There were many questions but few answers as Gart and Rhys entered the midst of the arriving army. The de Lohr brothers were always at the heart of anything Richard did, so in truth, this appearance wasn’t unexpected. There were at least a thousand men, five big provisions wagons, baggage and armory wagons, and more. It was quite a gathering, and Gart and Rhys could see the sergeants whipping the de Lohr ranks into an orderly collection, moving them out of the main part of the bailey to keep the way clear.
There was something about an army like this that fed the inner warrior in the knights. Armies meant battle, and that was what these men were bred for, only these days they didn’t see much action serving at Westminster. In fact, it was a rather easy appointment as far as appointments went, so to be in the midst of men that were preparing to move out for battle was something they drew strength from. The sight of armed soldiers, the smell of the horses, the noise of the crowd… Gart and Rhys found themselves wishing they were going, too. There was disappointment in knowing they were not. As they continued their hunt for de Lohr, someone came up behind Rhys and grabbed him by the arm.
With his right fist balled and cocked, preparing to slug whoever it was squarely in the face, Rhys was greeted by the great grinning face of Sir Max de Velt. A big man with flowing dark hair and a muscular build, Max had served Christopher for several years as one of his premier knights. In fact, he’d had an identical twin brother, Anthony, who had also served de Lohr but had been killed a few years before. Men who knew the de Velt twins thought it would be impossible for Max to survive without Anthony, but he’d done very well for himself with strength he never knew he had. He was a good man, an excellent knight, and a loyal friend. Rhys returned the man’s grin, shaking his head as he lowered his fist.
“You very nearly had your head taken off, old man,” he said.
Max laughed. “By who? You? The day you can catch me with one of those man-sized fists is the day I surrender my sword.”
“That day was almost today. But it is good to see you nonetheless.”
By this time, Gart had heard the commotion and now stood next to Rhys, eyeing a man he considered a friend. “Max,” he greeted fondly. “What in the hell is going on? Why is the de Lohr army here?”
Max reached out, slapping Gart on the cheek affectionately. “It is good to see you, too, Forbes,” he said. “Where is Garret?”
Rhys and Gart shook their heads. “We have not yet seen him this morning,” Rhys said, “but with the arrival of Chris’ army, I have no doubt he will be here. Where is Chris?”
Max was pointing off to his left, near a host of wagons. “Over there the last I saw of him,” he said. “He will make his way in this direction, I am certain. He’s not yet broken his fast, so I suggest you have food waiting for him in Garret’s solar.”
Rhys was already on the move, going to hunt down servants to bring food to de Moray’s solar. Gart, meanwhile, remained with Max.
“Why all the men, Max?” he asked seriously. “Where are you going?”
Max pulled off his three-point helm, of the latest design. “France,” he said as he raked his fingers over his scalp. “Christopher is picking up more men in London, more de Winter men in fact, and then he has transportation arranged to take us to Dieppe, and from Dieppe we shall travel on to Rouen where we will rendezvous with Richard.”
Gart looked around at the hundreds and hundreds of well-armed de Lohr soldiers. “So de Lohr has answered Richard’s call.” He confirmed his suspicions. “I thought so.”
Max nodded. “Indeed, he has,” he said. “I have no idea how long we shall be in Normandy and Lady de Lohr was none too happy about Chris going, so I have a feeling we will not be gone too long. Chris would not risk angering his wife like that.”
Gart smirked; they all knew how Christopher’s wife was the one who ruled the family. He put his hand on Max’s shoulder.
“Come to Garret’s private solar,” he said. “There should be food and wine there. Penden and de Nerra should like to see you, also.”
Max was eager to get inside, out of the heat and humidity, and away from the thousand men and dust and animals. As he and Gart headed towards the solar, they spied Garret coming from the direction of the great hall. Gart lifted a hand to him to indicate Max and Max waved to the man. Catching sight of the pair, Garret headed in their direction.
“Excellent to see you again, Garret.” Max extended a hand to Garret, who shook it warmly. Then, he frowned. “But you have the look of a troubled man this morning.”
Garret’s brow was furrowed, his expression serious. “Is it that obvious?” he asked, glancing at Gart as he spoke. “We have about twenty men from the night watch down with some kind of poisoning. They ate pork last night that was evidently rotten and the physic says they are seriously ill. I just came from the barracks where they are recovering, but that means we must reposition our posts for the night. I already have Gavin and Knox working on the issue.”
Gart lifted an eyebrow to twenty soldiers down with illness. “How can I be of assistance?”
Garret threw his thumb in the general direction of South Gate. “Gavin was supposed to have the day watch on South Gate this morning but he will not be able to,” he said. “Gart, find one of the other knights and put him in command of the South Gate. Also find someone to take your post at White Hall. I have a feeling I will need you with me today.”
Gart nodded. “The knights for the day watch are breaking their fast in the barracks,” he said. “I will send word to them.”
“Do it quickly. Where is Rhys?”
“He is in your solar, I believe, procuring food for the Earl of Worcester, who has just arrived. I have not yet located the man, but mayhap you should like to find him and welcome him.”
Garret nodded, his gaze moving out over the sea of de Lohr men. “I will,” he said, “but what in the hell are you doing here, Max?”
