Page 18 of Wolfehound (De Wolfe Pack Generations #11)

“Was your ancestor with them?”

Ronec shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “My ancestors came from the Carpathian region, believe it or not. Long ago, we were rulers. We were not from Normandy or Brittany and the anges du guerre came from that area. But our rule was taken from us in some damn bloody wars, and we migrated to Rome, where we entered into service for the church. We came to these shores because we served the pope at the time and he lent legions to support the Duke of Normandy. We stayed in service with the Normans once they settled these lands, mostly with magistrate duties or within the army of the church. That is how I came into your service, Your Grace. I was gifted to you, if you recall, by a grateful prince of the church.”

Canterbury smiled faintly. “I remember very well,” he said. “You are one of the greatest gifts I have ever received—but do not let that swell your head, and if you tell anyone, I will deny it.”

Ronec chuckled softly. “I will not speak of it, I promise,” he said, but he quickly sobered. “So now we have something of a volatile piece of information given to us by that fool.”

Canterbury snorted. “You thought him a fool, too?” he said. “The man is greedy. He only gave me the information because he wants something. I know an ambitious man when I see one.”

“What are you going to do?”

Canterbury sighed heavily and set his cup down. “I am not entirely certain,” he said. “A few things were crossing my mind as I heard the news.”

“Like what?”

“Like using the information as leverage against Edward,” he said.

“You know as well as I do that he has increased the taxes on the clergy and I have little ground to stand on in protest. Edward is old, but he is cunning and he’ll do what he can to exert power over me, yet if I had Gwenllian of Wales in my possession… ”

He trailed off, and Ronec could see where this was going.

He was the unofficial advisor to the Archbishop of Canterbury, an elite knight who was supposed to be the man’s protection and nothing more, but Canterbury had discovered early on that Ronec was so much more than muscle and skill.

The man had impeccable advice and wisdom.

Canterbury relied on him more for his moral and ethical advice rather than the religious kind.

He had an army of priests for that. But Ronec kept him grounded.

“If you have Gwenllian of Wales, I do not think it will have the effect you are looking for,” he said.

“We all know the story of the children of Llywelyn the Last and his brother, Dafydd. The girls were sent to a convent and the sons were taken somewhere and disappeared. But Gwenllian has the distinction of being the granddaughter of King John, so she shares that with Edward. They are related by blood. That means she is treated differently.”

Canterbury nodded. “She was sent to a priory in Lincolnshire,” he said. “But why do you say that taking her hostage will not have the desired effect against Edward?”

Ronec tried to phrase his advice carefully.

Canterbury was a powerful man who always believed he was right, so this had to be handled delicately.

“Because right now, it is simply a power struggle between the two of you, Your Grace,” he said.

“You have a tense relationship, but he is not out to destroy you. He tolerates you as you tolerate him. If you take Gwenllian and use her against him, however you choose, then he will see this as an assault. He will go to war with you, and I can only imagine that it will make the situation between the Crown and the church that much worse.”

Canterbury pondered the advice carefully. He picked up his cup again, drinking deeply, as if that would somehow help his mind work.

“I do not want to make things worse than they are,” he admitted. “But this information cannot be ignored.”

“I agree, Your Grace,” Ronec said. “You need not ignore it. But be strategic. Think about the gratitude the king would feel if you told him about her. He would think you were doing him a favor.”

That lit a fire in Canterbury’s eyes. “Of course,” he said as if a tremendous idea had just occurred to him. “If I told him about her, then that would put him in my debt.”

“That is precisely what I was thinking.”

So was Canterbury. “Think on it, Ronec,” he said excitedly. “I tell him about Gwenllian and William de Wolfe’s betrayal and the next time I make a request of him, he will grant it because he is beholden to me.”

Ronec nodded. “I think it is a better idea, Your Grace,” he said, feeling relieved that the man was listening to him.

“Tell him what you know and let him do what he will with the information. As that foolish priest told you, let the burden no longer be yours. It will be where it belongs—with Edward. Let the king decide what’s to be done. ”

Canterbury considered the situation a few moments longer before standing up. “Very well,” he said. “Go to Edward’s men personally and arrange an audience with him. Tell him… tell him I have information I think he’ll very much want to hear.”

