“Go, then,” he said. “Please send me word on how your mother fares. I am anxious to know.”
Without another word, Gallus turned away and stormed across the great hall with his brothers, knights, and de Wolfe in tow. De Wolfe, in fact, was bringing up the rear, curiously watching Bigod and de Montfort as the two men appeared to bicker.
When de Montfort caught de Wolfe looking at him, he turned away from Bigod and began to talk to Hughston instead, but by then, the seed of suspicion had been planted in de Wolfe’s mind. There was something very odd going on. It was clear from his expression that he thought so. The Wolfe was cunning and sly, and he assumed most men thought the same way. That suspicion had served him well in his years along the Scottish border. With a lingering glance at de Montfort, de Wolfe followed the de Shera brothers from the hall.
When de Wolfe vanished, de Montfort turned away from Hughston and back to Bigod, who was drinking heavily at this point. He pushed Hugh’s cup away from his lips as the man went in for another big gulp of wine.
“Calm yourself,” de Montfort said quietly. “Everything will still go as planned. If Gallus returns home to find it under siege, of course he will send word to us for reinforcements and I will send you to save him. But if Henry is not at Isenhall yet, he soon will be, and again Gallus will send word to Kenilworth for assistance. Either way, you will ride to his aid. Have no fear.”
Bigod could see de Montfort’s logic and it was comforting for the most part. In any case, he didn’t feel quite so panicky. But he still finished the wine left in his cup, taking it in one great swallow. De Montfort wasn’t usually wrong and he had no reason to believe this would be any different. Still, he was unnerved. He didn’t like changes in a plan that was already in motion.
“But… but what do we do if Henry decides not to send his army to Isenhall?” he asked, looking about to make sure no one could hear their conversation. “What if he thinks nothing of this information we have sent him?”
De Montfort didn’t like to be questioned. “I know Henry,” he said quietly. “The mention of Jacques Honore alone will prompt him to move.”
Bigod was starting to second-guess everything. “But will the man believe you are genuinely betraying Gallus?” he wanted to know. “Everyone knows that you love Gallus. Mayhap Henry will think we are setting a trap for him!”
His voice was growing loud and de Montfort shushed him, as casually as he could. “Enough,” he said. “Henry will march on Isenhall. I would stake my life on it. Meanwhile, we have a task to complete. We must prepare for our assembly tonight and discuss our main issues with Henry. I plan to take it up with all of the barons, including Henry’s supporters, next month in Oxford.”
Bigod forced himself to cool. There was much to focus on, things more important than the death of a noblewoman. The situation with Gallus was one small cog in a giant wheel that was spinning towards the change of a nation. Taking a deep breath, he drained the contents of his wine cup.
“You are correct, of course,” he said. “I suppose all we can do now is wait to hear from Gallus.”
De Montfort nodded. “Indeed,” he replied. “We have more important things to focus on.”
As de Montfort and Bigod continued their conversation in hushed tones, Hughston, on de Montfort’s opposite side, caught wind of pieces of the discussion; Henry… Jacques Honore… Gallus… trap. De Russe pretended not to be listening at all, but he was. It all made for quite interesting speculation but when de Montfort and Bigod moved on to a discussion of Oxford and the next month’s assembly of all of the barons throughout England, Hughston excused himself from the table.
He caught Gallus before the man could depart Kenilworth with snippets of the conversation he had overheard. Concerned, and on-guard, Gallus headed for home.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Isenhall Castle
William had actually never been to Isenhall Castle and had not realized how close it was to Kenilworth. He had asked Gallus for permission to accompany him to Isenhall purely to visit his son, to which Gallus gladly agreed. It also seemed to William that the young earl might be in need of counsel, considering what had gone on at Kenilworth, so he left with the de Shera contingent without even telling de Montfort. Being a legendary warrior, and an older man to boot, de Wolfe could get away with almost anything. No one would speak ill of the all-powerful Wolfe and risk the man’s wrath, not even de Montfort.
