" Phillipa settled herself comfortably on her cushions as she eyed her son who remained determinedly clamped to John de Chandos' knee. "You elicit more devotion from the children than the Pied Piper. Edward writes that it is the same in the field with the men. Though I do not imagine for a moment you enjoy being mauled by a sticky-fingered child."

"On the contrary, Your Majesty, as crusted as I am with road dirt, a few sticky fingers shouldn't matter in the least. Edmund's fine where he is."

It was just as well he felt that way, Phillipa thought, since Edmund was so enamored of the knight he couldn't take his young eyes off Sir John. Well, Phillipa decided, she would not be the one to turn Sir John's enchanting smile by belaboring him with bad news of home. He would find out about Bella and young Henri soon enough. "So, tell me, sir, what think you of this bold plan of my husband's to bring Calais to heel?"

Chandos had mixed feeling about Calais. He was fairly certain, Phillipa, as a native of Flanders, would also.

"Militarily speaking?"

"Is there any other way to consider this?" Phillipa waved to a servant and ale was brought to quench Chandos' dusty throat. He accepted the drink with gusto and proceeded to drain the cup. "Have you heard the news that the Calais pirates struck a Deal last week? The guildhall and the abbey were burned to the ground."

"You are speaking specifically of Mangus O'Donnell, are you not? Aye, we heard of the attack. There's a rogue I'd like to get my hands on." Chandos set the empty goblet down. "You were told to expect such activities and not to view them with any great alarm."

"That's impossible when the garrison commanders pet.i.tion for reinforcements at the Cinque Ports. What with King David's renewed hostilities above Newcastle, I haven't men to spare. I have asked the Bishop of Durham to don his armor and have commissioned Lord Percy and Lord Neville to sh.o.r.e up Lady Northampton. Beyond donning armor myself, I don't know what else I could do."

"We hardly expect you to do that, Your Majesty. Percy and Neville should be well equipped to manage anything King David attempts."

"Yes, my lord, but I do hope something can be done about the pirates. They are a great thorn in my side. I just never know where they will strike next." Phillipa laid one dimpled hand against her throat. "Isabella has family in Calais, does she not?"

"Aye, Your Majesty. Her father, Comte Eustace, and one brother resides there, but the majority of the family lives at the old estate in Chalon."

Chandos admitted nothing that the queen did not already know. Many men of prodigious industry had gravitated to Calais and become prosperous through honest trade and commerce. Eustace Saint Pierre was one of the cities most upright citizens. However, Calais was also homeport to a contingent of ruthless pirates. Their increasingly frequent raids on the English coast were a prime nuisance Edward wanted obliterated forever. Hence, one of Edward's stated goals for this campaign was to drive the pirates out of Calais for good.

"The Saint Pierres are firmly entrenched in Philip of Valois' camp, are they not? They wouldn't be any help to Edward, would they?"

"No, Your Majesty, they would not," Chandos made that frank admission and another. "I foresee trouble with the king's plan. Calais is the most fortified and substantially defended port in the Christian world. It will be no easy task to take that city."

John de Chandos was qualified to say that. Rarely had a year pa.s.sed that he had not taken his wife and his sons to Calais for the wine harvests of late summer. Those thoughts made him think of Bella.

He had half-expected to see Bella at Windsor, since he knew for a fact the queen had invited her and Henri to wait out news of the battles at court.

A wry smile creased Sir John's face at the prospect of seeing Bella again. She certainly had had nothing good to say to him on departure and had in fact, threatened to be on the next available boat across the channel after him. John's wry smile turned to a grin as he remembered the sparring that had accompanied their parting.

He looked forward to seeing if the sight of him put a gleam back in her eye. He couldn't wait to depart Windsor Castle. The queen did not keep him overlong.

Guilamu and the clerk were already mounted as were the men of Chandos' guard. As he double-checked his saddle girth, Chandos let his eyes stray to the lowering sun. He stood for a moment caught by the beauty of a red sunset exactly the color of the Rose of Lorraine's hair. He made an abrupt decision as he swung into the saddle.

"We ride to Chandos Enciente! A moi!"