“Tales of battle are better told over a cask of wine and late at night.”

He grumbled in disappointment. “What took you so long to find your way home? Pembroke came this way over a week ago. Said he lost you after the battle and had not heard from you. For shame, you should have seen your poor wife. She assumed you were dead. We all did.”

“How unfaithful of you all.” I gave up on getting clean water and put on the shirt I had dried my face on. Next, I went in search of a fresh pair of hose. As she always did, Joan had lain everything out for me on top of the chest at the end of our bed. “The king has another sycophant, Uncle.”

His white feathered eyebrows leapt upward. “Who?”

“Hugh Despenser the Younger. His brother-in-law, Gilbert de Clare, was killed at Bannockburn. I think he covets his earldom.”

“Gloucester dead? That will set things on end.” He hunched forward, scenting scandal. “Is Despenser anything like Piers de Gaveston?”

The king had pandered to the impertinent Gaveston, a man of humble Gascon origins, by granting him the earldom of Cornwall. Rumors about the king and Gaveston had abounded, until the Gascon’s murder ended speculation. “No, this is no roistering boyhood friend of the king’s, to be spoiled with sparkling jewels and fancy clothes. No, he is . . . different.”

“Hah, I don’t doubt, given his stock. Watch him carefully, but from a distance.”

I hitched my shoulders in a half-shrug. “What do you mean? Do you know something of this Hugh the Younger?”