Ronec headed for the door. “Immediately, Your Grace.”

He’d made it to the door, but Canterbury stopped him. “Wait,” he said, pausing. “You never did answer me about William de Wolfe. Do you think he was capable of this kind of betrayal?”

Ronec had his hand on the door latch. “William de Wolfe possessed intelligence and support that Edward could only dream of,” he said quietly.

“He had a more contentious relationship with the king than you do. See how you are treating the information now, how you intend to put Edward in your debt with it. Do you think, for one moment, that if de Wolfe had the opportunity to stab Edward in the back, he would do it? Of course he would. Considering how Edward treated him over the years, I would say Edward deserves it. If you truly want to ally with someone, Your Grace, pick a de Wolfe every time. They will be your strongest supporter or your worst enemy. With Edward, unfortunately for him, it is the latter.”

Canterbury accepted that explanation. “He’s not made many friends, has he?” he said. “I think that with this scrap of information, he might realize just how much his warlords hate him.”

“Edward? I doubt it.”

Perhaps that was true, but Canterbury didn’t debate it. He waved him on. “Hurry, now,” he said. “I would deliver this news to Edward quickly.”

Ronec lifted the latch, but he didn’t go out the door. In fact, he hesitated, so much so that Canterbury looked at him curiously.

“What?” he said. “What is it?”

Ronec drew in a long, thoughtful breath. “You know that St. Zosimus will not keep silent on this,” he said. “He could very well go to Edward himself and you would be left with nothing.”

Canterbury eyed him. “I’ve thought of that,” he said. “There is nothing to keep him from disobeying me and going to Edward directly.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Ronec said. “He is not to be trusted. Even if he does not tell Edward, he will tell others. I know the sort.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

Ronec was hesitant, but only for a moment. “Will you trust me to solve the problem, Your Grace?”

“Implicitly.”

“Then consider it solved.”

Canterbury nodded. “I will,” he said. “And I will further assume the problem solver will be Tyrus le Mon.”

“It will be, Your Grace.”

“Once he has finished solving that problem, send him to me. I have further need of him.”

“May I ask what for?”

Canterbury fell silent a moment, pondering everything he’d been told and the direction they’d decided to take. But he was currently rethinking that.

“To confirm a rumor,” he finally said. “I can go to the king with what we know, but it is simply the ramblings of a dying man. Mayhap I do not need to hold the Welsh princess hostage, but what if I were to have proof of her existence?”

Ronec cocked an eyebrow. “If you were to send someone like le Mon to discover the truth, it would do no good because it would, once again, be one man’s word on the situation,” he said. “The only proof you could have would be to literally have the princess in your custody.”

“Then mayhap we should rethink that.”

Ronec knew what the man meant. In spite of deciding to simply lay the rumors at Edward’s feet, now Canterbury had changed his mind. Perhaps he needed her after all. At the very least, he needed to confirm if there was, indeed, a young woman bearing Welsh royal blood at Sempringham Priory.

Or not.

It would take a special man, indeed, to make the discovery.

All princes of the church had their faithful men, but Tyrus le Mon went beyond the usual covert operative.

He was a fourth-generation assassin and spy, having once served with the Executioner Knights, a spy organization that had been formed by William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke, during the reign of King Richard the Lionheart.

If the Executioner Knights were considered the beating heart of England’s spy underworld, then Tyrus le Mon was part of the dark and dirty soul of it.

So dark and dirty, in fact, that the Executioner Knights had exiled him from further service.

And given what those men did for a living, that was saying something.

That was when Tyrus came into the service of the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Canterbury used le Mon like his own personal attack dog.

In the dangerous world of England’s politics, a man like le Mon was worth his weight in gold.

He could end problems, create problems, or anything else that was needed.

He charged his weight in gold, too, but his services were impeccable.

When Canterbury said he needed the man for a task, he wasn’t jesting.

It would be a most important and secretive task.

One le Mon was most suited for.

Something deadly…

As soon as Ronec left the chamber, the wheels were already in motion.