The de Lohr Dynasty

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  As he snorted, Emilie looked rather chagrined. “She did?” she said. “How shocking.”

  Lyle waved her off, still grinning, as David poured Emilie more wine. “Here,” he said. “Drink this. It will make Eleanor’s seduction not seem to terrible. See how much your father is enjoying it.”

  Emilie laughed softly because Lyle was rather giddy with drink at this point. She took the cup from David as the entry door opened and blustery cold wind snaked inside the keep, reaching into the hall. Emilie shivered as the wind gusted and one of the two soldiers who had entered shoved the door shut. Both men were heavily dressed against the elements as one soldier, who was in the lead, proceeded into the small feasting hall as the second soldier hung back by the entry.

  Lyle, noting that two of his soldiers had entered, wasn’t particularly happy to see them. Soldiers usually meant there was a message of some kind that he needed to attend to, and he genuinely did not want to go back out for the night. Therefore, he already decided that whatever it was, he would send David or Brickley. With two powerful knights at his disposal, he didn’t have to lift a bloody finger anymore.

  Lyle rather liked that idea.

  “What is it?” he demanded.

  The soldier in the lead produced a missive from beneath his heavy cloak. “A messenger brought this, my lord,” he said. “He says that William Marshal has sent him.”

  Those few words erased any apathy Lyle might have had about any incoming message and the mood in the room suddenly dropped from light and festive to one of concern and even apprehension. There was no more humor or easy talk to be had. The Marshal has sent a missive. That meant it was serious, indeed. David was already on his feet, moving around the table and taking the missive from the soldier. David pulled it out of its leather casing and inspected the wax seal closely.

  “It is the Marshal,” he confirmed, glancing at Lyle. “May I open it, my lord?”

  Lyle waved him on. “Aye,” he said, “quickly, read it.”

  David did. He popped the seal on the vellum and unfolded it, as it had been folded over itself and sealed up. He moved over to the hearth to have more light to read by and the seconds ticked away as he read the contents. Those watching him could see a change in his face as he read; he went from concern to a hardness that was difficult to describe. Emilie saw it most of all in that face she loved so well.

  “David?” she asked, fearful. “What does it say?”

  David let out a hissing sigh. “Emilie, mayhap you should retire for the evening,” he said. “This would not interest you.”

  Something told Emilie that David was quite wrong in that assessment. “I will stay,” she said firmly. “Answer me, please. What does it say?”

  David looked at her for a moment, realizing he couldn’t get her out of the room without an argument, so he didn’t try. He turned his attention to Lyle.

  “Richard is being released,” he said quietly. “Although this is excellent news, it seems to have prompted John into putting his full force into wresting England from his brother. The Marshal is calling for all men and all troops to converge in the mid of England, for it is feared that John is moving on Gowergrove Castle. Have you heard of it, my lord?”

  Brickley, who had been listening intently, spoke before Lyle could. “I have,” he said. “I have even spent time there. It is a beast of a fortress south of Nottingham that controls two major roads north. If John gains control of Gowergrove, he could essentially cut the north off from the south.”

  It was bad news, indeed. The men in the room seemed to automatically shift into battle mode now that the contents of the missive were known. David moved away from the hearth to hand Lyle the missive, who took it eagerly and read it as Emilie took one of the small banks of tapers off the table and moved it closer so her father would have more light. As Lyle and Emilie read the missive, David looked at Brickley.

  “What do you know of Gowergrove?” he asked the man. “If you have spent time there, then you know her strengths.”

  Brickley lifted his eyebrows thoughtfully. “Gowergrove has walls that are thirty feet high in some places,” he said. “There is also a massive moat, which is more of a lake than a moat. One must cross the moat to get to those walls, and both the walls and the moat are nearly unbreachable.”

  David had only seen Gowergrove in passing because of the roads that passed near the castle. He’d never been there before but he’d heard tale of the place. “But it is possible to get across the moat and over the walls?”

  Brickley nodded. “It is,” he said. “With enough men, it can happen.”

  David was thinking rapidly about the factors he knew, statistics already established that might give John the edge in capturing such a castle. “John has thousands of mercenaries,” he said to Brickley. “We already know this.”

  Brickley wasn’t in the command hierarchy as David was. Even Brickley would agree that David had much more knowledge about such things than he did.

  “So I have been told,” he said. “Surely your brother has received the same missive from William Marshal. That means that he will be heading to Gowergrove as well.”

  David, who had thus far seemed relaxed but concerned in the course of the conversation, seemed to tense up considerably at the mention of his brother. He turned away from Brickley at that point. “I will make that assumption as well.”

  Brickley, who was trying to shake off too much drink now that there was a serious subject at hand, wasn’t sensing David’s mood. “We can bring at least eight hundred men north,” he said, assuming David was going with him. “If we leave within the week, we can make it to the southern forests of Nottingham in about three weeks.”

  David thought on that. It was clear the call was going out to all of Richard’s supporters to hold the kingdom for Richard, who was evidently on his way home. As thrilling as that news was, that the king had apparently been ransomed, the fact that the king’s brother was now making his final and violent grab for the throne of England was quite troubling. More than that, David knew for a fact that his brother was probably the first person to have received the Marshal’s summons and David was willing to bet that his brother was already on his way to Nottingham.

