by Dan Davis
“Good,” I said, nodding and banging the table with my fingers. “Very good. As it should be. England goes on. When they are ready, King Edward and the Prince can go on with their war.”
Hugh frowned. “Their war, sir? Is it not our war, also?”
“Not any more, Hugh.”
“What about us?” Thomas said. “What shall we do if we are not fighting for Edward?”
I drank off my wine. “We shall winter here. Grow strong and healthy and wait for the weather to change.”
“And then?” Eva said.
“We shall revive my old company of archers and men-at-arms and lead them into France. Not for Edward. Not to fight Philip. We will find the knight of the black banner and this time nothing shall stop us. If we must, we will burn all France to the ground.”
***
Eva came to me a few days later as I rested in my chamber. Rain pattered on the tiles above and on the walls outside but the chamber was warmed by the fire in my hearth and from the fire in the chamber below. One of the greatest creations ever developed in my long life is most certainly the chimney stack.
“Am I intruding?” Eva asked at the door.
“You could never intrude on me, Eva.”
She smiled and shook her head. “What if you were privately entertaining the comely Lady Cecilia?”
I hesitated, surprised to hear her mention the name, before I recovered. “Well then I would most certainly endeavour to privately entertain you both, simultaneously, to the best of my abilities.”
She scoffed, presumably at my abilities, and took the seat I held for her. “Do you mean to marry her?”
I sighed as I sat opposite. The green glass in the windows let in light and kept out the damp weather. Best of all, I could not see out across the cesspool that was London.
“Why would you ask me that?”
“I know you escorted her back from Flanders. You visited her at the Tower. She has written you four letters in these past three months.”
A laugh escaped my lips. “You have been keeping note of my romantic liaisons?”
“I keep note of everything.” She peered at me. “Of everyone.”
“I had no idea you already maintained so many agents.”
“When will you give me an answer?”
“Is it your business to receive one?”
She frowned. “My business? I care for you, Richard. I would see you happy.”
I sighed. “I see.” The rain gusted against the window. “Would you like a drink?” I poured us some wine but my hand shook, spilling the blood-dark liquid onto the table. “How can I marry the woman, Eva? She would get no sons from me. No daughters neither. She would age and wither while I went on. How can any of us condemn a mortal into such a life?”
“Have you told her that you cannot marry her?”
I wiped my finger in the dark wine spilled on the table. “I have discouraged her. Reminded her that I am good only for war and not for marriage. She knows I am beneath her, surely.”
Eva shook her head at my stupidity. “You may as well attempt to fend off a bear with a honeyed chicken.”
“What do you mean?”
She scoffed. “Tell her you will not marry her and then cease all contact. That is the kindest thing. Or…”
“Or what?”
“Would it be the worst life for her? You would not be such a bad husband. She is old. She bore no children in her first marriage. Her brother is wealthy but her name is not that great. Sir Humphrey Ingham is known to be a prickly bore and many a lord has already been put off by him, whereas you would never be intimidated by him. Cecilia is no doubt aware of that.”
“She is not old,” I said. “Anyway, I leave for France in the spring and I will not return until the task is complete. One way or the other.”
“What if she is unmarried when you return?”
“She will not be.”
“You do not have to allow your oath to drive you from happiness, Richard. You might have twenty or thirty years of contentment with Cecilia. Do not throw it away because you believe that you know what she wants better than she herself does.”
“But I am a monster. I cannot allow her to enter into such a life without knowledge of all the facts.”
“In what way are you a monster?”
“Come, now. You have seen the things I have done.”
“I have done the things you have done. I do not consider myself a monster. And I do not consider you one, either.”
“You might have done the odd monstrous act, Eva. But I come from a monster. Directly. It is in my blood.”
She pursed her lips, frowning. “Perhaps the sins of the fathers will be visited on the sons for those who hate God, as Priskos claimed to do. But you are a good Christian.”
I scoffed. “Never that.”
“You were not. Not when I met you. But you have changed over the years. You have gown devout in your faith.”
“Nonsense.”
“It is Thomas,” Eva said. “Did you know that? His love of God, his loyalty and respect for the Church. After decades together, his piety has rubbed off on you.”
“God forbid.”
She shook her head. “Admit it, Richard. You strive to be a good Christian, do you not?”
I sighed. “If I do, that may be that is why I have failed to find the black knight. I have been overly dutiful. Overly courteous to the kings and lords I have served. Perhaps I should be the one who is served by kings and lords. Let me be the monster and I will find the black knight and be feared also.”
“Do you think Cecilia would like that?” Eva asked. “For you to be monstrous? Or would she rather marry to the man you are in your heart. A good and decent knight.”
“She shall have neither.” I drank my wine and poured another. “Perhaps I will write to let her know I will be gone for a long time. She will be free to forget me and perhaps it will not break her heart.”
She laughed a little. “I doubt her heart is so fragile. I suspect she has a half-dozen other suitors dangling by threads.”
