The Immortal Knight Chronicles Box Set 2

by Dan Davis

  “I have managed well enough in years gone by,” Eva said, fixing him with a steady look. “And have counselled you in many a matter when you have needed it.”

  Stephen scoffed and threw up his arms. “A woman’s counsel? It was a woman’s counsel that brought mankind to woe, did it not? A woman’s counsel was it that threw Adam out of Paradise, where he had been so merry and at ease. And also—”

  “That’s quite enough of that, Stephen,” I said, cutting him off as he searched in vain for some other objection. “You have failed. What is more, you have told us, in essence, that you do not expect to ever be successful. And so Eva shall find the man and then we shall go to him, take him, and force him to tell all about the others that he knows. Now, we will start again afresh, under Eva’s direction.”

  Eva simply nodded. “I will begin immediately.”

  I had embarrassed Stephen in front of the others and he grew sullen. It is good to consider the effects your words may have on your followers but you should always ensure they are men of character who can accept your criticisms and continue to do their duty. Stephen was quite brilliant but he was never emotionally robust. Perhaps it was due to his common birth that he lacked the depth of character that a man of good breeding will tend to have. Or perhaps it was his lack of dutifulness that was his main weakness of character. He never comprehended, not truly, that doing one’s duty lifts up one’s soul to greater heights than self-interest ever could. Stephen was always keenly aware of his lowborn blood and I believe he resented being beholden to anyone, even--astonishing as it may seem--to a king. It was a flaw that would eventually have disastrous consequences, as he pushed and needled England further away from the proper, natural hierarchies designed by God and toward ungodly, destructive notions of egalitarianism. But that would unravel in the centuries to come and I had only a glint of it at the time.

  “I wanted to ask you Stephen,” Thomas said, “and you also, Eva. Have you heard about this pestilence growing in the south?”

  Stephen nodded. “The merchants are all in a blaze about it. Word has stopped coming out of Italy but many ports were closed, last we heard.”

  Eva sighed. “It appears this will disrupt our search.”

  “Nonsense,” I said. “When is there not some pestilences striking down armies and ports and cities and towns? This summer is already the wettest I can recall and no doubt has caused foul air to rise in the heat of the south. This new bloody flux or murderous fever or whatever it is will burn itself out without affecting any of us much at all.”

  But I could not have been more wrong.

  The Great Mortality had come.

  9. The Black Death

  I was happy, because I had received a letter from Lady Cecilia.

  Dearest Richard, I pray my words find you well. I had hoped so to see you at court this past winter and spring yet found you always absent which caused my heart to be full heavy. I shall be staying at the Tower in London in early June as a guest of the Queen. If you could spare the time and effort away from your important duties on your estates to join me there, it would make me the happiest woman on earth.

  As ancient as I was, upon reading the words I leapt in the air and whooped with joy, scaring the messenger and bringing Walt running with his dagger drawn.

  It was all I could do to contain my excitement in the following days and every time I recalled that there could be no happy marriage for us, I simply pushed the thought away.

  And when I saw her, I forgot it entirely.

  After arriving absurdly early and sending word of it to the lady, I stood in the entrance to the gardens in the southwestern corner of the walls, beneath the White Tower. It had stopped raining after days and days and though everything was damp, the sun came out and the world sparkled. The ornamental fruit trees shone with vivid green, though the blossom on them had all been blasted off by the rains and there would be no fruit for the royal cooks to use in the fall.

  She was more beautiful than ever and her smile at seeing me took my breath away. She was a vision and I for a few moments I was simply, idiotically happy.

  “Sir Richard,” she said as I bowed. “It gladdens my heart that you came.”

  I smiled. “My heart is glad also, my lady.”

  We were not alone, of course, and her servants followed closely and mine drifted along as far away from me as they would go. And the Tower was busy with other lords and ladies within and without and so our meeting was not some secret liaison but an opportunity to converse and become acquainted, as those who might be disposed to a marriage will often do.

  We talked of small things, such as the appalling weather, and ignored unsavoury topics such as the necessary leanness of the coming winter for many in the land. It had been a long while since I had spoken of my favourite ballads and favoured foods and I was rusty with it, doing so was a pleasant change from discussing war and siegecraft. In truth, any topic would have been joyful with her clear voice in my ears and gorgeous face delighting my vision.

  “I am afraid I was blessed with an ear for music,” I said when she asked me to sing a verse, “but cursed with a voice that causes children to weep and milk to curdle.”

  She laughed. “In that case, I will beg your pardon and recall my request. Shall we head into the rose garden, Richard? The air beneath these trees is very close, do you not think?”

  On our way across to the new rose garden, Cecilia took my arm and leaned on me a little. It was a pleasant feeling. I wondered if I plucked one of the roses and presented it to the lady whether King Edward would have my head plucked from my shoulders.

  “Why are you unmarried, Richard?” she asked.

  “An interesting question, my lady,” I said, temporising so I could gather my thoughts. “I have concentrated on waging war rather than on love.”