It was a pleasant ride to Isenhall as spring was officially upon them. The birds were busy and the fields were beginning to blossom with bright green grass and a myriad of colorful flowers. At one point on their trek home, a litter of small rabbits dashed out onto the road and startled Maximus’ borrowed horse, as he had been forced to leave his lame silver charger at Kenilworth. The horse nearly threw the expert horseman but he somehow managed to retain his seat, off-balance, until Tiberius pushed him off completely. That brought some laughter to the ranks during a journey home that had not seen much levity. Everyone knew they were returning to Isenhall because of Lady Honey and emotions were somber.
Gallus had pulled all of his men from Kenilworth simply because he didn’t want to leave them behind, so it made for a rather large army returning to Isenhall because de Wolfe also brought his men along for the same reason – no one wanted to leave their army at Kenilworth under de Montfort’s command. Therefore, eight hundred men were traveling to Isenhall on this day along with seven knights, men of the highest order. It made for an impressive sight.
The road southeast crested on a small series of hills on the south side of Coventry, which the army had to pass by in order to return to Isenhall. It was the same road that Gallus and Jeniver had traveled when they had returned from Wales and there came a point in the rise where Isenhall could be seen in the distance. Like a beacon of honor and power, of familiarity, Gallus realized, when he caught a glimpse of his castle, that there was a lump in his throat. He was almost home.
All he could think on was his mother, tucked inside the dark-stoned bastion, as she lay dying without her sons around her. He should have never left her in the first place but, in hindsight, he knew he had done the right thing. He had to go to Kenilworth to set Bigod straight and to save his honor from the man’s petty gossip.
However, after what Hughston had told them before they left Kenilworth, it sounded to Gallus as if there was something more brewing with de Montfort and Bigod, something that involved him and Henry. He’d been thinking on it all the way home as, he was sure, the others in his party had been. He would not speak of it in the open for the soldiers to hear, but once they reached Isenhall, he fully intended to ask de Wolfe what the man thought of Hughston’s information. Clearly, there was more going on than met the eye. That concerned him.
Time passed, slowly it seemed, as they continued along the road but as they came to within a half mile of Isenhall, the great gates began to open and a horse and rider burst forth, charging off to the southeast. Gallus saw the rider leave and he was naturally curious about it, even going so far as to point the rider out to Maximus, who was already watching the event. Maximus shrugged, unconcerned, but Gallus continued to ponder the situation until the great gates of Isenhall swallowed them up.
With eight hundred men plus the two hundred already at Isenhall, it made for crowded conditions in the small bailey of Isenhall. Troy was on the battlements and, having seen his father arrive, nearly killed himself trying to get to the man. Troy and his father eventually came together near the gatehouse in a great bear hug as Scott joined them. It was a joyful reunion for The Wolfe and his two eldest sons as Gallus, Maximus, and Tiberius hurried into the keep. There was a great sense of urgency to get to their mother, something that was pushing them with every step they took.
As the three de Shera men entered the dark interior, Jeniver was descending the big staircase. She rushed at her husband, throwing herself into his arms, as Maximus and Tiberius bolted up the stairs, heading for Honey’s chamber. But for Gallus and Jeniver,
just for that moment, there was only the two of them in the whole, wide world. Jeniver hugged her husband so tightly that she was nearly strangling him.
“You have come home,” Jeniver breathed, her arms wrapped around Gallus’ neck. “I am so thankful. Gallus, there is much happening.”
Gallus kissed her head, her cheek, and finally her lips. She tasted so good that he kept kissing her until she put her hand against his lips and he was forced to stop.
“It is so good to see you,” he whispered, kissing her fingers. “I came as quickly as I could. How is my mother?”
Jeniver had a rosy glow about her as her early pregnancy began to announce itself. “She is asleep at the moment,” she said. “The physic is not sure she will last the day. But that is not the only reason you were summoned, Gallus. It is the most important reason but not the only one. Something has happened while you were away. We did not want to put it in a missive that could be intercepted.”