“But you said—”
“Visit her, you coward. Do not write. But also do not tell her that you are taking your company to Brittany. Word would very likely get back to the King that you are jeopardising his treaties.”
“I may be a fool when it comes to the ways of women,” I said, “but I am not a drooling simpleton.”
Eva nodded slowly as she considered my words, then shrugged. “Why are you willing to risk starting the war again? To risk falling out of favour with the King, likely forever?”
“For the rest of his mortal life, do you mean? Perhaps I have of late been overly concerned with the King’s purposes, rather than those of the Order.”
“And yet having the King’s ear has helped us, has it not?” Eva asked. “You have said so repeatedly for fifty years. Social position unlocks doors that even wealth cannot.”
“That is what I have told myself,” I replied, “and whenever any of you had doubts, that was my response. Now, I wonder if I was not avoiding my true duty by waging war against the Scots and the Welsh and all the rest. It was simpler to do so rather than to carry out my true duty.”
“For so long it seemed reasonable to believe that there were no more immortals left. Other than William. And our Order had to strive to maintain and develop our resources in the meantime.”
“You mean to say that it was difficult to find them and so we gave up. No, no. That is not it. I should say that I gave up. Ceased trying. If I wished it, I could recruit hundreds of men and cut a swathe through France and we could torture our way to the truth. Someone would know. This is what I should have done decades ago, in the time of the first Edward, instead of amusing myself by killing barbarian Scots.”
“You would bring the King’s fury down on us.”
I nodded. “So be it. One day, his son will be the King, and his son after him. While we will endure. What is the King, any king, compared to us?”
“A man powerful enough to wield the might of an entire kingdom.”
That was true. “We have power, also. One of us is equal to hundred mortal men.”
“Two or three, perhaps.”
“A dozen. A score.”
“Even if that were the case, it would mean we could defeat how many soldiers sent against us? Perhaps five hundred at the most? How many soldiers can a king raise?”
“I shall create more members of our Order.”
“I see. How many? Who will they be?”
Her precise questions irritated me, as they always had done. I recalled how much I hated her damned practicality. “I do not know. Whatever is needed.”
“How many, Richard?”
“A hundred, if need be.”
She scoffed. “A hundred?”
“Damn you, woman, I shall make a thousand immortals and burn France to the ground.”
“Very well,” she said, “and who will these men be? Men you can trust, you have always said. Men who you could be certain will never turn on you, never betray us.”
“Yes, yes,” I said, waving my hand at her. “Why must your arguments always be so bloody well-reasoned?”
She smiled, and for a moment it was like we were man and wife again. But then we both recalled our separation and our smiles dropped.
“How fare you, Eva?” I asked.
Eva took a long, slow breath. She closed her eyes for a long moment and opened them again.
“I wanted to die. It was as though I descended into Hell, and climbed back out again, day after day.”
“It cannot imagine the torment. Yet you endured.”
“I did.”
I reached across the table and held her hand. “In time, the memory shall fade.”
She pulled her hand away. “You are changed,” she said.
“I am?”
“You descended into Hell, also. You did it for us. You faced the demon of the abyss but it has hardened your heart. You fell. You died. You came back with these notions that you are monstrous, that you will burn and destroy. Death changed you.”
I shrugged. “I have died before.”
“You pass it off lightly but whatever you went through in that cave, with that man, has taken its toll on you. Can I even call him a man? The way you spoke of him. His power is terrible, is it not?”
“It is.”
“You fear it.”
I hesitated. “Yes.”
“You have always had anger, Richard. You cloak it in jest, or courtliness, or chivalrousness. Even then, many can sense the danger in you. It makes men, even knights and lords, fear you. Fear what you might do. And yet when I look at you now I see that the anger has grown. It swells in your breast, it moves your limbs. It is closer to the surface and even I fear what might be should it burst forth.”
I drank my wine. “I would never harm you.”
“What did the Ancient One infest you with, Richard? Our Order exists to destroy men like him and yet you dismiss any notion of doing so.”
“I created the Order to kill William and the ones he created. Priskos is something else.”
“Something worse. At the least he is a killer of women and there is nothing honourable about that.”
I gripped my cup so tightly that my wine spilled. Osanna would have lived a few more years if not for my idiot meddling. “Leave it, woman.”
She licked her lips and swallowed. “Is it not worth discussing again? Unlike the black knight, unlike William, we know where these ones reside. Perhaps we should recruit an army, travel to Swabia and destroy him and his spawn.”
“He deserves death.” Even as I said it, I was not certain it was true. Was there much difference between his monstrous actions and my own? Perhaps he did deserve death and I did, too. “Even with an army, I am not sure we would be enough to stop him.”
“Surely, that cannot be.”
“Stephen said Priskos seemed like a pagan god walking the earth. He spoke truer than I cared to admit. Could a thousand knights stop him? I swear that I do not know.”
“I have never known you not to seek revenge on every enemy. If you wanted to do it, you would find a way.”
