When the cloak was secured, Ryan turned to Lyla. “Patrizia and I are going to slip to the village,” she said. “You will be my line of defense, Lyla. I am counting on you to keep the others off my trail until I can put some distance between myself and St. Austell.”
Lyla cocked an eyebrow at her. “Who says that I am staying behind? I intend to go with you, of course.”
Ryan shook her head. “You cannot. I need you to stay here and keep Charlotte and Clive from coming after me. Besides, Patrizia knows the town. She will be of help to me. You shall only get in the way.”
Lyla’s face fell. “But I have always gone with you and I have never gotten in the way before.”
Ryan put her hand on her cousin’s arm in an affectionate gesture. “I did not mean it that way. I simply meant that I need you the very most here at St. Austell. My flight to London depends on how well you can hold off Charlotte and Clive.”
It was an important task, Lyla knew. But she was reluctant to stay for more reasons than one. “Riston is in London, too,” she said softly.
“I know,” Ryan replied sympathetically. “But the sooner I bring Dennis home, the sooner Riston comes home too. And I can’t bring either of them home if I am forced to remain here.”
Lyla thought on that a moment. It did not take her long to come to the conclusion that it was best for her to stay. “Very well,” she sighed, rather stubbornly. “What shall I tell them?”
“Tell them that my wound is taxing me and that I cannot be disturbed,” Ryan said, glad that Lyla was no longer going to argue with her. “If you can keep them from discovering my disappearance for a couple of days, that should be sufficient time for Patrizia and I to gain a head start.”
Lyla looked at her cousin; the two of them had grown up together, like sisters, when Lyla’s parents died of an infection when she was an infant. Lyla knew her very, very well, and she had been a party to her many schemes. But gazing into Ryan’s eyes, she knew this latest venture was no scheme. It was Ryan’s attempt to be with the man she loved, and she would accomplish it no matter what the cost.
“You ran from him, twice,” Lyla said with a smile. “And now you are running after him.”
There was a fierce glint in the golden-brown eyes. “As fast as I possibly can.”
“He will be furious, you know.”
“Only for a moment. But then he will keep me with him as a body keeps a shadow.”
“You are sure?”
“I’d stake my life on it.”
Lyla had no choice but to believe her. She threw her arms around Ryan, mindful of her shoulder, and squeezed her.
“I shall do my best with Charlotte and Clive, then,” she murmured into her ear. “Be safe, my dearest. God be with both you and Dennis.”
Ryan returned the heartfelt hug. “He will be,” she whispered. When she pulled back, there were tears in her eyes. “I cannot lose him, Lyla. You must understand that.”
Lyla nodded slowly. “I am coming to.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The king was a small man and his wife was even smaller, a dark-haired woman with too many jewels. With all of the noise and revelry going on around him, Dennis could only focus on the king as the man engaged a rather dirty, poorly dressed knight in a serious conversation. He found himself angry at the slovenly knight for taking the king’s precious time and it was a struggle for him to remain patient. He had to remind himself that his was not the most important business in all of England.
Time plodded by ever so slowly. Minstrels wandered throughout the diners and the parade of painted women continued, but Dennis remained focused on the king, still in conversation with the ragged knight. The pale blond woman finally summoned the nerve to approach Dennis and boldly strike up a conversation with him, but he impolitely ignored her and she left in a huff.
Riston, surprisingly, didn’t pass more than a curious glance at the host of maidens surrounding him. He found himself comparing every one of them to Lyla, noting how much more beautiful she was in every way. It was a strange notion for a man who actively inspected and pursued women; under normal circumstances he would have been like a starving man faced with too many dishes, intent to sample each one. But the dishes facing him, he found, were rather tasteless compared to Lyla.
“There,” Dennis suddenly bolted to his feet. “Henry is finished talking to that knight. Let’s go.”