  A brother who didn’t want to see him. David moved back over to the hearth, pondering the situation between him and his brother. He didn’t want to show up leading Canterbury troops because he wasn’t entirely sure how his brother would react to his appearance. Christopher would be in charge of the battle and it would make it more than awkward for the man, perhaps even distracting him from his duties. Distraction in battle was deadly, and David wrestled with the very real possibility that he might cause more harm than good were he to show up to fight. Christopher had made it quite clear that he didn’t want to see him anymore.

  A brother disowned.

  But his heart inevitably began to ache. He and his brother had fought countless battles together. This would be the first one where they were not fighting side by side, and that knowledge hurt David to the bone. Christopher had so many knights around him – Edward, Leeton, Thomas Dudley, and any number of other knights that had sworn fealty to him. It wasn’t as if he needed David.

  He really didn’t need him at all.

  “You will take the troops, Brick,” David finally said, pausing by the hearth. “I will not be going.”

  That brought a gasp from Emilie as both Lyle and Brickley looked at David as if the man had gone mad. “Why not?” Lyle demanded. “You have seen the summons. You cannot disobey.”

  David sighed heavily. “I am not on that summons, my lord,” he said. “That summons is not addressed to me. Therefore, I am not violating anything. I do not wish to discuss my reasons for not riding north with the army but suffice it to say that I cannot do it. I will not. My brother, and the rest of England, must fight this battle without me.”

  Brickley appeared puzzled, Lyle was gravely concerned, and Emilie rose out of her seat and walked around the table, making her way to D
avid. Her expression was quite serious as she stood next to him, her gentle hand on his arm.

  “Why not?” she asked softly. “Why will you not fight?”

  He looked at her. “My reasons are my own,” he said softly. “I would ask that you respect that for now until I am ready to speak more on the subject.”

  She was quite worried about his refusal and lowered her voice when next she spoke. “You said that you and your brother fought,” she whispered. “Does it have to do with that?”

  He nodded, once, and she let the subject go, her hand still on his arm as he stood by the hearth. Lyle, however, was still quite puzzled by the refusal.

  “David, it is well known you are one of the best knights England has ever seen,” he said. “You have sworn fealty to me. If I sent my army north, then I should expect you to go with them. Richard needs you now more than ever.”

  Emilie spoke up before David could. “Papa, please,” she said. “David has given us his position on the matter and we must not question him. He has been fighting constantly for years. He fought for three years in the Holy Land only to return and continue fighting on English soil. If the man does not wish to fight this particular battle, it is his right. Has he not earned a rest?”

  She was passionate in her defense of him and Lyle wasn’t sure what more to say. Still, it was clear that he wasn’t happy about it. He stood up from the table, missive still in hand.

  “I would say that now is not the time for him to rest,” he said as he moved away from the table. “Although we will not discuss it tonight, David, you and I will revisit this in the morning. I am sorry, but it is necessary.”

  With that, he left the small hall, heading out into the darkness beyond. David and Emilie saw him disappear into his solar. As they stood there in tense silence, Brickley rose from his seat, grunting with the weariness he was feeling. Wine always made him weary. He, too, moved to quit the hall.

  “I will bid you both a good eve, then,” he said, not looking at them. “David, I never thought I would say this, but I would feel better if you went. There are not many knights in the world of your caliber and we would all be better served with you than without you.”

  He left before David could reply. David and Emilie watched him go, leaving the taper-lit hall and leaving the keep, out into the cold winter night. When they were finally alone, Emilie turned to David.

  “I know you said that you did not wish to discuss it, but I am very concerned that you will not be going north to fight alongside your brother,” she said softly. “Mayhap his anger against you has cooled by now. Don’t you think he will be looking for you? Expecting you? How can he fight without you?”

  David put his arm around her shoulders and turned her around, moving for the table where there was still plenty of wine and sweets. He helped her to sit before taking a seat beside her.

  “He will not be expecting me,” he said quietly. “Em, my brother is a very painful subject and I do not wish to discuss it right now. I told you all I can about what happened, at least for now. Please respect that.”

  She nodded. “I will,” she said. “I am sorry. I am just concerned for you.”

  He kissed her cheek gently. “I know,” he said. “I appreciate it. But suffice it to say that this new gathering, this battle at Gowergrove, will be fought without me. I will not go. Knowing my brother, he will have a massive army behind him. He doesn’t need me, anyway.”

  Emilie let the subject go after that. It seemed there wasn’t much more to say and David wasn’t willing to speak of it, anyway. All Emilie knew was that David seemed much more subdued after that. Sad, even. It was very difficult for her not to speak on is mood or manner, but it was clear when the change had occurred, but he had asked her not to speak of his disagreement with Christopher, so she wouldn’t.

  After that, they simply sat alone in the hall, sipped wine, as David told her of the amazing cities he had visited on his way back from the Holy Land simply to change the subject away from battle and Christopher de Lohr. It worked; she was particularly enamored with a city surrounded by mountains called Vienna and he promised to take her there one day.