Max turned to glance at the army as well. “Heeding Richard’s call to France,” he said. “I am sure Chris will tell you more about it.”
Garret waved the men on as he headed off to find the Earl of Worcester. They were all quite informal with each other in private because they’d all fought together for many years, including in The Levant, long before Christopher was a man of standing. In public, they treated him with the greatest respect, but in private, he was still Chris, still their comrade and friend. Garret treasured those relationships, men he could count on when the entire world seem to fail. Seeing his friends again like this was food to his soul.
In his hunt for Christopher, he came across Zayin speaking with another de Lohr knight. When the knight turned to face Garret, he realized he was looking at yet another old friend.
“Dud,” he muttered, a grin on his lips. “Thomas Dudley. I’ve not seen you in quite some time.”
Sir Thomas Dudley, a man whose friends called him “Dud”, broke into a grin at the sight of Garret. He was a younger knight with faded green eyes, strong and obedient, and he’d served under Christopher in The Levant. But he and Garret had known one another, well. His expression was full of warmth.
“’Tis good to see you, Garret,” he said. “How is life in London these days?”
Garret shrugged. “Well enough,” he said. “I manage to keep myself occupied, at any rate. Where’s Chris?”
Dudley pointed off towards the great collection of wagons that contained provisions and weapons. “He was over there the last I saw him.”
Garret pushed past the pair. “Food and drink in my solar, so I am told. I will see you both there.”
Leaving Zayin and Dudley behind, he continued towards the wagons, looking for the man who was like a brother to him. Even though Garret had a brother in Rickard, it was different than the ties he felt to men like Christopher. They’d seen much life and death together on the great quest for Richard and Christendom, and their bond was stronger than blood. Even though they didn’t see each other frequently, when they did see one another, it was as if
they’d never been apart. Garret wasn’t sure that many good things had come out of the great quest, but he could say for certain that his relationships with his fellow knights had been some of the greatest things he could have experienced. The bonds that had been forged were more powerful than kings or politics.
It was a brotherhood like none other.
As he neared the armory wagons, he caught sight of a very tall man with a crown of blonde hair, slicked back over his skull. Coming closer, he caught sight of a square jaw covered by a neatly-trimmed golden beard. That was the signature look of Christopher de Lohr, Earl of Hereford and Worcester, Defender of the Realm, King Richard’s champion and, perhaps, the greatest knight in England. He was certainly the greatest one that Garret knew.
“My lord!” he called “Chris!”
Christopher’s head snapped up, his sky-blue eyes focusing in on Garret. The smile that spread across the bearded lips could not have been missed.
“Garret!” he returned, heading towards the man and pushing aside a soldier who didn’t move out his way fast enough. When he finally came close, he reached out and grasped Garret’s outstretched hand. “Tis good to see you, my friend.”
“And you,” Garret said, giving the man’s hand a squeeze. Then he looked him up and down; at six inches over six feet, Christopher de Lohr was not a man to be missed, in any case, but he was loaded down with the latest mail and weaponry, and Garret found himself fingering the elaborate sheath for the man’s broadsword. “New?
“New and improved.”
“Impressive,” Garret commented. Then, he looked the man in the eye. “You look like a man who is going to war, Chris. What’s it all about?”
Christopher’s smile faded. “Richard sent me a personal request to join him in Normandy,” he said. But the time he finished speaking, his smile was gone completely. “There was no way I could ignore it.”
Garret eyed him. “You speak as if you do not want to go.”
Christopher shrugged. “I do not,” he said frankly. “I have enough to occupy me here at home without traipsing off to another of Richard’s wars. My wife is grossly unhappy about it and I do not blame her.”
“You consider the Normandy battles foolish?”
“Christ, yes. Where to start?”
Garret didn’t have much to say to that but his thoughts were moving to John, to the prince’s activities in London as of late, including the party two nights ago. This was a very bad time for de Lohr to be heading out of the country but he didn’t say that. Christopher already knew.
“What about David?” he asked after a moment. “He commands Canterbury’s army. Why not take him to France?”
Christopher sighed sharply. “Richard wants David here, in close proximity of London, to support Westminster if needed,” he said. “He told me to tell you that. It would seem that even though John has been in support of his brother as of late, Richard evidently does not trust him completely.”
An ironic smirk crossed Garret’s lips. “Walter and I were discussing this yesterday. Walter does not trust John but he said he’d had difficulty convincing Richard to be prudent and not take all of his supporters out of England.”
Christopher didn’t seem to be in agreement. “The missive I received from Richard suggested the opposite,” he said. “Mayhap he has finally come to his senses. In any case, if something happens with John, and something has been happening with John for more years than I can recall, then you are to summon my brother to support your forces at Westminster. Above all else, London and Westminster must remain in Richard’s hands.”
Now Garret was the one to let out a sigh, one that was long and, perhaps, pensive. “That seems to be the prevailing thought from Walter and now you,” he said. “John had a party here two nights ago, a celebration for Hawisa’s birthday. This place was full of the prince’s supporters, including his mercenaries. French and Teutonic, we think. Or, at least that was the belief when we ran them out of here the morning after the party. Nasty bastards, every one of them.”