Riston was startled by the abruptness of Dennis’ movements and hastened to follow. The time was upon them and there was not a moment to waste. Laden with heavy armor, sans weapons, which it had been requested they leave in their quarters, the Lord of St. Austell and his powerful knight marched to the dais where the king and queen entertained their guests. Dennis made sure to plant himself squarely in front of the king. A massive, unknown knight lingered menacingly before the royal quorum and Henry’s guard eyed him warily. Henry, too, looked confused for a moment until he recognized Dennis.
“Ah, Lord d’Vant,” Henry said. “How was your meal this eve?”
Dennis nodded shortly. “Excellent, Your Grace. But I have come a very long way to talk to you, not to eat. I would have audience with you now, for a brief moment, and then I shall leave you in peace.”
Henry gazed steadily at him. He had already heard earlier all he needed to know, or so he thought, but Faison lingered behind the king’s great carved chair and whispered something about money in his ear and Henry was once again willing to speak with Dennis. Henry’s memory could be shortsighted at times. He waved the knight forward.
“Speak, then,” he commanded.
Although it wasn’t the exact circumstances he had hoped for, as privacy was sorely lacking, Dennis nonetheless moved his big body to the edge of the huge oak table. This was the moment he had been waiting for. Smoke from the tapers and the smell of pepper and beef wafted in his face as he spoke.
“As your nephew, Your Grace, I have come bearing the pledge of support from St. Austell,” he said steadily. “Specifically, I have a proposition for you.”
Henry cocked an interested eyebrow. “What is this proposition?” he asked. “And furthermore, as my nephew, it is your duty to support the crown, is it not?”
“Indeed, Your Grace. And as your nephew, and the Earl of Cornwall’s nephew, it is also the duty of the crown to support and protect your blood relations.”
“What does this have to do with me?”
“You are well aware that the Earl of Cornwall has waged war against my father and my father’s father. My father, in fact, died in battle against the earl’s men last month.”
There was no royal sympathy. “And?”
Henry wasn’t being easy about this in the least. Dennis felt the first shred of uncertainty that his proposition, and his entire mission, might fail.
“As the new lord of St. Austell, I proposed a peace treaty with the earl through marriage. An alliance was cemented, yet the earl continues to violate the treaty and harass St. Austell. He had his own captain of the guard killed because the man tried to warn me.” He could see that, at the very least, he had the king’s remote interest. “For the sake of peace, I will not violate my own treaty by responding to the earl’s attacks, although I have every right to. Anymore fighting will destroy St. Austell. Therefore, my proposition is this: I will pledge my services as a knight in your Welsh campaign if you will garrison St. Austell and supply her with crown troops against your brother’s harassment.”
He laid it before the king pure and simple. Henry continued to stare at him but it was obvious he was mulling over the information.
“Garrison St. Austell?”
“And her harbor, Your Grace.”
Henry was particularly interested now. “Her harbor too?”
Dennis nodded. “Your brother already has a tremendous foothold in the wilds of Cornwall. He runs it like his own personal kingdom. ’Tis time the crown showed its presence.”
Henry knew that all too well. “How much money is gained from the harbor?�
�
Dennis could see that it was the money interesting him far more than lands or loyalty. “Depends upon the season, Your Grace,” he said. “In the winter, perhaps one hundred crowns per month. In the summer, we have collected thousands.”
“Do you tariff everything?”
“Ships and cargo, Your Grace. The more valuable the cargo, the more the tariff.”
Henry and Faison, still standing behind him and half-shielded by the great chair, had the same hungry look on their faces. But Henry seemed the more critical. “How many men will be required to garrison the fortress? My men and materials are pledged to Wales.”
Dennis shrugged. “I have six hundred men. One hundred more should be enough.”
“And you will fight for me in Wales?”
Dennis nodded again, feeling somehow as if he had lost a battle. The structure of St. Austell meant nothing to him, nor did the pledge of Dennis’ loyalty. The only thing that mattered was the money to be gained from this, like a petty, childish thing. Dennis realized he was disappointed that his oath of honor hadn’t meant more.
