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“Your plan? And the men in your order?” His mask of indifference back in place, the bishop folded his hands on his lap, the glint of a particularly massive gold ring drawing Guy’s eye.

Once he uttered the names, there would be no turning back. There was already no turning back.

“Conrad Saint-Clair, the Earl of Licheford. Terric Kennaugh, chief of Clan Kennaugh and Earl of Dromsley,” he said, naming the Scot’s two titles. “And Sir Lancelin Wayland of Marwood and now lord of Tuleen.”

“The blacksmith.”

It was Guy’s turn to be surprised. “You are well informed, Your Excellency.”

“Indeed.”

If he had heard of Lance, the bishop had no doubt been informed his friend had married the Earl of Stanton’s daughter. Which meant he knew the Northumbrian border lord was on their side. Guy decided then he liked the bishop. Despite his show of wealth and stoic countenance, Conrad had been correct in his assessment of the man. He was intelligent. Straightforward. Guy could appreciate both qualities.

“I could have you and your friends hung for treason,” the bishop correctly assessed.

If the bishop were being honest, he’d give no less.

“I would not allow that to happen.”

The man actually smiled.

“And you would prevent it by?”

“Any means necessary.”

Bishop Salerno uncrossed his hands and leaned forward. “You would kill a man of God?”

He did not hesitate with the ugly truth. “I would do anything for those men.”

“And you would die for your efforts,” the bishop shot back.

“Indeed.”

The bishop glanced at the still-closed door. “Tell me of your plans.”

Guy had negotiated with all sorts of men. He’d learned it was best to keep his words short and honest. “With your support—”

“My coin, you mean?”

“Aye.” The bishop could not, would not, support them publicly. But that was not their aim. “I will meet with the leader of Bande de Valeur. Convince him to take his company back to France. I know the man well and once fought beside him. With the right amount of coin, I’m confident in my ability to persuade him. Without the mercenaries he’s secured, John has only his southern army and unhappy Northern retainers to call on.”

“You will ask for an audience with the king, then?”

“Nay,” he said, thinking of the day Conrad had proposed this plan. “We will demand it.”

Salerno had all of the information he needed now. Sitting back, the bishop continued to watch him. There were more names, additional barons that Conrad and Terric had brought to their side. But Guy would give no more details, and the bishop knew it.

He also knew they had his support. Which was a good thing as he’d understated their need. All of the earls and barons they’d gathered into the fold possessed only a fraction of this man’s wealth. Without him, they could not afford to make an offer large enough to compel the French mercenaries King John had secured, for a war against his own people, to turn back to France.

But would he risk supporting them, even if such support was silent?

It was rumored John may seek the pope’s support. Although the pontiff would never back the monarch financially, his word held incredible weight, and it would make securing new allies nearly impossible for the order. Add in Bande de Valeur’s presence . . . and their rebellion would end before it truly began.

“I will give you any amount necessary to convince them back to the shores of their homeland. Do what you must,” the bishop said as if commenting on the warmth of the chamber in which they sat.

So Conrad had been right. Bishop Salerno despised the king as much as they did. Whether it was his exorbitant taxes or ruthless policies, or some other, more personal reason, Guy cared not.

He allowed for his own smile then, standing. When Bishop Salerno did the same, extending a hand, Guy shook it heartily.