The Reckoning - 3 by Sharon Kay Penman Page B

asunder the very foundation of the realm, dashed us down into hellish chaos and darkness! Look at the allies he drew to him: the London rabble, Oxford students, unlettered village priests, Welsh rebels. But not men of good birth, not men of the peerage. And yet there are people who still hold his memory dear, who have made him into a martyr, who bleat that he died for them and their precious Runnymede Charter, for their 'liberties.' If Simon de
Montfort is a saint, then I'm the living, breathing incarnation of Christ
Jesus the
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Redeemer! But fools flourish in England like the green bay tree, and still he wreaks havoc upon us, even now from the grave."
None had dared to interrupt. When Edward at last fell silent, Eleanora crossed to his side, wiped away with gentle fingers the perspiration that trickled down his temples. He looked exhausted by his outburst, by this continuing struggle to defeat a phantom foe five years dead.
"Do you know whom I truly blame for Hal's death? Simon de Montfort, for it was he who led us to the cliff's edge. He's beyond my powers to punish. But his sons are not, and I shall see them in Hell. This I swear upon the surety of
Hal's soul."
TALAMONE, THE MAREMMA, TUSCANY
May 1271
V^JTHER men might envision Hell as a subterranean underworld, an abyss filled with flames and rivers of boiling blood. But to Hugh, Hell would forever after be the bleak, low-lying marshes of the Maremma.
Hugh was not alone in hating it, this vast, barren swampland stretching north from Viterbo, south from Siena, a haven for snakes, wild boar, and pestilent fevers. Men who'd remained loyal to Bran, even after Viterbo, balked at the
Maremma, and their numbers dwindled daily.
None knew exactly what had passed between Bran and his brother;
Bran said nothing and not even the bravest man dared to breach his frozen silence. That the rupture had come surprised no one, for Guy nad taken a bitter satisfaction in his act of vengeance, and Bran, once d sobered up, was sickened by it. Most of their men made the pre-

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dictable and pragmatic decision to remain at Sovana Castle with Guy and his powerful father-in-law. But a score of knights had elected to follow Bran.
These die-hard loyalists had not bargained upon the Maremma, though, had not bargained upon endless, empty days under a searing sun, a landscape of windswept desolation, muddy bogs, reed-choked ponds of stagnant water. The impoverished port of Orbetello, the shabby ^coastal village of Talamone, the inland town of Grosseto, then back to Talamonetheirs was an aimless wandering without purpose or plan, and to the disgruntled, uneasy men, it began to seem like the accursed odyssey of Cain. Bran shrugged off their queries, ignored their protests, and as their patience waned, one by one they slipped away. By this hot, humid Whitsunday in late May, they had all forsaken Bran but two
Hugh and a French knight, Sir Roger de Valmy.
Hugh had risen early, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere of their inn.
He'd meandered about the harbor for a while, practicing his Tuscan upon obliging passersby. Out of sheer boredom, he stopped to help the blacksmith shoe a recalcitrant filly and then drew well water for an elderly widow. When several youths invited him to join in a rough-and-tumble game of palone, he was quick to accept.
Hugh was still surprised by the continuing friendliness of the Tuscan people.
They were unabashedly curious about the Viterbo murder, but he found none of the hostility he'd expected. While he encountered no one who condoned the killing, he met no one who did not understand it, either. Blood-feuds were too familiar to shock. A pity, all agreed, before pointing out that it would not have happened if the Earl's body had not been so foully abused at Evesham. Two sides of the same coin, no? Men crossed themselves, then shrugged.
For several hours the boys tossed a football back and forth. By the time the game broke up, Hugh was sweaty and out of breath and limping