The point Bella pulled up on to scout the valley below her was at a good break in the trees. She looked down into a picture perfect valley that in her estimation stretched on for about ten miles. In a sheltered niche on the hill to her right sat a little village. No castles, no manor houses dominated it, only a small church and its bell rang the call to vespers. A fairly good stream of villagers hurried toward its open doors.

From that village and down the entire right side of the valley's softly rolling hills, stretched a magnificent forest. At first glance it looked uncut and virgin, primal. She had only to look at the wooden houses and church in the village to know that thought was untrue.

Below the forest, set up with such precision it could have been erected by the U.S. Army's Corps of Engineers, lay a tent city. Bella had found King Edward's camp. She raised her right hand into the air, made a fist and jerked it downward, saying with relish, "Yes!"

She had made good time. Her horse was in excellent shape, breathing hard from that last gallop but far from winded. Now she had to switch modes and become cautious. Stealth, that's what she needed.

It was too dark to make out individual markings on any tent. Even though many campfires dotted the plain, Bella couldn't risk moving closer in the open for fear of being found out by sentries.

She judged how far she'd have to ride to circ.u.mvent the village and approach the king's camp through the woods from behind. Two hours after dusk would be a good time to make her move. But first, she had to get in position.

A heady surge of adrenalin pumped in her veins as she made new calculations. By midnight, she and Geoffrey would be riding hard for Calais. That, she told herself, would be the hard part. It was the reason she had selected a horse for stamina. This big boy could run and he'd probably never forgiven the man that gelded him.

At just nicely a hundred and five pounds and with Geoffrey's added weight of no more than seventy, they both be like a fly on this beast's back. He was well used to heavier weight of a grown man in full armor.

So Bella felt pretty darn good when she dismounted in the woods at a stream. She watered the horse, removed the saddle, then wiped down his coat with handfuls of the plentiful gra.s.ses growing nearby.

Exchanging the bit and bridle for a halter, she tied Jupiter securely to a sheltering oak. As a reward, she opened the small pack of feed that was the only provisions she'd asked the stable boy to provide her.

For herself, Bella had brought two apples. These were small, very tart and a trifle green. They weren't really in season yet. She hoped England's autumn apples would be better tasting. She would make apple pies and let Henri and Geoffrey stuff themselves.

She would be glad when she and the boys were home. Then she could relish in the role of a dutiful mother and wife, calmly waiting for her husband to come home from war.

That thought bouyed Bella's confidence, reaffirming that she was doing was right thing. Geoffrey had no business being involved in a war. He was too precious and too important to her to be put in this kind of danger. King Edward's four cannons would bring warfare to a new height on the morrow. A young boy could so easily be hurt and maimed, but not her Geoffrey.

Last, Bella washed her hands and face in the cool clear water of the stream. She stood up straight, tying her domino and half-mask securely. She was as ready as she'd ever be.

"The sword of pa.s.sive resistance does not require a scabbard and one cannot be forcibly dispossessed of it."

GHANDI.

-28.

John de Chandos emerged from the fast running Maye naked. He pressed his fingers through his hair, smoothing the wet length of it away from his face. Guilamu handed him an unfolded towel, saying, "The wind refuses to change, my dread warrior. Tomorrow will be a another sultry and miserable day to march."

"We--," Sir John said, as he took the huge sheet of toweling and wrapped his body in it, "--will not be marching on the morrow. King Edward inherits this valley rightfully from his mother and he means to defend it against Philip of Valois--Dieu et mon Droit."

"Ah," Guilamu softly crooned. His dark turban bobbed up and down at the height of Chandos' naked shoulder. "How very wise, my lord. That is cunning, indeed! What man can argue what G.o.d will defend?"

Folds of dark skin crinkled at Guilamu's eyes. He turned about full circle, scanning the low hills and sloping valley using Sir John's few words to study the lay of the land. "I must consult the stars," he announced gravely. "Perhaps there be a propitious omen or two to guide us."

"Do that," John said briskly as he scrubbed the toweling against his head. He wasted no more time at the brook, returning to his tent to dress suitably to sup with the king. Guilamu kept his chatter to a minimum for which John was thankful. On the eve of battle, Chandos preferred to keep his mind focused on the tasks ahead. Guilamu tended to bring up distractions.

