In all, it had been a complicated mess and Chad was simply glad it was over for now. Still, a little voice inside of him told him the worst was yet to come. Years of experience in battle gave him that insight.
He prayed he was wrong.
“I have never understood why the House of de Winter served the crown when their dearest friend was de Montfort,” de Russe said, rousting him from his thoughts. “That never made any sense to me.”
Chad shrugged, his gaze moving out over the crowded, smoky common room of the tavern. “Because much like the House of de Lohr, the House of de Winter has historically supported the crown of England,” he said. “I suppose when it came to make that choice, either support de Montfort or Henry, Davyss’ father went with the traditional choice for his family’s legacy. But let us be truthful – it is never in anyone’s best interest to side against the king. That never ends well in most instances. De Winter did what he felt was right for his family.”
That was as good a reason as any and de Russe went back to his ale. The whole de Montfort/de Winter relationship was very convoluted and, as some whispered in the inner circles, it had very much to do with Davyss de Winter actually being de Montfort’s bastard. But those were just rumors from idle tongues, men who spewed untruths before they had a chance to think about what they were saying. As the knights stood there and mulled over the situation, and Chad ignored more calls from the prostitutes to drop his breeches, the door to the tavern jerked open and men began to pour in.
From the angle of their table, Chad and his knights couldn’t see who was coming in the front door until they were already well into the room. They watched that door closely, watching all who entered and left, so when the latest group of armed men entered, Chad recognized them immediately. He called out across the room.
“Chris!”
Sir Christopher de Lohr, named for his famous grandsire, turned in the direction of his shouted name. A big man with shaggy blond hair and a blond beard, he also looked a good deal like the man he was named for. Heir apparent to the Earldom of Worcester, he made his way across the crowded tavern floor, kicking aside anyone who didn’t move out his way fast enough. He was followed by four other knights, including two that Chad instantly recognized. He struggled to shake off his drunkenness at the sight.
“Davyss,” he hissed.
Davyss de Winter and his brother, Hugh, were being effectively pulled along by the younger brothers of Chris de Lohr. Chad moved swiftly towards the group, grasping at Davyss, who was in the grip of Arthur de Lohr. Only when Arthur saw that someone else had hold of Davyss did he let go.
“Do not release your grip, Chad,” Arthur said to his cousin. “He has been trying to escape us for the past several hours. That is why it took us so long to meet you.”
Chad fixed on Davyss, who was a pale and angry shadow of himself. “If I truly wanted to escape you, I could,” he said. “No man could stop me.”
Chad could hear the defiance, the anguish, in the man’s voice, which was unlike Davyss. He eyed the man’s broadsword strapped to his right leg. Lespada, it was called, the hereditary weapon for the firstborn males in the de Winter family. The sword was more famous than the entire family, in fact, an exquisite combination of function and beauty. No one knew how old it really was, only that it was at least one hundred and fifty years old, but it was so well-made, and so well-tended, that it looked nearly new. Chad knew that if Lespada were unsheathed, they’d have real trouble. He sought to ease Davyss’ agitation.
“No one is trying to stop you,” he assured him, hands on the man’s shoulders. “We are worried about you, Davyss. You know that.”
Davyss glanced at his friend. Davyss, a powerful man with wavy dark hair and flashing dark eyes, was a force of nature with a sword. “I know,” Davyss said, wiping a weary hand over his face. “But I must go home to my wife and children and your foolish cousins cannot stop me.”
Chad sighed faintly, glancing at Chris and Arthur and their younger brother, William. All three of them were gazing back at Chad with varied degrees of sorrow and doubt. They could all sense that Davyss wasn’t himself, agitated and exhausted. Chad pulled the man over to the table where the other knights were waiting. He was amiably greeted and someone handed him a cup of ale. As Davyss downed the entire thing in three swallows, his younger and more volatile brother, Hugh, came up behind him.
