Tevin didn’t like the sound of that at all. “His colors, aye, but not him,” he pointed out. “It is possible these men were acting without de Nerra’s knowledge. And you said that only some of the men were wearing de Nerra colors? What about the others? It is entirely possible that there are other lords involved in this… this disgrace.”
The older soldier, a man with a dirty face and a bushy beard, simply shook his head. “We were not there, my lord, and did not see the men who killed the archbishop,” he said. “All I can tell you is what witnesses have told us.”
“Then how did you know it was de Nerra?”
“A crimson and white tunic with a gold lion, my lord. It was identified by Owen Hampton as a de Nerra standard, as he has many dealings with the Itinerant Justice of Hampshire because of the close proximity of Hampshire’s jurisdiction to Canterbury.”
Tevin stared at the man a moment, realizing the identification had been true. He knew de Nerra’s colors and they were as the soldier said. He was starting to get a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he looked at Henry.
“This makes no sense, my lord,” he said. “You know that Val de Nerra would not have done such a thing unless you ordered it. He is not an unreasonable man. He would not act on his own in such matters.”
Henry was still trembling, still red in the face. His dark-eyed gaze was on the soldiers who had come bearing such awful news but, after a moment, he turned away, a desolate mood that had him staggering.
“My God,” Henry breathed. “It is possible? Is it truly possible that my brother has been murdered by a rogue knight?”
It was clear from his words that he was not considering Tevin’s words about de Nerra. He didn’t want to entertain logic at the moment, only facts. As he wandered aimlessly, men moved away from him. No one wanted to be near when the legendary Plantagenet temper let loose. No matter what the differences between Henry and his former friend, an assassination somehow made men forget about their quarrels. It only brought forth the realization that apologies and reconciliations would never come. It was the moment that men such as Henry would live with regrets of a relationship and brother lost.
Tevin knew that; he’d seen men lose brothers and suffer for it. But he didn’t want a possibly innocent man to be accused of such a terrible crime, especially a man he didn’t believe capable of such a thing. There had to be another truth behind all of this.
“My lord, allow me to question the witnesses myself,” Tevin implored. “I must go to my home at Rochester and it is very close to Canterbury. Permit me to get to the bottom of this situation and seek justice for all.”
Henry had wandered to a lancet window, his gaze moving across the bailey of Winchester as the lines of grief crept into his face. “Val has been identified, Tevin,” he said with unusual calm. “Men saw his colors and identified him.”
Tevin watched the king as the man leaned against the window. In truth, Henry was showing far too much calm for Tevin’s taste. It made him nervous.
“But you cannot believe de Nerra is behind this,” he said. “That is not the Val you know and love; it is not the Val any of us knows. There are a hundred other men I would suspect of an assassination before I would suspect Val de Nerra.”
The redness to Henry’s cheeks seemed to be fading as the reality of the situation settled in. More than anything, he seemed to be particularly shaken above all – not angry, not wildly grief stricken. Simply shaken.
“Then mayhap the questions you have should not be for the witnesses,” he said. “Mayhap they should be for Val. In fact, I want to ask him myself. I want to find out why he killed my old friend.”
Tevin was starting to think that there may not be justice for Val de Nerra at all. His colors had been identified at the scene and Henry seemed to be fixed on it, but the Val de Nerra they all knew, including Tevin, was a man of supreme character and restraint, a seasoned knight with great wisdom. That was why Henry appointed him as his itinerant justice. What the Canterbury soldiers were telling them just didn’t seem to make sense.
“Let me speak with him before you bring him here, my lord,” Tevin asked. “If I feel he is guilty, then I shall bring him back to Winchester myself.”
Henry acted as if he didn’t hear him. “Send my knights for him,” he said. “Where is de Morville, in fact? He did not accompany us in our hunting and I’ve not seen him since my return to Winchester. Where is the man?”
