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Cornwall, Warrene, and
Richard Marshal went surety for him to place him in honorable confinement.”
    “So that was what Walter meant when he started to rave about
Henry not trusting to the honor of the two men dearest to him. He meant
Cornwall and Richard Marshal! Walter was so angry that I could hardly make head
or tail of what he said, but I gathered that the king dismissed the guards
assigned by de Burgh’s wardens and set others in their place.”
    “Walter told you that?” Simon remarked, grinning. Until he had
met the women of Roselynde, Walter had been prone to say women had no room for
anything but the roots of their hair inside their heads. Now he was discussing
politics with Sybelle.
    “Never mind Walter,” Sybelle insisted. “Why did the king
change de Burgh’s guards?”
    “It is beyond me,” Simon admitted. “God knows Richard
Marshal and Richard of Cornwall had no love for de Burgh. They were at his
throat all along. Warrene and Ferrars were less opposed, perhaps, but their
first loyalty is to Henry and certainly neither of them would have countenanced
de Burgh’s escape or his meddling in the realm’s governance again.”
    “Then it was spite,” Sybelle said distastefully. “The king
was not satisfied that de Burgh should be comfortable in his imprisonment. He
wished him to suffer.”
    “No,” Simon contradicted slowly. “I do not like Henry, but
he is not a man to be cruel for the sake of cruelty alone. It is true that he
has increased the severity of the conditions under which de Burgh is held—I
have even heard that the old man is kept manacled—but there is some other
reason, not simply a desire to be cruel.”
    “Why not?”
    “Henry docs not enjoy making others suffer—that much I know
of him. Besides, if cruelty was the purpose, Henry would have gone to gloat
over de Burgh, to relish his tears and groans. That he has never done.”
    “No, that is true. In fact, Papa was saying that the king
cannot bear to listen to a report on de Burgh’s condition. But why—”
    “I think Henry is still afraid of the man,” Simon said
slowly, frowning in thought rather than anger or distaste. It was always good
for him to talk to Sybelle because while explaining to her he straightened out
matters in his own mind. “Papa once said that when Henry was a boy, he was
always a little afraid of de Burgh. He loved the old Earl of Pembroke, you can
tell that when he talks of him to this day, and the Bishop of Winchester
fascinated him—and still does—but it seems to me that Papa must be right. When
Henry speaks of de Burgh it is almost like a boy who has escaped from a harsh
tutor and cannot really believe he has escaped.”
    “But surely the king must have got over that feeling. It is
more than a year—”
    “I hope you are wrong,” Simon interrupted, his frown
deepening. “If it is not for that reason, then the king has done what Walter
believes—that is, changed the guards as a deliberate affront to Richard
Marshal.”
    “But why, Simon? I cannot get any sense out of Walter when I
ask. He gets so angry he sputters and chokes. And I do not like to ask Papa. He
is so unhappy about the king’s behavior.”
    “Are you sure it is the king’s behavior that makes Walter
sputter and choke?” Simon teased. “You grow more beautiful every day, Sybelle.”
    That was not a fond uncle’s flattery. Sybelle was as
beautiful as her mother, if less flamboyant. In Sybelle, Joanna’s flame-red
hair was muted to a deep golden bronze, and she had her father’s changeable
light-brown eyes, bright as new-minted gold when she was happy. Her skin was
also a blend of her mother’s milk-white and Geoffrey’s warmer complexion. Altogether,
Sybelle was a golden girl, warm and rich as honey in the sun.
    “Never mind that,” Sybelle said dismissively. She liked to
be flattered as well as the next girl, and she enjoyed Simon’s frank approval,
but at the moment she did not want Simon to be diverted from