“We may as well have fought for Simon the way Henry is treating us,” Hugh said, grabbing a cup of ale from Stefan’s hand. He tossed it back in one big swallow. “It does not matter that you and Chad and I saved Henry from certain death by recognizing the fact that Uncle Simon had placed him in enemy armor. We saw through Simon’s scheme and we saved Henry’s life. You would think that would matter to him!”
Stefan and Perrin shushed Hugh by shoving more ale at him while Chad and Davyss and the rest of the knights seemed to be looking at each other, uncertainty in their expressions now. Hugh spoke of something they were all aware of; Henry had been prisoner of Simon on the day of Evesham and to deceive Henry’s forces, Simon had dressed the man in armor that was similar to what Simon himself wore.
They all knew that Simon hoped that Henry would be killed by his own forces but that didn’t happen when Chad and Davyss, and finally Hugh, recognized Henry purely from his build. He had very small legs and broad shoulders, and Henry had kept tossing off his gloves, revealing his big-jointed hands.
That was when Chad and Davyss had grown wise to what Henry was trying to tell his men. Being that they were up on the front lines, they had a clear field of vision to the opposing forces. After that, orders went out not to kill the knight who kept tossing off his gloves.
And that’s how Henry was saved and de Montfort was defeated.
But it had not been without peril. They’d had to fight off several of de Montfort’s men, among them a very big and powerful knight named Luc Summerlin. Chad had managed to knock Summerlin off his horse and give the man a very bad slice to the neck, and he seriously wondered how Summerlin would react to him if ever he saw the man again. But he couldn’t worry about that now, nor would he. The battle was over and every man present knew how Henry had been saved without Hugh shouting it out for the world to hear. They were humbler than that. But the fact remained that Hugh had also shouted out something about Henry’s attitude. Chad turned to Davyss.
“Has something happened with Henry?” he asked quietly, struggling with his drunkenness. “What is your brother talking about?”
Before Davyss could answer, Chris spoke. “We heard through some of Henry’s knights that Henry is grossly displeased that my brothers and I covered the de Shera retreat,” he said, his voice low. “He also heard about Davyss trying to buy de Montfort’s head and rumor has it that he is now doubting de Winter loyalty. Henry is already going after those who openly supported Simon, Chad. He’s rallying his forces and intends to strike at anyone he perceives as an enemy.”
Chad listened without much reaction. “He would be a fool to strike out at de Lohr and de Winter,” he said. “Your father controls half of the Welsh Marches, my father controls a huge portion of Kent, and de Winter is Norfolk and Sussex. Is he really so stupid?”
Chris shrugged. “Be that as it may, those are the rumors,” he said. “We would be wise to leave London immediately. This is no place for us if Henry is on a rampage.”
“He would not dare strike against Chad,” Perrin said hotly. “My brother saved his life. Is this how he would repay him? By accusing him of siding with de Montfort?”
Chad put his hand on Perrin’s shoulder to calm the young, excitable knight. “I fear he may not be taking my part in saving his life into consideration,” he said. “I suspect that all he sees is that the de Lohr army protected the de Shera army, a known supporter of de Montfort. Chris, what about de Wolfe and de Bohun? They were openly supporting de Montfort as well.”
Chris shook his head. “Henry will not touch de Wolfe,” he said. “That house is above reproach.
Moreover, they’ve already fled north and Henry isn’t about to go into the north where de Wolfe has the support of the House of de Lohr as well as the House of de Llion, kin to the House of du Bois.”
Hearing his family name, Rhun nodded when the attention turned to him. “Our houses are friends and allies,” he said. “If Henry moves against William de Wolfe, my cousins on the Marches will not hesitate to support him. The Houses of de Titouan and de Llion are very tight with de Wolfe and de Lohr. Besides… they have never liked Henry, anyway.”
It was a very complex issue with friendship and family bonds overriding the loyalty to the king. In these trying and dark times, there was no line between loyalties, mostly because de Montfort had many supporters. Henry had been an insufferable king at best but the fact remained that he was, indeed, king. Davyss poured himself more ale.