  “Love?” she said, as if she was shocked. “But what has love to do with marriage, sir?”

  I glanced down and saw that she had a twinkle in her eye.

  “You did not marry for love, my lady?” I asked.

  She sighed. “Dear me, Richard. I had no choice in my husband. I thought that I would be blessed with children and that I could love them, at least. But God decided otherwise.”

  I swallowed. “I pray that you are so blessed in your next marriage, my lady.”

  She grasped my arm and looked me in the eye. “If I ever marry again it shall be for love. Children are a blessing but my heart wants only the companionship of an honourable man.”

  “An honourable man,” I repeated, my mouth dry. Was that what I was? Was it something I could ever be? “Well, my lady, I sincerely hope that—”

  Before I could continue, a great crowd came bustling from the royal apartments. For half a moment, I thought we were under attack but then I realised it was a member of the royal family, surrounded by an enormous number of ladies, servants and guards. The party was rushing across the courtyard and through the gardens.

  Cecilia and I at once moved aside to allow the swishing wave of garish frocks and nattering nobles past us.

  “Sir Richard!” Princess Joan called to me from the centre of the pack, shouting over the enormous noise.

  The chattering died down as the chaotic procession slowed to a stop right before us.

  Princess Joan was fourteen years old and about to embark on the journey that would take her away from England, possibly forever, to a foreign kingdom. It was the duty of such ladies to undertake such things but surely there was never a one of them who did not find it a hard task. Still, one day soon she could expect to become the wife of the heir to that foreign throne and bear him sons. Her husband would one day be king and she would be the queen and her sons would be kings after them.

  And she would be travelling in style. All the talk for weeks had been the size of Joan’s trousseau which was said to entirely fill one of the four ships that would take her and her retinue south to Iberia. The princess would be travelling in as much comfort as was possible in those days and sh
e would be well protected. I had even spoken to a few of the two hundred veteran archers escorting her, for I knew them from Brittany and from Calais. They were hard men, as hard as they come, forged in the fire of battle where they had seen the weaker of them, their brothers and cousins and friends, struck down by blade or sickness, so that only the strongest survived. Being chosen to protect King Edward’s precious daughter brought them more pride than their hearts could bear and more than one of them had tears in his eyes when he spoke of his new duty.

  I bowed low. “I am honoured that you remember me, my lady.”

  “How could I forget you, sir,” she said, smiling and pushing her way through the ranks of formidable matrons. Joan turned to the Lady Cecilia. “When I was but a girl, Sir Richard instructed me in methods by which to improve my riding. He was so effective that I beat Isabella in a race across country.” She laughed. “The King was most displeased with me for that and he banned both of us from riding for a year. Of course, he never enforced it. I was so very sorry to hear that you bore the brunt of his displeasure when it was entirely at my insistence that you addressed me on the matter at all.”

  “Not at all, my lady,” I said, unable to keep a straight face. “Your father merely sent me to Brittany for years with an army consisting of two dozen men. But I do not mind that now I hear how you finally bested your sister.” I winked at her and she giggled until her matronly companion growled a warning.

  “I am leaving for Castile,” Joan blurted out to Cecilia.

  “So I hear, my lady,” Cecilia said. “You must be very happy.”

  Her smile grew tighter but Joan was clearly excited as much as she was worried about leaving her family, forever, to set up in a foreign court. Such a thing requires courage from a woman and she faced her future with fortitude. “I am happy. I cannot wait to embark upon the journey. They say that Castile is a beautiful land.”

  “It is, my lady,” I said.

  “Oh, you have not been there? Truly?”

  “Not for some time. Yet I remember it well and my memories are fond ones. They are a fine people.”

  Cecilia lowered her voice and looked up at me through her eyelashes. “I am sure it is the fine ladies that you recall so well, Richard.”

  Joan gasped, thrilled at Cecilia’s teasing. “Is it true, Richard?” Then her face fell. “Are the ladies as beautiful as they say?”

  I bowed. “They are indeed lovely, my lady, but there is not one amongst them who could hold a candle to you.” Joan’s face lit up as her outraged companions huffed and dragged her away from us. “God bless you in your marriage, my lady.”

  “And you in yours,” she said as she went, grinning at Cecilia and attempting a wink. “Remember to keep your lower legs in contact with the horse at all times, Lady Cecilia.”

  “Good God,” Cecilia said, shocked, as Joan disappeared into the hall. “She is as uncouth as you are. No wonder she is so taken with you. If only you were a Spanish prince, Richard, I think you would have had an infatuated English princess for a wife.”

  I tried not to laugh, for Cecilia seemed to be rather jealous but I had nothing but fatherly affection for the dear child.

  Poor Joan, the little angel. I heard what happened much later from one of those archers. On her way to Castile, they put in at Bordeaux and her grand party was warned by the mayor there was a terrible sickness in the town and he advised that they leave.

  Instead, they stayed. They had no idea what was in store.