Christopher’s gaze moved to Westminster Hall, that massive structure that was bigger than the halls of heaven. “Where is John?”
“He is still here,” Garret said, knowing the history of war and hatred between John and Richard’s Defender. “I am sure he is still asleep so it is possible you will not see him at all whilst you are here. How long will you stay, by the way?”
Christopher shook his head. “Not long,” he replied. “Long enough to take on more supplies, water the horses, and then we must meet the de Winter men near the Tower to take cogs to Dieppe. We have come in from Beaconsfield this morning, so it has already been a long day. Now, send for Walter, feed me, and let us speak before I continue on to France. There is much to discuss.”
Garret was thinking that no truer words had ever been spoken. With the unexpected appearance of Christopher, his mind moved from John to Lyssa and his conversation with Rose the night before. He’d told the old woman that he would find another house for Lyssa to go to, somewhere far away from Colchester and his deviant behavior. He’d even mentioned the House of de Lohr but he had no idea that an opportunity like this would drop into his lap. It would save him the days and weeks of waiting for a response to an inquiry.
In fact, he was starting to think that de Lohr’s arrival was most fortuitous. Even if Christopher wasn’t happy to be here, Garret was very happy to see him.
“Indeed, there is a great deal to discuss,” he finally said. “More than you know. Personal matters, in fact.”
Christopher looked at him with interest. “Oh? What personal matters?”
Garret could only shake his head, a glimmer of mirth in his eye. “You will not believe it.”
Christopher clapped him on the shoulder, turning him for the man’s private solar where food and drink awaited. “Is that so? Then I am intrigued.”
Garret had to grin. “As well you should be.”
“From the expression on your face, I am coming to think that whatever is on your mind has nothing to do with politics.”
Garret tried to erase the smile from his face. “What makes you think so?”
Christopher snorted. “Because I know you, Garret. You look like a man who has a secret.”
Garret was fairly certain Christopher couldn’t imagine the half of it.
*
“Tell me more about John’s party, Garret. Do you have reason to believe it was something more than a party – mayhap even a show of force for the prince?”
The question filled the sticky air of Garret’s solar. It was filled with men who had all served together in The Levant, a place where they could speak freely, on any subject, including those that would only be discussed privately. But within the old stone walls, there was a circle of trust that would never be broken. That was why Christopher had asked the question so openly; there was no fear of the wrong men overhearing.
Garret was standing near the table that held his maps and official edicts, a massive piece of furniture that could easily hold four big men on its surface. Around the table sat Gart, Rhys, Gavin and Knox, having finished their duties with the ill men. Zayin was back against the wall behind it.
Across from them stood Christopher, with a second cup of watered wine in his hand, as well as Dudley, Max, and a very young knight who had once been Christopher’s squire. Sir Darren Ainsley had practically been raised by Christopher after the death of his father and now was an excellent knight thanks to the training he’d received in the House of de Lohr.
It was a gathering of friends as far as Garret was concerned although there were some very serious issues at hand, including the one they were currently discussing. It was a continuation of his conversation with Christopher out in the bailey, now brought inside to expand upon.
“It did not seem that way to me,” Garret replied to the question. “It was a celebration of the day of birth for Hawisa and had all of the trappings of a female party. There were women everywhere so I never received the im
pression that it was a war conference.”
Christopher mulled over the answer. “You are aware that John and I have had many problems over the years,” he said. “John can do as he wishes and there is no punishment, not from Richard or anyone else. Unfortunately, he was raised that way. He has been fighting his brothers or his father since he was a very young man and it is a way of life for him. Being on the Welsh Marches much of the time, I do not keep track of his daily activities like you do, Garret. What more can you tell me that I can take to Richard?”
Garret scratched his chin as he contemplated his answer. “Walter may have more of an answer for you when he arrives, but I will tell you what I can,” he said. “As we are all aware, John has been supporting his brother in Normandy. That is beyond dispute. In fact, it was John who led forces in Normandy last year to capture Eveux Castle, a major holding. Earlier this year, he captured the town of Beauvais on behalf of his brother. He and Richard have been allies as of late, which is odd in and of itself. I’m not sure anyone knows quite how to behave with this brotherhood Richard and John are presenting to the public because those two have been at odds for so many years. But I will tell you this… it is no secret that I do not trust John. I would not be surprised if the loyalty he is showing towards his brother is an act.”
Christopher nodded in a most fervent manner. “Praise God that someone has had the courage to say what I have been saying all along,” he muttered. His focus was on Garret. “I do not trust him, either. I know that he and Richard have a rare brotherhood bond these days, but it does not ring true to me, either. I can see that there is still a clear line between John’s supporters and Richard’s supporters in England, even if Richard does not see it.”
Garret folded his big arms across his chest. “I feel as if I must be on my guard, still,” he said. “The night of John’s party was hell for old knights like me. We remember the battles between the brothers. In my mind, there will never be peace between them.”
Christopher heartily agreed. “But do you have any proof that John may be undermining his brother here at home? As I said, you are closer to this than I am. Is there anything that may give you pause?”
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II Page 44