“I must go home to my family,” he repeated. “I want to see my wife and I must consider my loyalties and options. I may be the first de Winter in the history of our family not to fight for the crown after this.”
It was a shocking thought to consider that de Winter might have wavering loyalties towards the king. Chad had his hand on Davyss’ broad shoulder.
“You have every right to think that way, my friend,” he said quietly. “But what do you intend to do after this? About… de Montfort, I mean. What will you do, Davyss? Whatever it is, you know you can count on us for support.”
Davyss looked to his friend; Chadwick de Lohr had every good quality that his grandsire and granduncle had ever possessed. He was blindingly brilliant and an infallible commander. Silversword, they called him. It was because of the spectacular sword his grandfather had given him when he’d been awarded his spurs, a weapon that was the perfect blend of gleaming art and powerful functionality.
The nickname had meant to be an insult when Chad was young and brash and aggressive, but as the years went on, it became more of a distinction from the rest of the de Lohr brood. More than that, Chad had wisdom beyond his years, something both friends and family trusted, including Davyss. He could see that Chad was trying to be kind to him, given what had gone on. He smiled weakly.
“I will go home and discuss the situation with my wife,” he said. “She will know what to do.”
Chad simply nodded, eyeing Hugh, who was into his third cup of ale already. “What about Hugh?”
Davyss turned to look at his younger brother, passionate and rash and foolish at times. But he was a good fighter and loyal to the bone. He sighed.
“He worries me,” he said. “Hugh would be the one to run out and get himself killed over this. I must get him home as soon as possible, to his wife, so that she can maintain some control over him.”
Chad lifted his eyebrows with regret. “Is that even possible?” he asked. “His wife is a daughter of Roger Mortimer. After what her father has done….”
Davyss held up a hand in both a gesture of understanding and a gesture of silence. “We are allies of Mortimer, are we not?” he said wryly. “What the man did was for the good of England, so I was told. In any case, it is my hope that Hugh’s marriage to Isolde will enable me to get back that part of de Montfort which I seek. I have already spoken with the canons at Evesham Abbey and they are determined to collect what is left of Simon and bury it. Once I have his head, I will give it over to them. The man deserves a proper burial at the very least.”
Chad clapped him on the shoulder one last time before dropping his hand. “Agreed,” he said, feeling the angst in Davyss’ words as he spoke of Simon. “But for now, we shall go home and regroup. If you need me, however, all you need do is send word. I, and the Canterbury army, will respond.”
Davyss smiled faintly. “You are a true friend, Chad,” he said. “Thank you for everything.”
Chad simply smiled in return; words weren’t needed to reaffirm their bonds. They were strong and true. As Davyss returned to his ale and Chad resumed his drinking, the front door to the tavern opened again, ushering forth more men in armor. The wind blew in behind them, scattering leaves across the hard-packed floor of the tavern. Chad was just bringing his cup to his lips when Stefan grabbed his arm.
“Chad,” he hissed. “It’s de Moray!”
Chad nearly spilled his drink as Stefan jerked him about, pointing him towards the entry. Chad could clearly see the big, hulking frames of Bose de Moray and his son, Garran, as they entered the establishment. The elder de Moray, Sir Bose, was a legend in the annals of England, a man with a long history with the king. Years ago, he had been the captain of the king’s personal guard but the ensuing years saw him leave his post, marry, and become a great warlord with a sizable army.
The man, even at his age, continued to fight for the king even though his daughter had married one of the de Shera brothers, the same brothers who had retreated from Evesham after de Montfort’s defeat. The de Moray/de Shera relationship was another one of those alliances where blood ran deeper than loyalty to any one side, and de Moray was greatly respected by Henry and de Montfort allies alike. Chad was too far away to effectively get the man’s attention so he had Perrin and Rhun, who were closer to the door, call out to him.
“De Moray was with Henry last I heard,” Chad said through clenched teeth, watching as his knights captured Bose’s attention. “He left the battlefield with him. What in the hell is he doing here?”
Davyss watched the big knights lumber over in their direction. “I do not know,” he muttered. “But I do not think I like it.”