Tevin didn’t know the answer to that but he turned to one of Henry’s knights who had, in fact, remained behind in command of Winchester while the king was away. Sir Dacian d’Vant, a tall and competent man, was standing near the entrance to the solar.
“D’Vant,” Tevin said sharply. “Where is de Morville?”
D’Vant shook his head. “In truth, he and FitzUrse, le Breton, and de Tracy disappeared after our stay at Saltwood Castle,” he said. “We did not realize that until a few days later. At first I thought they had gone on ahead to Winchester, but they did not and no one has seen them. I have sent men to look for them.”
Tevin’s brow furrowed as he pondered that, turning to Henry with a rather puzzled expression. “That seems odd,” he said. “De Morville is quite loyal to you, my lord, as are the others. They are most wanting for royal favor. So it seems very strange that they would simply disappear.”
Henry wasn’t particularly interested in four missing knights. At the moment, he was fighting off crippling grief.
“Mayhap, they have been murdered as well,” he said. “Mayhap, they have fallen victim to de Nerra’s sword. My God, du Reims, what if de Nerra is systematically attempting to destroy everything that is precious to me? What if I am next? Send men to bring him to me immediately. If I have a viper within my household, then I would know of it.”
Tevin knew he couldn’t disobey a direct order from the king. He could see that Henry was becoming paranoid in his grief and that would not be a healthy thing for anyone. But rather than argue with him about it, he simply agreed.
He had to find out what really happened before the king did.
“Aye, my lord,” he said. “I shall see to it personally.”
Henry didn’t even respond; the grief he’d been struggling against overwhelmed him and he slumped against the window, a hand over his face. Tevin chose that moment to quit the chamber, but not before pausing to pull d’Vant along with him. He had something to say to the man. Once they were alone in the corridor outside the solar, he came to a halt.
“Listen to me,” he hissed at Dacian. “Give me a day before you gather your army to bring Val de Nerra to Henry. Something is not right about this entire situation and I must speak to Val before Henry’s men throw him in chains and drag him to Winchester. Will you do this?”
Dacian nodded, his fair face tight with concern. “I know Val,” he muttered. “He is not capable of doing what he has been accused of. He is a decent man, more than most.”
Tevin was relieved to find an ally in Henry’s Captain of the Guard. “I agree,” he said quietly. “A day, Dacian. Give me at least that.”
Dacian simply nodded. “I will do my best, my lord.”
Tevin nodded his thanks, dashing into the darkness of the corridor and taking the stairs down to the entry level of the keep. Beyond were the vast bailey and the stables where his horse was tethered. It took him little time to gather his belongings and depart Winchester for Selborne, a fortress that was less than twenty miles away, something that would take him most of the day to reach if he pushed his horse. He had to make it to Selborne to discover if Val knew anything about the assassination of Becket.
As Tevin cantered from the gates of Winchester, there were two predominant thoughts on his mind – if Val was, indeed, involved, he wanted to know the reasons behind it. And if he wasn’t, then someone was going to a great deal of trouble to implicate an innocent man. Surely Val, as an itinerant justice, had his fair share of enemies. Perhaps one was finally seeking revenge against him in a most audacious way
. But if that wasn’t the case and Val had truly acted on his own… God help him.
God help them all.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Selborne Castle
Home had never looked so good to him.
Most of the snow from the post-Christmas storm had melted, leaving the land frozen and the roads soupy, so traveling home had been something of a muddy mess, but Val didn’t much care. He’s slugged through it, pushing the men and horses, sleeping very little and stopping only when absolutely necessary. A trip from Canterbury that, with better weather would have taken four days, took only slightly longer.
He just wanted to get home.
Even now as they passed beneath the gatehouse of Selborne, Val felt a sense of relief. He looked up into the sky and appreciated the colors of sunset, seeing the beauty that was his ancestral home. But he didn’t intend to stay for long; he had a trip to Winchester to make so he could inform the king of what had happened at Canterbury Cathedral. He was certain that Henry would be furious with him for the actions of de Morville and the others, but he’d come to the conclusion that the king’s anger couldn’t be helped. The orders had been his and Val was ultimately responsible for the men in his command, even Henry’s knights. Therefore, he had to face Henry like a man and own up to his responsibility.
