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ears.
    Toying with a knight, Gaunt glanced at his son. “Close the door.”
    Henry flung the door shut with vehemence. His concentration unbroken, Gaunt executed his move, then pinched the stem of his green-tinged Bohemian glass and triumphantly doused his throat with wine.
    “Ah, damnation. I’ll lose yet another.” Richard twisted his face. Quick to find distraction, he peered at Henry. “How goes it, Cousin? Where has Mowbray been these past two days? Not like him to avoid Parliament. I pray he has not taken ill.”
    “It would be to your great advantage if he were,” Henry said.
    Hands now clasped before him as he rested his elbows on the table, Richard caressed his jewel-encrusted rings. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the reason for Thomas Mowbray’s absence. Even though he had vaulted him to the dukedom of Norfolk, he had lately been nagged by an inkling of mistrust of the man. But more than Mowbray’s scheming, he feared Henry’s ambition. This sudden revelation was just one more instance of his cousin seeking to advance his worth in Richard’s eyes.
    Gaunt lifted his chin, stretching the folds of skin that marked his many years like the rings of a tree trunk. “You have news for the king?”
    “Oh, enough!” Henry grumbled. “It was you, Father, who urged me to do this. And by God, though I detest my mission, it must be done.”
    Above his glittering knuckles, Richard studied his cousin: the epitome of knighthood. A constant champion on the tournament field and possessing all the piety of an anointed crusader, he was a power worth recognizing. Even the ornate tapestry on the wall behind him depicting St. George slaying the dragon could have been spun in laud of him.
    “What must be done?” Richard said.
    Striding forward, Henry planted his rock-like fists on the table, rattling the chess pieces. “Thomas Mowbray says that you seek to plot against him. That all your pardons were for naught. He also says that I have every reason to plot against you, which I swear by all that is holy is untrue. I will not have him utter such lies about either myself or my king.”
    Richard lowered his hands, then rose and straightened his robes. “You speak of treason.”
    “That I do.”
    “Then you must bring this before Parliament.”
    “I know.” Henry’s gruff voice lowered. “I know as well that it was Mowbray himself at whose hands Gloucester died.”
    Richard tried hard to control his expression. The web of lies he had guarded until now threatened to tear. It had been the official statement that Gloucester had died of natural causes. He would have preferred that version to remain undisputed, for suspicion to simply vanish. “He will challenge you.”
    “I am well aware of that.”
    Richard moved a few steps, stopping behind his uncle. He could have pressed himself through the very cracks in the walls and not been far enough from Henry at that moment. “Henry, my dear cousin... this is a complicated matter. Perhaps it was no more than a thought spoken aloud and just as quickly dismissed. Or a rumor that —”
    “It was no rumor.” Henry’s face took on a revealing shade of red. His fingernails dug into the tabletop. He was not known for his ability to control his temper. “I was there. I heard him say it.”
    “All the same, you may wish you had never spoken of this without further proof. He will deny it. His supporters might well retaliate against you.”
    “And if I had kept it to myself, would I not then have been guilty of treason, as well? That I would not do. I have no wish to destroy your faithful followers, or myself for what it matters... but I will not stand idly by while such sedition grows and festers in your realm. Soon enough it will stink like plague-rotted corpses in your court.”
    His fingers again nervously probing the dazzling facets of his jewels, Richard nodded, half-convinced and wholly disturbed. “Very well. Your accusations will be heard before Parliament adjourns