“They were the only solution that would let him save face,” she said with some gravity, “but I wish there had been another. Roger put himself in a box, I just pointed the way out. Men are difficult things, you know. A decade of marriage to Waleran has taught me how to challenge a man without insulting him, how to lure out his desire to explain himself without making him think his words are wasted upon a woman. This world is tenfold more difficult for us women than for men, but neither are we prone to absolutism the way they are.”

“Absolutism?”

“They prefer to find enemies,” she explained. “They blame their troubles on wicked men and cruel gods rather than their own shortcomings. They’d sooner believe that some arcane black magic has been aimed against them than to realize they have their own faults. They think their successes are proof that God smiles upon them, or that they have magic of their own. But there’s no magic in the real world, Arable. Magic is cheating. Reality demands that we defeat our enemies by being craftier than them, to battle our dragons with policy and prose. Roger has been trying to do this alone, for too long.”

“What can we do?”

“We can remind him he’s not alone. We can push him when he needs to be pushed. And look for the opportunities he doesn’t see. These raids are no kindness, but they are worth it to keep Roger in power for a bit longer. As you are very well aware, barons and earls can be contemptuous, selfish things. Nottinghamshire has no idea how lucky it is to have Roger de Lacy at its head. His grandmother’s lands will simply have to wait.”

Her cheeks hurt when she smiled, but Arable couldn’t stop herself.

“Both you and Roger, Arable, have been losing for years. Not because the world is set against you or because your enemies have divine power, but simply because you have not been crafty enough to outwit them.”

Margery tapped the table with the quill.

“We’re going to change that.”

THIRTY-FOUR

MARION FITZWALTER

THE OAK CAMP