“We told him we would be here and invited him to join us, but I did not think he would show himself. He never has before.”
Davyss turned back to his drink. “As I said, I do not like that he is here,” he said. “Mayhap he has come to take me to Henry so the king himself can punish me for my ties to de Montfort. ’Tis not as if I have ever made them a secret.”
Chad didn’t say anything. He was more interested in watching Bose and Garran as they approached the table. Both men appeared particularly weary. Truth be told, he was as wary as Davyss was about their appearance and something told him to be on his guard. He wasn’t even able to open his mouth to greet de Moray before Bose was on him, his black eyes intense.
“Praise God that you are still here, Chad,” Bose said, relief in his expression. “I was not sure I would still find you here.”
Chad didn’t like the tone of his voice. There was much seriousness there. “And so you have,” he said, trying to remain casual. “Will you drink with us, Sir Bose?”
Bose shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “It is not for hospitality that I have come. I have just come from Henry and there are dealings afoot that you should be aware of. In fact, all of you should be aware of it.”
He was looking at the collection of knights, all of them loyal to Henry. The de Lohrs closed rank, as did de Russe and du Bois and de Winter, all of them curious about what news de Moray had brought them. Already, the mood was quite grim and sobering, and they didn’t even know the why. Any alcohol happiness they had been experiencing was summarily quashed.
“What is it?” Chad asked seriously, although it was difficult considering his head was still swimming with drink. “What has happened?”
Bose looked directly at Chad. He wasn’t the oldest knight of the group but he was the most respected. He was always the leader, in any situation, and men listened when he spoke. Bose knew this, which is why he directed his words to the man.
“Henry is going after de Shera,” Bose said, lowering his voice. “They were the most outspoken in their support of de Montfort and Henry’s first order of business is to force Gallus and Maximus and Tiberius into submission. He will threaten to take their lands and titles if they do not support him.”
Chad struggled to think clearly at the news, which wasn’t all that surprising, considering. “But… Tiberius is married to your daughter,” he said. “Will you rally to his defense?”
Bose lifted his dark eyebrows, tinged with gray. “Henry has asked me to ride to Is
enhall Castle and present a proposal to the Lords of Thunder that they surely cannot refuse,” he said, sounding disgusted. “I have agreed to mediate. But that is not the problem, Chad. The problem lies with Aurelius de Shera, their cousin. I assume you know the man.”
Chad nodded. In fact, all of the knights were nodding. “I know him,” he said. “He is a cousin to the Lords of Thunder; their fathers, Antoninus and Julius, were brothers.”
Bose nodded. “Although Antoninus died years ago, Julius de Shera was still alive until he fell at Evesham.”
Chad’s grim mood sobered further. “He should have never been there,” he said. “My God, the man was in his seventh decade. He should have never ridden to battle.”
They all knew that the elderly de Shera had ridden to de Montfort’s aid because he felt strongly, as the oldest living de Shera male, that he should be the one to lead the family, even over his very powerful nephews: Gallus, Maximus, and Tiberius. It had been a mistake, for Henry’s archers took him out very early in the battle.
“Julius fell and left it up to Aurelius to lead his troops,” Bose said, frustrated. “When the battle concluded and the Lords of Thunder retreated to Isenhall, Aurelius fled north with the de Wolfe army. He retreated back to The Paladin and left his father’s body on the battlefield. There wasn’t the opportunity to retrieve it.”
Chad felt as if he were rehashing the entire battle again, reliving what he was trying hard to drown away with ale. “I know all of this,” he said. “My brothers made sure that the canons at Evesham Abbey retrieved and buried Julius’ body once de Montfort supporters had retreated. Why are you telling me this again?”
Bose’s angular jaw ticked. “Because Aurelius left someone behind and unprotected from Henry’s wrath,” he said. “Aurelius’ sister, Alessandria, is a ward at Newington Priory, west of Rochester. Since you are from Canterbury, I would assume you have heard of it.”
The de Lohr Dynasty Page 196
