William laughed again, like Odin’s self.
“Thou shalt have Lucia for that word.”
“And thou shalt have the plot ere it breaks. As it will.”
“To this have I come at last,” said William to himself, as they parted. “To murder these English nobles, to marry their daughters to my grooms. Heaven forgive me! They have brought it upon themselves by contumacy to Holy Church.”
“Call my secretary, some one.”
The Italian re-entered.
“The valiant and honorable and illustrious knight, Ivo Taillebois, Lord of Holland and Kesteven, weds Lucia, sister of the late earls Edwin and Morcar, now with the queen; and with, her, her manors. You will prepare the papers.
“I am yours to death,” said Ivo.
“To do you justice, I think thou wert that already. Stay—here—Sir Priest—do you know any man who knows this Torfrida?”
“I do, Majesty,” said Ivo. “There is one Sir Ascelin, a man of Gilbert’s, in the camp.”