Buckling his dress belt firmly around his hips, John noted that his page had polished his sword and its sheath well. Likewise, the hastily erected tent was orderly. It was too warm and humid to remain inside it long. Later, when the heat of the August day had dissipated, the tent might be bearable.

"My lord, your stars." Guilamu looked up from his portable scribe's table stretched across his legs. Charts and curious writings cluttered it.

"Yes, what is it?" John paused at the tent flap to look back at his servant seated crosslegged on the floor under the halo of a lone hanging oil lamp.

"All the elements point to tomorrow being your most valorous day, but the shadow of Venus marks this night."

"What's that supposed to mean? Should I have someone carry me up the hill to the king's pavilion so I don't trip over my own two feet in the dark?"

Guilamu chuckled. "Nay, milord, it means you must beware of all women. Tonight, Venus rises against Mars. By morning the sun will rule and Mars ascends as he should."

"Anything else I should be warned of?" Chandos asked tongue in cheek. Guilamu took his dry question at face value and returned his attention to the charts.

"Yes."

Impatient now, Chandos asked, "What?"

"There will be an eclipse of the sun in the forenoon."

"Are you certain?" Chandos asked, because that was definitely an omen, good or bad, and in who's favor was anyone's guess this night.

Guilamu nodded solemnly.

"Fine, I shall tell the king. Do not wait up for me. Peace be with you." Chandos stepped out of the tent.

Immediately, he asked his horse master if Robin had returned. Earlier, John had sent scouts out to reconnoiter, Robin, among them. Chandos wouldn't rest easy until his eldest returned from patrol. Life was that simple and basic on the war trail.

The off and on storms laden the air with humidity making the fifteen miles the army had marched since midnight a misery. Philip of Valois closed on their heels. King Edward had not wanted to meet him in battle with the wide Somme River at his back. Scouts sent ahead had come back with a good description of this valley. The desire to rest the march weary men had been paramount in every commanders' mind, but the final decision was King Edward's.

The king had taken one look and authoritatively announced that here at Crecy he would make his stand. Let Philip of Valois come to him.

More important to Chandos was they had arrived soon enough in the day that he could deploy the troops, making doubly certain the valley belonged entirely to the English.

Philip had harried them for days, but did not press for a decisive engagement. Now, his vast army had only one means to enter this valley--through the narrow tree-bogged road up from Abbeyville. Chandos had made certain there would be no opportunity of a surprise attack on any of their flanks.

Crecy valley had the appearance of the gently rolling hills and downs Chandos was well accustomed to in Suss.e.x. The village of Estrees sat in a hollow formed between the slopes, about two miles to the east.

Another village, Crecy, lay tucked into the forest beside the northerly flowing Maye where Chandos had bathed. Beyond the Maye the land became marshy and would not support fighting or easy movement of troops.

Crecy was abandoned as it stood. Its villagers had fled into the forests, abandoning pots at boil over their supper fires the moment Sir John's vanguard had entered the valley. Estrees' peasantry had holed up in their church and bolted themselves behind the stout door.

Chandos' had sent James Graham to Estrees with orders to evict the peasants by whatever means necessary and extend the army's camp to that ridge, securing their rear. As he listened to Richard Wynkeley give his report, Sir John saw the thatch roofs at Estrees ignite with fire. He turned to the scouts, listening with grave attention to each man's report.

John's satisfied a.s.sessment of their position was echoed several times by the earls and barons in command. Not long after supper, they got down to the true business at hand--which troops to hold in reserve and how exactly to best utilize the valley's strengths to sh.o.r.e up their weakness. Every commander at the king's council knew they were gravely outnumbered by the approaching French army.

The last of Sir John's patrols returned in time to report before the final decision making got underway. Prince Edward stated excitedly that he, Robin Chandos and Roger Mortimer had daringly backtracked the whole fifteen miles to Abbeyville where Philip of Valois had taken rooms at St. Peter's Abbey.

There, the French king had summoned his advisors for a council meeting just as Edward was doing here. Also they had gained the added good news that the earl of Savoy had not, as of yet, arrived with his thousand lances pledged to Philip of Valois.

By ten o'clock most of the pre-battle decisions that could be made, had been. Sir John lingered at the king's insistence, sharing a bottle of good red wine. James Graham had yet to put in an appearance, but every so often, Sir John would let his gaze stray to the diminishing fires at Estrees.