Henry stood up from his chair and, with everyone on or about the dais watching, rounded the table to come and stand before Dennis. The height difference was staggering; at several inches over six feet, Dennis was literally a giant. The king, by far smaller, was nonetheless equally imposing. The two gazed at each other without fear but each with a certain degree of formal respect. Henry was the first to speak, with a hint of a smile.
“You favor your grandmother,” he said quietly. “Certainly you look nothing like your father.”
Dennis didn’t know what to say; Henry spoke with a strange, almost comforting tone. The king’s lazy-eyed gaze drifted over Dennis’ strong lines, inspecting him closely, as if looking for one solitary hint that the man was of Plantagenet loins.
“Rodrick d’Vant was a powerful warrior,” Henry said after a moment. “Since I know nothing of your reputation, I will assume you are the same. You certainly carry the size for it.”
“Dennis’ father could not hold a candle to his son’s greatness, Your Grace,” Riston blurted. Standing at his lord’s side, he was fully aware that he was committing a terrible protocol sin, but he felt the need to support Dennis in light of the king’s callousness. “Dennis is the most powerful knight you will ever witness. God Himself would be proud to have him.”
Henry gave Riston a look one might reserve for something as annoying as a gnat, and Riston backed off. His gaze returned to Dennis. “From your sheer size I would determine you would be formidable in battle, and God only knows that I am sorely in need of formidable knights. Prince Llewelyn has his share of strong Welsh warriors.”
“My strength in battle has always served me well, Your Grace,” he said quietly. “I will not disappoint. I have survived thus far against your brother, have I not?”
“Hmmm,” Henry lifted an eyebrow at him. “You are from royal stock, though you look nothing like my father. You, my lord Dennis, take after men of the likes of William the Bastard. He was a giant, too.”
Dennis could see that the king was softening. “I have another request, Your Grace.”
“What is that?”
“That I be allowed to command your garrison at St. Austell.”
Henry flicked a wrist at him and turned back to the dais. “That should be obvious, d’Vant,” he said, reclaiming his great carved chair. “Who else would want to be stationed in the wilds of Cornwall?”
“Your brother, Your Grace.”
Henry’s gaze cooled and a flicker of jealous fury crossed the murky depths. “No longer. My brother will have to behave himself now that I have a garrison in Cornwall.” He collected his wine, indicating the conversation was now concluded. “I shall send a man to your quarters with your directives for Wales.”
Dennis would not let it end before he mentioned one final stipulation. “I would also ask that St. Austell return to my full control if I perform magnificently for you in Wales.”
Henry looked confused. “But you just have asked that I garrison it.”
“Indeed I have. Whilst I serve you in Wales.”
“And then you want it back?”
“As a reward for service well done.”
It wasn’t an unreasonable request. “It shall still remain loyal to the crown?”
“You have my word.”
“What of the harbor and her profits?”
Money again. “I shall split the profits from the tariffs equally between myself and the crown.”
“I want two-thirds of the total collections.” Henry’s eyes gleamed.
Dennis knew he had to make some concessions. “As you wish, Your Grace. Two-thirds of the yearly collection and St. Austell’s loyalty.”
Henry eyed him. Dennis seemed far too agreeable to the royal demands and the king was naturally suspicious. “As I recall, your father was not loyal to the crown.”
“He had reason not to be. I do not.”
It was a simple, honest answer and Henry accepted it, though reluctantly. He’d heard once, a long time ago from his brother, that the d’Vants were a disloyal, bloodthirsty group, though he could not quite believe that from Dennis’ manner and words. Henry trusted his intuition, and it told him that Dennis d’Vant was not as his forefathers were. He certainly wasn’t as the Plantagenets were.
The lord of St. Austell turned away without another word. Henry watched him walk all the way across the hall, proud and powerful, until he and his knight vacated the room. Behind the king, Faison lingered close.
“He is a foolish one,” Henry rumbled. “I do believe, Faison, that I received the better end of this bargain.”