  But the archers, who were supposed to be housed in the town, noticed what was happening around them. Doors swung free in the wind and the homes were deserted. There were hundreds of bodies being buried in unmarked pits and the stench of death and decay began to waft over them. A wary bunch, they begged the leaders of the party to put out to sea immediately but they were rebuffed and then ignored. The archers explained how the sick people of the town were covered with swollen sores that emitted the fetid smell of putrefaction. In response, the noble leaders said that they would be safe in the castle, away from the town and the archers were instructed to keep to the town and to stop bothering the nobles. It did no good, and archers and lords alike fell ill and began dropping dead.

  The leader of the party tried to save the precious and terrified Joan by fleeing to an estate in the country which would be free, they hoped, from the miasmas covering the town. That leader never made it, dying on the way from the terrible and unknown disease. I cannot imagine dear little Joan’s terror. I imagine how she prayed in those days. I picture her in her bedchamber in the country, praying and praying to be spared as those around her died one by one.

  A few days later, and in unimaginable agony, sweet little Joan died all by herself.

  There were a handful of survivors from her party and these men made their way back to England as quickly as they could, hoping to bring warning of the terrible pestilence travelling the land.

  By the time the first of them reached us, the pestilence was already ravaging England.

  ***

  There had for some time been ever-growing certainty about that terrible illness affecting the cities down in Italy and even rumours that it was spreading northward. I had dismissed it all so easily when I first heard and I know for certain that I was not alone. Few of us paid it much heed.

  Few of us, that is, until the rumours became certain reports that the pestilence had reached England, finally. Even then, I do not know of anyone who thought it would be anything like the way it turned out. Still, people had enough sense to take proper precautions in case it reached their town or village or manor. The most sensible ones focused on praying that they and their loved ones would be spared and the wealthier sort took pains to make donations or undertake charitable works in order to head off the Lord’s wrath, as it were.

  As soon as it became clear that it would be a true pestilence, a plague, I returned to my manors in Suffolk to make my people ready. Lady Cecilia did the same and we parted in quite a hurried fashion. As I turned, from my horse, to look down on her before I rode away, a profound sense of dread descended upon me and I felt certain that she would succumb to this unknown sickness that crept toward us. For a moment, I considered insisting that she come with me to my lands so that I could better protect her but good sense returned to counter my romantic notions. As a widow, she had full responsibility for her own lands and she would certainly have rejected my offer. Besides, how could I have protected her against something that I could not see and did not understand?

  Still, I regularly recalled the sight of her standing in her elaborate robe and headdress in the courtyard at the Tower for a long time afterwards.

  I was the lord of two estates in the county of Suffolk, which stood and still stands on the eastern coast of England, northeast of London between the counties of Essex and Norfolk. The county was a fine place, as far as lowland, southern England goes, with bounteous green fields and leafy woodlands and gently rolling hills. It was no Derbyshire, of course, but then what is? The people were good and honest and toiled as hard as any ever did. The two manors of Hawkedon and Hartest did not make me rich but the land was so productive that I could provide a core of fighting men and afford most of whatever I needed. Whenever more was required, I obtained it from the Order’s coffers.

  The most important man a lord of the manor could employ was his steward, for all else flowed from him. My steward ran both estates, though a sub-steward was present at Hartest, the smaller of the two and in effect made all daily decisions. Both places were old but neither was a castle and they were rather comfortable. Other lords would invest in stone walls and towers but I could see very little chance of a new French invasion or armed uprisings against the King and his lords and so I sought always to make improvements to the domestic quarters, the kitchens and storerooms, or the workshops. I even had two chapels built. In particular, I added a new wing to Hawkedon, my primary manor, with two floors, and stayed there almost exclusively in as much privacy as I could maintain. The smal
ler manor of Hartest was better for hunting and when I was there I spent as much time as I could riding in the woods. Hunting was a social activity as much as a practical one but I preferred to provide meat for my table following excursions with as few others as possible. Mortals engage in ceaseless prattling about the most inconsequential topics and I can only feign interest for so long.

  There was little I could do to shut myself away for as long as I wished, for my tenants came to me with a great many manorial issues. One man had not properly delved his drainage ditches and caused other men’s crops to get flooded from the terrible rains and he had to be punished and make amends. There were so many cases of cattle and pigs straying and damaging crops or property that I quickly lost count. I had a few instances of poaching to deal with. It was never something I cared about but I had to pretend outrage and issue relatively steep fines. It was expected and if a lord was too lenient then the villeins and freemen did not like it, not one bit, even as they grumbled about the fines. There were greater crimes, and those committed by my own people against those from neighbouring manors, that I had to hear about but which were outside of my jurisdiction and would need to be deferred to the sheriff’s court later in the year.

  Of course, the talk from everyone was focused on the dreaded pestilence.

  Many wanted to hear how the plague had affected London and were almost disappointed when I assured them that it had not occurred there before I had left it.

  “What can we do to prepare, my lord?” the stewards and senior servants asked me in Hawkedon Hall.