His failure.
Entering the bailey, he and his party were immediately met by several men, including Calum. Mayne was on the wall, waving down to him, and Val managed to lift a weary hand to the man. Calum came up alongside him and began stripping his saddlebags off his war horse before the animal was taken away.
“Thank God you have returned,” Calum muttered so the men around them wouldn’t hear. “A visitor has come to see you.”
Val looked at the man, seeing that he seemed rather rattled. “Who?”
Calum slung the saddlebags over his shoulder. “The Earl of East Anglia is in the small hall with your mother,” he said. “He arrived about an hour ago but he would not tell me why he had come. All he said was that he needed to speak with you urgently and I told him I did not know when you would return, so thank God you came when you did.”
Val’s brow furrowed. “East Anglia is here?” he repeated, puzzled. “Du Reims?”
“Aye.”
Du Reims was a man that was deep within Henry’s inner circle so the fact that he was here did not surprise Val. Suspecting East Anglia’s visit had something to do with Henry’s command to arrest Canterbury, he wasn’t relishing what he had to tell him. In fact, he resisted the urge to jump on his horse and ride off. But he held his ground, taking his saddlebags from Calum.
“Very well,” he said calmly, turning for the keep. “I shall see the man. Has your brother been here, by chance?”
Calum followed him as he began to walk towards the keep. “Nay, he has not. Why?”
“Then you have not seen him since he came here to deliver Henry’s missive?”
“Nay,” he said. Then, anxiously: “Why do you ask? Has something happened?”
Val wasn’t sure how to tell Calum the truth but he wasn’t going to spare the man. He had to know what his brother had done. In his exhaustion, he sounded rather harsh as he spoke.
“I have sworn Kenan to secrecy on this and I shall swear you to it, also,” he muttered. “You will not repeat this. Give me your vow.”
Calum nodded seriously. “Of course, Val. What is wrong?”
They were nearing the keep now, the long shadows of sunset falling around them. “I went to the inn in Canterbury that Hugh had mentioned, but Hugh and the others were not there,” he said quietly. “It was nearing Vespers so I assumed that they had gone on ahead to the cathedral to confront the archbishop. My instincts were correct; there is no easy way to tell you this, Calum, so I will come out with it – your brother murdered Thomas Becket.”
Calum grabbed him by the arm and when Val paused to look at the man, he could see that he’d gone as pale as snow.
“Oh… God, no…,” Calum stammered. “Tell me… tell me it is not true!”
Val could see the man’s anguish. “I am afraid it is,” he said. “Hugh told me that he had tried to arrest the man but when Canterbury resisted, your brother snapped and killed him. I found them just as they were bashing Canterbury’s brains out all over the stone. Had I not come when I did, then I have no doubt they would have chopped the man to pieces. Now I must tell du Reims, who has undoubtedly come on behalf of the king, that Canterbury was murdered by four knights who could not control their zealous loyalty to Henry.”
Calum was shaking his head, back and forth, like a madman. “He did not do it!”
Val sighed heavily. “Ask Kenan if you do not believe me. I told Hugh to go back to Henry and tell him what he had done so mayhap that is why du Reims is here, but something tells me that your brother has not returned to Winchester. If he did not stop at Selborne to tell you what he’d done, then I seriously doubt he’s gone to Winchester to admit it to the king. Any man who would murder like that… I cannot imagine he would willingly announce what he has done.”
Calum was beside himself. “But… why would my brother do such a thing? I do not understand!”
Val resumed his walk for the keep. “Nor do I,” he said. “But he did. There were many witnesses to it, in fact, not just my men. I brought a wounded monk with me to verify my story for Henry but the man did not live past Guildford. He died last night of the wounds he sustained in the attack. So, now it is up to me to explain what happened when I do not even understand it myself.”
