The Reckoning - 3 by Sharon Kay Penman Page A

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Edmund's, but it had later darkened, was now a brownish-black, although in full sunlight, his beard still showed redgold flecks. His eyes were a pale, clear blue like Henry's, and like Henry, one eyelid drooped drowsily. A slight speech impedimenta faint lisp which would have put another man at a distinct disadvantage, was in Edward an irrelevancy, so impressive was his physique, so dominant his personality. White teeth flashed now as he laughed, throwing his head back, enveloping Edmund in another exuberant hug.
"By God, lad, it's glad I am to see you! What word from England?"
"I have a casket full of letters for you. Mama is thriving, as ever. But Papa is still ailing, and so is Uncle Richard. When he hears about Hal, it's like to kill him, Ned."
"You know, then." Edward's voice was flat. "All of it?" Edmund nodded quickly, hoping thus to avert a gory reenactment of the crime. He would rather not dwell upon the brutal details of his cousin's death, although he was unwilling to admit this, lest the other men think him squeamish or soft. Edward had begun to pace back and forth, taking long, sweeping strides, every line of his body communicating his outrage. He had yet to notice his wife, who seemed content to wait until he did.
"What I cannot understand," Edward said suddenly, "is why Hal did not fight back. If it had been me . . ." He shook his head, then gave Edmund a look of such searing intensity that his brother was thankful ne was not the real recipient. "I would have bartered my very soul for a chance to cross swords with Guy de Montfort," he said, and none doubted him.
Moving to the window, Edward stood for some moments, staring
°ut at the silver-sheened lake. "I would that I could lead the hunt to ack them down. But my army awaits me at Acre. Charles has promised,
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though, that he'll see them brought to justice. Christ pity him if he does not, for I've sworn a holy oath that the de Montforts shall pay for Hal's murder, every one of them, and I"
"Every one of them? Surely not Aunt Nell, too?" Edmund blurted out uneasily, and Edward gestured impatiently.
"Of course not. Aunt Nell would not have countenanced such a killing." After a pause, he said grudgingly, "And neither would Simon." *^n acknowledgment to an enemy did not come easily to Edward; moving back to the table, he reached for a cup of sweet red wine, swallowed to take the taste away. "There was a time, though, when I would have said the same of Bran ..."
William de Lusignan laughed. "I hear he has not drawn a sober breath in years.
He was probably so besotted he thought the bloodletting to be some quaint
Italian custom, part of the Mass!"
Edmund and Thomas and Erard looked at him in distaste, the first two because they detested him, Erard because he had been Bran's friend. But then, so had
Edwardonce. He was staring out onto the lake again, eyes narrowed against the white Sicilian sun. "It was mainly Guy's doing," he said. "I know that, for I
know Guy, God rot his misbegotten soul! But the fact that his guilt is greater does not excuse Bran or Amaury. They, too, have a debt to pay, and I shall see that they do."
"Amaury, too?" Edmund gasped, horrified that a priest might have taken part in a church killing. "I heard naught of Amaury at Naples!"
Erard shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wanting to speak up for Amaury, but loath to remind Edward of his friendship with the de Montforts. Thomas was reluctant, too, to intervene, but he'd been burdened with an innate sense of fairness. "Ned, you know there is no proof whatsoever that Amaury was"
Edward spun around. "Proof? He is Simon de Montfort's spawn, is he not? What more proof do I need? When I think of all that man has to answer for, the evil ideas he brought to England like some noxious French pox, the way he tried to cripple the God-given powers of kingship, I know he must be burning in eternal hellfire!"
By then the others had realized he was speaking not of Amaury, but of Simon.
"He would have torn