  When Canterbury’s troops left Canterbury Castle five days later, David de Lohr was not with them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  February Year of our Lord 1194

  The stop in London had been for the sole purpose of picking up the crown troops, now numbering nearly three thousand strong. Christopher viewed his huge army with satisfaction, knowing they would surely quell John easily and he could return home soon. Richard was crossing the channel as he met with the jubilant justices, but Christopher could not wait for the king. John had to be controlled as he laid siege to the mighty stronghold of Gowergrove Castle.

  Richard’s return had indeed pleased Christopher, but with the focus his life had taken, he hadn’t felt the excitement he once would have. He no longer lived solely for his king, but for his family, and he wondered how well Richard would receive that knowledge. Christopher intended to step down from his title as Defender and become a mere baron once again, leaving the duties of the realm to a successor he would surely hand-pick. Marcus was the first man that came to mind.

  The troops retrieved, the three thousand man army headed northwest to the great castle of Gowergrove, a favorite holding of Richard’s at the southern tip of Sherwood Forrest. John had always had his eye on the fortress, and if Gowergrove was under his command, ’twould be near impossible to pass from southern to northern England without passing through his territory. Christopher had to secure the castle at all costs, and early on the eleventh day after leaving Lioncross, he lay siege to John’s troops at Gowergrove Castle.

  John’s mercenary army was dug in like a tick on a dog. The walls of Gowergrove were nearly thirty feet tall and the moat surrounding it was filled with nasty, rotting filth, very undesirable for the men-at-arms to go plunging into, to say nothing of the knights in their armor. Leeton set two hundred men to building ladders to mount the walls, but until that time, there was naught else to do but besiege Gowergrove with archers. Fine Welsh archers whose accuracy was legendary.

  Three days into the siege, the ladders were complete and after a day and a night of attempts, they were finally able to cap the walls and the battle truly began. When the bridge went down, Christopher was the first man inside.

  The fighting went on for days. Long, exhaustive days. Christopher saw barely five hour’s worth of sleep and spent his entire time in the saddle dueling mercenaries. Ralph was nowhere to be seen, but he saw Sir Dennis on several occasions and made it his focal point to seek the man out and destroy him.

  The battle had spilled out into the surrounding areas and the moat was filled to overflowing with the bodies of the dead. Christopher had suffered tremendous losses, as had John, but he refused to withdraw because John’s army was considerably weaker. He knew it would not be much longer and he would have Gowergrove secured.

  As is usual in February, the winter weather turned extremely foul and the worst storm Christopher could remember doused them day and night. At night, the rain would turn to ice and pelt the armor like a thousand stones being thrown, but in the day, it was miserable freezing rain. The land outside the castle soon turned into a deep, mucky bog and the destriers were up to their knees in the stuff, making fighting extremely difficult.

  Christopher was exhausted, as they all were. One morning, he found himself fighting outside of the great wall, trying to help Leeton subdue a particularly hearty band of criminals. They were trying to steer them toward the moat, corner them in, but the unruly horde was proving to be most disobedient and Christopher was fed up with all of it. His frustration had reached a frenzied level when something huge and powerful tore into his body, plowing through his mail and shoving his breastplate aside as it invaded his midsection brutally.

  Stunned, Christopher’s hand flew to his left side and he was anguished to feel the shaft of a great spear protruding from his torso. The rain had begun to fall
again, in great blinding sheets, washing his life’s blood down his saddle and onto the ground before it could collect on his armor.

  He still retained enough of his wits and reined Zephyr around, heading with speed for the trees. He wanted to be away from the battle zone so there would be something left of his body to return to Dustin. And he knew, with great remorse and anger and agony, that he was going to die. He had seen wounds like this before and they were always fatal.

  Christopher barely made it to the edge of the forest before weakness overcame him and he fell from his horse in a great, dying heap. He struggled through the haze of darkness that threatened to crawl further into the underbrush, his breathing coming in harsh gasps and feeling pain radiate throughout his body like nothing he had ever known.

  His eyes burned with tears, but not for himself. He would never again know the sweetness of his wife’s flesh, nor would he have the joy of watching his daughter grow into a beautiful young lady. The torment of cruel fate surged through him and he cursed himself the first day he ever picked up a sword. If he could have changed it, he gladly would have. He missed Dustin already. Goddammit, it just wasn’t fair!

  There was someone beside him and he recognized Leeton, rushing at him in panic.

  “Jesus, Chris,” Leeton’s voice cracked. “The bloody bastards got you. Oh, Jesus, let me see!”

  Christopher tried to wave him off, knowing any attempt to save him was futile, but Leeton roughly yanked off his breast plate and shoved his mail aside.

  “A spear,” Leeton spit with contempt. “Goddamn cowards could not get you with a sword, so they took to hurling spears. I have got to get this out.”

  Christopher started to shake his head, but he was far too weak to do anything but utter a strangled yelp when Leeton yanked the spear from his guts. Bright red blood gushed freely as Leeton slapped a few rags of linen on the spot, knowing they would be nearly useless against such a flow. He already felt the loss of his liege deeply and his handsome face was pale with sorrow.