The moon rose, nearly full and though clouds scattered across the sky, there was adequate moonlight to scan the valley from one end to the other.

The bottle of wine the king had shared with Arundel and Chandos was neatly finished. As John stood up, bidding the king a good night, a commotion erupted at the edge of the forest where the Maye cut a gouge in the woods.

"What the devil?" Edward said, rising to his feet to see better. Maybe five thousand men had also gotten up from their pallets blocking the king's view as someone large and angry came charging straight through the rank and file. "A deserter, you think?"

"I can't tell." Chandos' eyes were pretty sharp. He caught the glint of moonlight reflecting off the head of the wildly gesturing man. "It's Graham."

"Yes, well, I can see that." Edward set his goblet on the trestle and strode down the rise, signalling to several torchbearers to proceed along with him. The pages, one of them Geoffrey Chandos, ran forward with torch in hand. The king advanced resolutely down the hill to investigate what sort of wildcat it was that James Graham had caught.

"What goes here?" Edward demanded.

"Your Majesty." Graham spun around, dangling his black clothed prisoner from both of his fists like a wild animal caught by the scruff of the neck. "I've caught a spy."

"A spy?" the king said, still elbowing his way through the curious crowd of men who now stood full circle and a hundred deep around Sir Graham. The king grinned. "Are you certain? It looks to me as if the spy has caught you."

A laugh rippled around the circle as Graham's prisoner struggled violently, kicking out booted feet, but failing to make solid contact.

"Damme me, Your Majesty, but I daren't put this little b.a.s.t.a.r.d down before the whelp's hands and feet are tied. He put me on my back twice in quick succession and nearly kicked my cods back to England. Ho, Hubert, give me a rope."

"Ha! Let's have a look now," Edward said with a scowl. He turned and took the torch out of young Geoffrey Chandos' hands, lifting it to give better light onto the small person clothed completely in black. "Graham, I believe this spy struggles so fiercely because you are nigh onto choking it to death. 'Tis just a boy, no more. Put him down."

"Your Majesty," Graham protested the order.

The king merely looked at Graham. The huge Scot shrugged his strained shoulders and lowered his captive's feet to the ground. The kicking ceased, but the captive's hands remained at his own throat, desperately clawing at the choking knot of clothes that had bunched there.

Bella would have crumbled to a heap if Graham had actually let go. As it was, black spots spun before her eyes and her tongue felt so thick and swollen she thought it would also choke her. She hadn't the wind or the strength to fight back now. The big Scot had surprised the h.e.l.l right out of her. She'd had the presence of mind to throw him when he charged, but she hadn't been able to run fast enough in the dark forest to escape him.

Coughing and still choking, she reached back and drove a wimp's punch into Graham's rock hard belly, croaking out, "Let me go, you bully."

"I'll let you go, you little rat, when you've learned a lesson or two about paying respects to your betters. Kneel, whelp. The king of England speaks to you."

"So kiss my Aunt f.a.n.n.y," Bella complained as she crumpled to her knees. G.o.d, let me die right now, please.

She sank onto her bootheels, covering what might be visible of her face with her black gloved hands. n.o.body upstairs was listening. She felt the crowd shift as more torches were brought to the center by taller squires.

Right in front of her, Geoffrey Chandos stood at King Edward's side, as curious as every man and boy in the crowd. G.o.d, she'd been so close, so close. Why did You have to put James Graham there? She wanted to turn around and latch her arms and legs onto his right leg and bite his kneecap till it bled, the pig, the swine! Why did he have to have b.a.l.l.s of solid bra.s.s?

"Your Majesty," a deep voice inquired from the shadowy periphery. Recognizing that voice even when it was speaking Norman French, Bella froze. "Did we not just agree that there will be no prisoners taken at Crecy?" "Chandos, I believe that is exactly what we just decided. Can't be bothered with feeding them when we're on the march."

How sophisticated, Bella mentally sneered, the oldest interrogation trick in the book; good guy, bad guy. She'd read it in a thousand mysteries and seen it acted out much more effectively on television. She glared at the gold lions rampaging across the the King of England's cotte hardie.

"Fine," Bella growled in a voice that would never sing soprano again. "Make it quick. I'd hate to linger."

King Edward scowled. He couldn't believe what he was hearing...such disrespect and deplorable manners...even if the boy was a peasant and ignorant he should know better than to speak to his elders and n.o.bility so crudely.