Faison shook his dark, shaggy head. “He is not foolish, my king, not in the least. It is apparent that the only way he can protect his fortress is to turn it over to you. A foolish man would have let Richard destroy it.”
Henry took a long drink of wine. “I sincerely hope he is a better fighter than a bargain-maker.”
Faison was still picturing the massive, blond-haired Dennis in his mind, relishing the warm thoughts the image provoked. “The man could be nothing less than a magnificent knight,” he purred. “I’d stake my life on it.”
Henry looked at Faison in disgust. “Let us hope it does not come to that.”
*
“That one?” Ryan was hissing and pointing fingers.
Patrizia was trying not to be so obvious, though two women unescorted in a tavern was obvious enough. Moreover, nearly everyone in town knew Patrizia, and it was very difficult for her to remain anonymous.
The inn she had chosen was called the Wart. It was one of the only ones left standing after Miguel’s terror raid. No one was quite sure if the name was simply a bad pronunciation of ‘wharf’, representative of the town’s livelihood, or if they really had meant it to be a sort of vile growth. Certainly, Ryan could not have imagined a place so bad. From the dog feces on the floor to the clogged garderobe in the corner, everything about the Wart reeked of stench and debauchery.
The whores haunting the place were enough to give her nightmares, plying their wares to every man in the tavern by lifting their skirts and showing off their great dirty privates. More often than not the men would touch or smell, which caused Ryan no end of shock and revolt. Only Patrizia seemed unfazed by the horror. Her dark brown eyes were alert for a potential escort, while Ryan swallowed the surges of bile.
“No, not him,” she grasped Ryan’s hand and gently pulled it down.
“Why not?”
Patrizia watched the man scratch a bug out of his hair and then eat it. “He’s not the sort we want, trust me,” she said. “I’ll know him when I see him.”
Ryan sniffed at the dirty wooden cup in front of her, supposedly containing some sort of ale. Ryan would drink almost anything, but this stuff smelled like vinegar. “Well, hurry up and spot him. I’m sick of this place already.”
Patrizia glanced at her. “This may take time,” she said. “Are y
ou ready to return to the safety of St. Austell yet?”
Ryan thrust up her chin and looked away. “I’ll go to London alone before I return to St. Austell. But if we don’t find someone by morning, I think we should consider going to another inn.”
Patrizia nodded her head. “Agreed. I chose this one because it’s closest to the main road. I thought for certain we would find a traveling merchant or bachelor knight.”
Ryan watched as a red-headed whore sat right down on the lap of a fat, dirty patron and began having sex with him, much to the delight of his comrades. Swallowing the disgust in her throat, she turned away.
“My God,” she breathed. “I cannot believe the horror of this place.”
Patrizia nodded slowly. “It is a sight you will not soon forget.”
“Are all inns like this?”
“No. Some are worse. Some are better.”
“I’d like to find a better one.”
Patrizia could hardly disagree. Since the Wart had thus far proven to harbor nothing but scum, she was beginning to doubt they would find someone reputable. Ryan, having had enough of the stale ale and atmosphere, rose from her seat.
“I’m going outside to relieve myself,” she said. “When I return, I think we should consider leaving. I don’t think we’re going to find anyone respectable here.”
Patrizia nodded her head, though she hoped she could talk Ryan into staying just a little while longer. There was no telling who would walk through the door at any moment in time.
Ryan gathered her cloak tightly about her, careful not to touch or bump into anyone, as she headed for the exit. The place was crowded and she dodged her way through people, avoiding one of the many nasty dogs that prowled the room. As she neared the heavy, worn door, a drunken man staggered into her, stepping on her foot, and she let forth a yowl. Before Ryan could rebuke the idiot, a man seated near the door leapt to her aid.
“See here, you fool, you have hurt the lady,” he snapped in a low, heavily-accented voice. Though he was a small to average-sized man, he shoved the drunk with enough force to send the man sprawling. “Mind your manners or you find yourself wishing you had.”
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II Page 148
