would weaken his kingship by spoiling him." Maryon's rich contempt of the lords of the Council was plain in her voice. "They deny her the child she has and would have refused her any marriage or children more because that would all be complications for our lords of the Council. A stepfather and half brothers to the King, no, they'd not allow that."
"So she married secretly and had her children secretly," said Frevisse. And kept her secrets this long, which told a great deal about both her strength of will and courage and how beloved she must be by those who served in her household, that they had kept her secret as well.
"And lived away in the country as much as might be and made a happiness for her and Lord Owen. But now the lords of the Council know," Maryon said, "and there'll be no more peace for her, poor lady, or for Lord Owen. Or for the children."
The pity sounded real, and the affection, too, emotions Frevisse had never seen in Maryon before. They might be feigned; she did not doubt Maryon was capable of great deceit when it served her purpose or the purpose of those she served. But the danger to the children this afternoon had been real, and so had Maryon and Jenet's fear. Despite herself, Frevisse heard herself asking, "What lords?"
"My lady most fears Gloucester." The King's uncle, and, until such time as King Henry had a son of his own, the King's heir since the death of the duke of Bedford last year. "But there's the bishop of Winchester, too, and the lords that follow him against Gloucester. He'll not be behindhand in a matter like this."
Frevisse had occasion to know something of the bishop of Winchester firsthand and did not argue that but said instead, "Your lady lied to my uncle five years ago when he came to her with suspicion of what she'd done."
Maryon's tone went milk-smooth again. "She told him true that she was secretly wed and would have a child by spring."
"And left out that she had two sons already," Frevisse said tartly. "Couldn't she have trusted him even that far?"
"He trusted you with that knowledge," Maryon said with a trace of that edge again. "Whom have you trusted with it?"
"No one."
Maryon was silent while she tested that reply. Then with a little nod, she said, "That was well done. And as to the rest, what isn't known can't be told. Even now. We don't know how much is known or by whom for certain. Word simply came that the boys were known of and men were coming for them. We left within the hour after that."
"And hope to reach Wales."
"Their father's people will keep them safe there."
"Until—" Frevisse cut off the question abruptly; her curiosity was taking her too far into things she had no need to know. Instead she said, "We'll give you what protection we can." She heard Maryon's held breath go out of her in a long sigh. "But the sheriff and crowner have to come because of the deaths. There'll be questions asked and you'll have to answer. Your being in the cloister will be suspicious."
'Then I'll go to stay in the guesthall. That will make it simpler." And put her in more peril if her fears were real, and there were men dead to prove they were. "But let the boys, and Jenet to care for them, stay in the cloister."
"There's a child here already. Lord Warenne's daughter. The boys can join her at her lessons, as if they're meant to be here, too. If no one mentions them as being with you, then it might be all right. And they'll be in the cloister and. safe."
She could feel Maryon nodding vigorously. "That might work. It might. Did you try your theory of the boys' parentage on anyone before me?"
"No. But I'm going to have to tell Domina Edith what's toward and ask her approval for it."
"Why?"
"Because she is my lady," Frevisse said, "and she still guides St. Friedeswide's."
"They say she's dying."
"But neither dead nor witless yet," Frevisse said.
"And you trust her."
"More than I