"Unmask the boy," Edward ordered.

That was the last thing Bella wanted. She immediately raised one hand and called out, "Wait!" She had her breath back. Now, if she could just escape. How? Geoffrey. She looked quickly at the boy, seeing that he wore a dagger at his waist.

If she was quick, she could take his knife and use him for a hostage. No, she couldn't. Stop thinking like that! She hadn't come here to put Geoffrey in danger. She'd come to take him out of danger.

"Your Majesty." Bella raised her hand to her throat, as if that gesture might somehow heal her crushed larynx. "I'm not a spy."

"What's that you say? You are not a spy? Then, pray, do tell us who you are and why you sneak about my camp?"

With one hand up in a gesture of surrender, Bella reached behind her head with her right hand and loosened the tie on her mask, pulling it down from her face. "I'm a mother," she said to the king.

Geoffrey gasped. Bella tried to keep her eyes fixed on Edward, since he was in control of all these other raging mountains of testosterone, but she couldn't. It was Geoffrey who pulled on her heart strings. She saw his face flood with color and those gentle brown eyes tore a hunk right out of her heart when they hardened into Apache tears.

"It's a woman," someone gasped.

Geoffrey's face twisted with shame, solidifying as fast as quick lime to a mask of fury Bella had never thought to see in her lifetime.

"Goeffrey, no! Wait, let me explain!" She fought to gain her feet as the child bolted. His small agile body dove through gaps in the ranks. Bella hadn't gotten more than one knee off the ground before Graham's hands clamped onto her shoulder, holding her where she was. She couldn't hold back the soft curse that followed. "d.a.m.n."

Another fierce hand clamped onto her head. Ungentle fingers tore at her black scarf, disposing of the cloth.

"Lady Chandos," King Edward announced.

There really wasn't anything to say to that. Bella didn't much want to look at Edward Plantagenet. She wasn't willing to risk looking at Chandos or Graham either. There was this wave thing going through the crowd, echoing what the king had just said about a thousand times.

"What do you here?" The king repeated his question.

Bella stared at the wrinkled hose at his knees. Would the truth help her cause? "I'm here to take Geoffrey home."

For a very long time the king of England just stared at Bella. The expression on his face boded no good. Bella gulped, swallowed and couldn't hold his direct stare.

"How did you get here?" he asked suspiciously.

"I've got a horse back in the woods." Bella pointed toward the forest.

"A horse brought you from England?" His question sounded as preposterous as her previous answer.

Bella took a breath before answering, "No, I have been in Calais with my father since the second day of August."

"Calais is twenty leagues north, Lady Chandos."

"Yes, Your Majesty, it is." Bella's voice broke and she cleared her throat once more. "But Jean de Vienne's vineyard is but four leagues northwest. It is the week of the wine harvests, sire. Flanders is not expecting a war to interrupt their celebrations."

Bella let her hands fall into her lap. She saw that King Edward had his right hand raised, palm up. The gesture could be a call for silence from the crowd, but it looked more like a specific signal to the man on Bella's left side to hold himself in check. She didn't dare glance at Chandos higher than the white-knuckled fist clenched on her left shoulder.

"Then what are you doing here?" The king echoed her qualifier. "Isabella Chandos, stand! You will come with me."

"Your Majesty," Bella said quickly. "I don't think I can...get up...that is." The king glared down at her. Color flooded his cheeks as he again motioned to Chandos not to put a hand on her, calling instead upon Prince Edward to escort Bella to his pavilion.

As newly-knighted Edward stepped out of the crowd and took hold of her arm, Bella let out a small sigh of relief. She hadn't seen Robin yet, but expected he would be the last person here to rush forward owning up to being related to her. It wasn't just Bella's knees that were shaky. Shock had set in. Her whole body trembled badly.

At the canvas-roofed pavilion adjacent to the king's tent were four long trestles. Obviously, a meal had been consumed. Few sc.r.a.ps remained on the boards.

Prince Edward drew out his father's lone chair and seated Bella, tilted the chair slightly and pushed the armrests flush against the trestle. She felt like a small child being seated at the grown-ups table. She let her hands fold atop of the sticky wood and waited.

Something delayed the king down the hill. His son circled the trestle and picked up a pitcher and a tankard.