Calum was following him as he took the stairs up to the entrance. “My brother,” he mumbled. “I must find my brother. If he has not come here and he has not gone to Winchester, then I can only imagine he must have gone north to my father’s holdings. He would have nowhere else to go.”
“If I were Hugh, I would flee, too. Henry’s wrath shall be severe.”
Much like Val, Calum could see the long-term implications of his brother’s actions. “Not only on Hugh but on you as well, Val. Henry will want to know… my God, I cannot fully grasp all of this.”
The entry to the keep loomed before them and Val came to a halt, putting a hand on Calum. He could see that the man was deeply shaken with the actions of his brother, much as Val had been when he’d witnessed the bloodlust that Hugh was capable of. Hugh de Morville had been a man of honor and trust up until that point. Now, he was a murderer.
It was difficult to take in.
“Tell no one,” Val reiterated softly. “Let me speak with du Reims and I will tell you the outcome. Meanwhile, go to Kenan and hear what he saw your brother do. He will tell you the same thing I did.”
After that, he tried to move forward but Calum wouldn’t let him. He held on to him, his features lined with grief. “I am sorry, Val,” he whispered. “I did not know my brother… I never thought he would do something like this. I am so sorry for the position he has put you in.”
Val patted the man on the cheek. “It is not your fault,” he said. “I do not compare you to your brother, you know that. Now, let me go inside and face du Reims.”
Calum let him go, watching him enter the dark keep and disappear inside. But his movements were not those of the Val he knew; they were lethargic, dragging. Calum didn’t blame him. But he did blame his brother. On the heels of his deep shock came anger such as he’d never experienced before. It was consuming as well as terrifying, especially when taken in context with what the future held.
His brother was going to sink them all.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“At least you have grandchildren,” Margaretha was saying to Tevin over a pitcher of very fine red wine from Spain that she only brought out for special guests. It was very sweet and she’d had too much of it. When Tevin mentioned his multiple grandchildren, Margaretha seized on it. “Valor is thirty-four years of age and has not even married yet. I will be in my grave before I ever see my first grandchild at the rate he is going.”
Tevin had kn
own Lady de Nerra through her husband, Sir Gavin, although he’d not seen her in years. She was a handsome woman with pale eyes and smooth skin, and she was also quite forthright, something that reminded him a great deal of his own wife. He’d been sitting with Lady de Nerra for the better part of an hour and found her to be quite funny at times.
“Give him time, Lady de Nerra,” he said patiently. “Most knights that I know do not have marriage on their minds, merely glory. Val has a very important royal appointment and it is good that his focus is on that for now.”
Margaretha frowned. “Pah!” she said. “He is more loyal to Henry than to his family.”
“I doubt that.”
“Then where are my grandchildren?”
Tevin couldn’t help but chuckle. “Then mayhap you should help him,” he suggested. “Find him a wife.”
Margaretha rolled her eyes. “I could bring him the most beautiful and eligible woman in England and, because I selected her, he would turn his nose up at her,” she said, watching Tevin laugh. “You have sons of your own, my lord. Tell me they would not do the same thing if you selected their bride.”
Tevin thought of his own sons, five of them, in fact. “My three eldest are married,” he said. “I helped arrange the contract but I allowed my sons the final word. My younger two have not yet married, but I am sure they will at some point.”
Margaretha cocked an eyebrow. “Were any of them thirty-four years when the married?”
Tevin shook his head. “Nay,” he said. He drained the wine in his cup. “This is very fine wine, by the way. Where did you acquire it?”
Margaretha’s eyes narrowed. “Do not change the subject,” she said. “I implore you, as a father of five sons, how would you handle any son that did not wish to marry at the advanced age my son is?”
Tevin was coming to feel rather bad for Val, with such a persistent mother. But before he could answer her, he heard boot falls at the chamber entrance.
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II Page 113