“I may need centuries to grow strong enough. And first, I must find and destroy the black knight. Then William. When that is done, I shall visit Priskos once more.”
Eva peered at me closely. “What about the others? His sons, Peter and Christman? Perhaps you feel a certain kinship with them?”
She was right but I denied it, even to myself. “The only kinship that I feel is with you. And Thomas, and Hugh. And Stephen.”
She smiled. “That is well.”
“So, all else will have to wait. The black knight must fall. I shall recruit my old company,” I said, “and take them to France. Some of them, I am sure, would make reliable members of the Order.”
“More commoners like Walt?” she asked. “You have always resisted it. You have not yet made Walt swear the Order’s oath, have you?”
“These are desperate times. I will bring Walt into the Order and I shall make more of us. A select few, I think. Some of them fight better than knights I have known.”
“How will you turn some of your company and not others? Surely, you will have to grant them all the Gift at the same time or none at all? You know what commoners are like. They have no restraint. How will you manage it?”
I laughed. “Will you stop thrusting your damned questions at me, my lady? Sometimes, a man must act and concern himself with the detail later.”
She tilted her head and regarded me with a look. With her eyes alone, she expressed a thought as clear as if she had spoken it. “What do you mean, sometimes?”
I laughed again, because despite everything, I knew I was going to war again. A war on my terms.
And, whether I was a knight or a monster, there was nothing I loved more than that.
***
Rob Hawthorn had been one of the wilder ones in his youth, when he fought for me in Brittany. Fighting and drinking like a madman, and he had been even worse with women. But he was a natural leader in spite of his carousing in the towns, for when we were fighting there was no steadier soul in the company.
Once when I led my men into an ambush near Rostrenen in Brittany I saw him standing alone, isolated from the rest of us, with two mounted men charging at him. I called out that he should run, or at least throw himself down. While I bellowed for the other archers to shoot, Rob put an arrow into one man’s neck, and then calmly pulled another arrow from his bag, nocked it and shot the second man’s horse in the nose, throwing the rider. Rob strolled up and cut the Frenchman’s throat. When he turned around to us, he was grinning from ear to ear. It’s fair to say that the rest of the men loved him for his steadiness and bravado and his legend amongst them grew until he commanded all of my archers.
It had been hardly a blink of my eye and there I was approaching his rather fine house where small children played in the yard, terrorising the chickens.
“Praise God, Sir Richard,” Rob said, “I got your message, sir. I am greatly honoured by your presence.” Touchingly, he was wearing what I sure was his very best clothing, as did his wife Agnes and his children.
Rob looked incredibly uncomfortable and stiff. His wife was a pretty young girl who watched all of her children like a hawk, without seeming to pay them any mind at all. She appeared nervous, as it was unusual for a lord to attend a commoner.
It would have made sense for me to invite Rob to the manor, or else simply instruct him by messenger. Agnes must have wondered what business I could possibly have in store for her husband.
“You honour me,” I said, warmly, “by inviting me into your home. Please forgive me for bringing Walter, here, Rob. I am afraid, madame, that Walt’s table manners are quite appalling. I will understand perfectly if you decided to relegate him to the servants table and in fact that may be for the best.”
Walt hung his head in shame. “My lord Richard speaks the truth, madame. I ai
n’t fit for proper company.”
Rob laughed as he approached Walt and clapped him on the shoulder. “Black Walter, it is a wonder that you are still alive.”
Walt glanced at me. “You don’t know the half of it, Rob.”
Rob had done well for himself. He had saved enough of the money he had earned during his years fighting to set himself up well in a three-bay house with a good-sized hall. The outside was covered in smooth plaster, freshly painted. Inside the dark hall, the central fire burned well with little smoke, and the mouth-watering smells of food filled the air. Rob gave me the best seat at the head of his table and he sat on my right while Agnes sat on my left and Walt sat opposite. The children sat at their own table nearby and Rob’s servants busied themselves with the food, directed by Agnes. It was a well-ordered home. The plastered walls inside were even painted a bright white, and the rushes on the floor were mixed with copious amounts of lavender and other fresh herbs. The table was well laid with bowls, ceramic jugs and even silver serving spoons.
The food was good, hearty stuff and well-prepared. They must have spent a considerable sum on the fish and the meat and spices, perhaps in honour of my dining with them. We spoke of men we had known who had died, during the wars and during the Pestilence. The deaths of so many local landowners had been a benefit to men like Rob who had been able to buy up parcels for very little and his future was looking rather bright.
“God spared many of our family,” Rob said, indicating his wife. “My wife’s brother and his children excepted, of course.” Agnes lowered her head in grief.
“There has never been anything like it in all the world,” I said, though I thought of Priskos as I said it and recalled how he claimed to have seen even greater mortalities during his long life. “Though it is passed, now, and we may at last continue with our lives.”
Rob seemed to catch a deeper meaning in my words and looked at me keenly.
Rob’s eldest son approached toward the end of the meal. “Excuse me, sir,” he said as he sidled up to me.