Gallus looked at her, his curiosity turning to horror. “You are well, aren’t you?” he nearly begged. “And my son? He is well?”
Jeniver could see that he thought she had meant the baby and hastened to reassure him. “He is well,” she insisted. “I am well, too. It has nothing to do with us.”
Gallus opened his mouth to question her further when Troy emerged through the keep entry, followed by his father, his brother, and the rest of the de Shera knights. Troy headed straight for Gallus.
“My lord,” he said, interrupting the reunion between Jeniver and Gallus. “Thank you for coming so quickly. There is much to tell.”
Gallus’ expression was wrought with confusion. “What else is happening around here?” he asked. “And where was that rider off to, the one you sent when we were approaching?”
Troy nodded quickly. “I will answer all of your questions, my lord, so please be patient,” he said. Then, he took a deep breath and launched into it. “Two days ago, Davyss de Winter appeared. He and his father and their army are camped about five miles south of Isenhall. It would seem that Henry received a missive from de Montfort stating that not only had you masterminded the destruction of Jacques Honore, but that you had also married a Welsh princess and were now allying yourself with the Welsh. Based on that missive, Henry then ordered the de Winter army to lay siege to Isenhall and confiscate it lest it become a base for the Welsh resistance. The rider I sent out of Isenhall was sent to fetch Davyss and his father and bring them here. They wanted to be notified when you returned home so that they could speak to you about this madness.”
When Troy was finished, Gallus was looking at the man as if he had utterly lost his mind but as the news begin to settle, he looked at de Wolfe, stricken.
“What Hughston said,” he said in disbelief. “De Montfort and Bigod were speaking of Honore and Henry and a trap. Is that what they meant? That they had set a trap for me somehow?”
De Wolfe could see the horror of betrayal on the young earl’s face. “It is possible,” he said steadily. “When we left Kenilworth, they seemed to be bickering a great deal. Something was amiss, I could sense it. Now, it would seem that there was good reason to wonder. Still, it begs to reason as to why they would set a trap for you. What could possibly be their motivation because if you are weakened or even killed, that would destroy a very major part of their rebellion? It makes no sense at all to have their muscle compromised. Moreover, if you found out about it, you could just as easily turn on them and that would be devastating for de Montfort’s cause.”
Gallus knew all of that but he was still reeling, reeling with the fact that de Montfort had evidently betrayed him to Henry with regards to Jacques Honore’s death. Furthermore, de Montfort was accusing him of siding with the Welsh. All of these things would bring Henry down upon him and they all knew it. It was treachery at the deepest level.
Gallus was at a loss, he truly was. Staggered with the weight of deceit and with his mother’s illness, he put his hands to his head and turned away. He simply couldn’t believe what lengths de Montfort had gone to in order to betray him. He couldn’t even think on why. All he could think on was that it had been done. Now he had no ally in either de Montfort or Henry. He was between causes, isolated, and now targeted. Yanking his helm from his sweaty head, he set it on the nearest table.
“Is this what it has come to?” he muttered. “A man I have sworn fealty to would betray me?”
Everyone could see how shattered he was. De Wolfe was the only one who wasn’t heavily emotionally invested in the situation, so William was able to think more clearly than the rest.
“De Montfort never does anything without a reason, Gallus,” he said quietly. “You must think about why he did this. It could not have been to destroy you. I cannot see that he would do such a thing. There must be something else behind it.”
Gallus thought on that a moment, feeling sickened and wronged. Then, a thought occurred to him, a very real factor behind the situation.
“Someone else behind it,” he murmured. “Bigod accused me of allying myself with the Welsh. He was the only one who said that. I never heard it from de Montfort. Bigod must have been behind this missive. But if that is the case, then why did de Montfort send it?”
No one had an answer for him because the situation, at first glance, was far too complex. Duplicity usually was. Jeniver, feeling a huge amount of pity for the stress her husband was under, slipped her hand into his, smiling up at him when he gazed down at her. It was the only comfort she could offer.
