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This time Henry did take her in his arms, holding her. She dissolved into more tears, and yet he didn’t ask why.
He didn’t have to.
The sea rolled in, sullen and gray, matching the clouds above. The boat that had struck the sandbar had been dragged clear and now rested against the wharf, unloading its cargo. Master Will was much in evidence, casting his eye over everything, playing at being in charge. He nodded at Henry, but it was clear he was wishing him anywhere but here.
“Not a friend of yours, my lord?”
Henry smiled at Reynard without humor. “He blames me for his failure to swindle Lady Jenova. He does not realize she is far too clever to be swindled by him or anyone else.”
Reynard gazed out at the sea. “So, what is it you intend to do here? The silt will continue to come, unless something is done to stop
it.”
“You are aright, Reynard.” Henry cast his eye over the entrance to the harbor. “What we need is a sea groin, a narrow wall striking out into the sea, a barrier to stop the currents from washing the silt into the harbor entrance.”
“There was such a thing here before, long ago.”
Henry looked to him with interest. “How do you know that?”
“Matilda, my aunt, at the Black Dog. When the first ship ran aground she said her husband had told her that at one time there had been a timber and stone wall, running out into the sea. It was old, very old, and rotted even when her husband’s father was a boy. Roman built, perhaps.”
“The Romans have been busy at Gunlinghorn. Do you know where it was? Exactly?”
“I can find out, my lord. There will be signs still, and memories are long here.”
“Then that is where we will build our sea groin.”
Reynard nodded. “It will take many men, and much hard work, quarrying the rock and carrying it here. And we will need timber from the woods. Have we enough men for it?”
“We can bring in more from my estates. And it will be worth it in the long run. Gunlinghorn has the chance to grow rich on profits from this harbor. We cannot afford to lose it.”
Henry heard the we too late to keep himself from saying it. We, as if he and Jenova were a pair. As if Gunlinghorn belonged to them both. She had asked him to stay, and he was too much of a coward to explain why he had to go. She had said she would forgive him almost anything, but Henry did not believe her. The cold, hard truth was that, deep inside, Henry honestly believed he was not worthy of a woman like Jenova.
“Then any amount of trouble is worth it,” Reynard agreed. “And if it fails, then at least we will have tried.” He did not seem to be aware of Henry’s silence, or if he was, he was too clever to give himself away.
“Aye, sometimes one has to try.”
He should tell her, but the very thought of opening that door to his past made him shake and tremble. The risks were too great. He could bear it if the king turned away from him, or if his friends scorned him, but not Jenova. If Jenova lost her faith in him, then Henry knew he would die.
The two men stood a moment, looking out to the sea, both deep in their own thoughts. The cold, salty air blew against Henry’s face, clearing his mind. He would build the sea groin. Even if he did no more and was not here to see it finished, he would begin the task and order its completion. It would be for Jenova, something that would last for many, many years to come, long after Henry was gone. And mayhap, when she looked upon it, she would remember him kindly.
“Lord Henry?”
Reynard was still standing beside him, but he was no longer looking out to sea. He was gazing beyond the wharf and the timber buildings that lined it, to the narrow track that led across the sand dunes and up onto the clifftops.
Henry followed his gaze. There were a horse and rider coming swiftly in their direction. The wind was blowing the rider’s cloak back behind him like a pair of large black wings. Beneath them he wore some sort of dark robe, a priest’s robe, and his face…
He had no face.
“Jesu,” Reynard whispered, crossing himself. Several of the seamen working close by also crossed themselves, as if they were in the presence of evil.
The man and horse reached the wharf, hooves clattering across the timber surface, before drawing to an abrupt halt only a few yards from where Henry and Reynard stood. Henry realized now that the man was not faceless, as he had first thought. Where his face should have been, he wore a cloth hood, with holes cut for his eyes and mouth. It was the sort of thing Henry had seen worn by lepers. Was that what this priest was? A leper? Or one who had worked among them, and then been taken by that dreadful sickness?
And yet there was something threatening about him that caused Henry to think this was not a friendly visit. “Who are you and what do you want?” he demanded loudly, resting his hand upon the hilt of his sword.
The priest settled his restive mount, his gloved fingers stroking the beast’s neck. It was a fine animal, a black stallion, and more suited to a wealthy and powerful baron than a mere priest. He had lifted his face in Henry’s direction, and although Henry could not see his features, he felt his stare. There was a stillness about him, a silence, that was entirely menacing.
Henry felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.