Seeing Jeniver’s smile and feeling her warmth bolstered Gallus and fed his sagging spirit. Surely not all was wrong in the world if he still had her by his side. Her reassurance, her faith, would allow him to think clearly through the haze of confusion and anguish. He struggled to clear his mind with just that thought. Jeniver is my strength. Squeezing her hand, he turned to the knights.
“I am going to see my mother now,” he said, hoarsely. “Please tell me when Davyss arrives. I will want to speak with him immediately.”
It was a thoroughly demoralizing moment in the illustrious career of the Thunder Lord. Betrayal from the most unexpected place had all of the de Shera knights wary of what the future would hold. Still, they would not desert Gallus. They were loyal to the de Shera brotherhood until the death no matter if the entire world had turned against them. Abandonment wasn’t an option. Scott and Troy, closer to Gallus than the rest, moved up beside him.
“Go,” Scott said, putting his hand on Gallus’ big shoulder. “Go to Lady Honey. We will tell you the moment de Winter arrives.”
Gallus barely acknowledge him. Clutching Jeniver in one mighty hand, he headed to the floor above where his brothers were already grieving over their unconscious mother. Sorrow filled the room like an unwelcome fog and when Gallus entered, he was hit by the utter hopelessness before him. With his mother lying still on the bed and everyone clustered around her, already, it looked like a funeral.
Violet and Lily, who had been playing quietly in the corner, came running to him and as he held his girls to him, all of them gazed down at Honey’s dying form. Tiberius’ soft baritone filled the air as the youngest brother, and the most sensitive one, sat down on the bed beside his mother and began singing a song to her that she had sung to all of her sons when they had been babies. A song of sweet sleep and pleasant dreams, and of angels watching from above.
As Tiberius’ beautiful voice filled the chamber, Gallus wept unashamedly.
Davyss and Grayson entered Isenhall’s crowded bailey an hour after receiving the news that Gallus had returned, not particularly shocked to see a fairly large army crowding the small ward. They were met at the gates by several soldiers who escorted them straight to the keep, purposely keeping them segregated from the de Wolfe and de Shera men who might recognize the head of the de Winter armies and, subsequently, the head of the opposition. Once they reached the entrance to the keep, however, the men were met by Garran and Stefan, who escorted them inside.
The low-ceilinged fo
yer of Isenhall’s keep was surprisingly alight, as Scott had ordered torches lit and a fire stoked. The usually dreary, windowless room was deceptively bright as Davyss and Grayson were ushered inside. In the small hall off to the right, the one usually used as a private family dining room, de Shera knights were amassed along with an older knight that neither Davyss nor his father immediately recognized.
Scott and Troy came out of the smaller room to greet Davyss and Grayson, drawing them into the dining chamber that had two big pitchers of ale on the table. There were also remnants of a meal, indicating that the de Shera knights had been sitting around awhile, waiting and eating. Troy handed Grayson a cup of ale as Scott made the introductions around. When they came to William, the last man to be introduced, both Grayson and Davyss were visibly impressed.
“My lord,” Grayson greeted, surprised to find the man here. “Although we’ve not met, of course I am well aware of your reputation. I have admired you from afar.”
William smiled faintly at the short, compact older knight with a somewhat debonair manner about him. “As all of England is aware of the de Winter war machine, also,” he replied. “I have heard tales of your triumphs.”
Grayson grinned. “I would imagine that between the two of us, we could keep men busy for days and days with our tales of battle,” he said, watching William chuckle. “It may be a sad thing to discover how much is truth and how much is myth, however.”
William nodded his head. “I might seem far less impressive in that case,” he said, his gaze moving to Davyss. “And this is your son? I have heard of the man and his mighty sword.”
Davyss greeted William with the same reverence his father was showing. “I am honored that you would know my name, my lord,” he said. “I was raised on stories of your valor from the Scottish borders. I wanted very much to be like you.”
William gestured to the great sword hanging at Davyss’ side. “You are well on your way, so I am led to believe,” he replied. “Lespada, isn’t it?”
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II Page 26
