The camp was mostly awake at this time and word began to spread that the Lords of Thunder had arrived. Men began to rouse, to stand up and take notice, as the crimson and black standard moved through camp, heading for de Montfort’s tent. The thunder of horses filled the air as Gallus and his brothers announced themselves as only they were capable of doing. The entire camp paid attention. The muscle had arrived.
Bigod. Fitzgeoffrey. Gloucester. De Lara. Canterbury. De Ferrers. Fitzalan. De Wolfe. All of these standards came to notice as Gallus, Maximus, and Tiberius came to a halt near de Montfort’s big yellow tent. One of de Montfort’s soldiers greeted them and directed them to set up camp directly to the east of de Montfort’s cluster. Tiberius went with the men to establish their camp while Gallus and Maximus, along with their knights, dismounted. As men took the horses away, Maximus turned to Scott and Troy.
“I saw your father’s standard,” he said. “I am relieved that he is here. Things should go much smoother with The Wolfe leading the charge.”
The de Wolfe brothers nodded. “Indeed,” Scott said. “I should like to go to my father, with your permission.”
Maximus waved him off. “Go,” he said. “But do not be gone over-long. We intend to meet with de Montfort directly and find out what his plans are, so I will have need of you shortly.”
The de Wolfe brothers nodded, heading off towards the distant standard bearing de Wolfe’s dark green and black colors. Maximus was about to turn around but noticed that Stefan was standing beside him, his young face excited.
“I saw the Canterbury standards, my lord,” he said. “May I go and see if my father has arrived?”
Maximus nodded. “The great Maddoc du Bois,” he said, smiling at the young knight. “He is one of the few men left that are directly connected to the legends – your grandfather, your granduncle, Rhys du Bois, and Gart Forbes among them. Please give your father best regards from the House of de Shera and tell him that I look forward to seeing him again.”
Stefan nodded eagerly and bolted off into the faint morning mist. With his knights off to visit family, Maximus turned in the direction of the de Lara banner. He’d seen it when they’d arrived, a red and white banner that had been mingled with others. He knew it was Kellen and he certainly wasn’t surprised to see that he had arrived. And he was positive that Kellen had either seen the House of de Shera arrive or, at least by now, been told of it.
Given that Kellen believed his daughter was on her way back to Trelystan and far away from Maximus de Shera, the man was probably feeling just the least bit victorious. At least, that’s what Maximus thought. He would let the man feel that way, at least for the time being, and he had no intention of seeking him out or having any manner of conversation with him. In fact, he would make a point of avoiding the man as much as he could. He was fairly certain that, at this point, any conversation between them would come to no good end. It was best to avoid it altogether, at least until time had passed and Kellen had been lured into a false sense of security, thinking he’d managed to keep Courtly away from her suitor. Maximus knew he’d have to face the man at some point with what he’d done, but that moment would have to wait. Now was not the time.
With his thoughts lingering on how to avoid Kellen de Lara in the near future, Maximus caught sight of Gallus, who was standing in conference with one of de Montfort’s knights. Maximus recognized the warrior immediately, the right hand and champion of de Montfort, a knight by the name of Sir Paeton de Royans who was, perhaps, more formidable than almost any man in England. Even Maximus, as seasoned he was, had a healthy respect for de Royans’ abilities. He was a tall man, although they were taller, but the sheer breadth and muscle on the man was an impressive and intimidating sight. He was brawny, blond, handsome as hell, and he knew it. A humble man, de Royans was not, but he had every reason not to be. Maximus liked the man a great deal. He was brilliant, humorous, and they’d seen battle together many times. As they approached, Paeton caught sight of Maximus and lifted a hand.
“And the God of War in the flesh arrives,” he said, his blue eyes glimmering. “I have not seen you in months, my friend. I have heard all manner of wild tales over the past several months, mostly with you and your brothers involved in them.”
Maximus laughed softly. “I have not been involved in anything,” he stressed. “And even if you think so, you cannot prove it. Where have you been, Pete? We literally have not seen you in months.”
Paeton smiled. “Drumming up support for de Montfort in the north,” he said quietly. “The north is very fickle. If de Montfort cannot bring in a few of the more powerful barons, then we may have real trouble on our hands.”
Maximus thought on that statement for a time. After a moment, he shrugged. “We are, after all, leading a rebellion against the king,” he said. “I am not surprised that you have had difficulty finding allies. Speaking of allies, tell us what has happened with Christon de Russe. Has he really pledged to de Montfort?”
Paeton nodded his head. “Indeed he has,” he said. “Henry is none too pleased with it, either. He has convened a large army about seven miles from here and not a straggler army, either. Our scouts have seen de Winter banners and, they suspect, there are mercenaries involved. It is de Montfort’s intention to move his army to intercept them before they can reach Warborough.”
Gallus and Maximus were listening closely. “When?” Maximus asked.
Paeton shrugged, glancing back at the big yellow tent, damp and somewhat sagging from the heavy dew of the morning air. “Soon,” he said. “We are simply awaiting word from our scouts. When they arrive to tell us de Winter is on the move, then we will intercept them.”
De Winter. That was not what Gallus or Maximus wanted to hear. Fighting Davyss de Winter and his father was like fighting a beloved brother and uncle, although they knew that whenever Henry was convening an army that the de Winter troops would be there. Still, there was little choice. They had committed to de Montfort and would do as they were told.
Paeton, who had been fighting de Montfort’s battles a very long time, must have sensed their thoughts because he knew, much as most of those close to the House of de Shera knew, that the de Sheras and the de Winters had very close ties. He could detect their melancholy.
“I am sorry about this,” he said softly, looking to both Gallus and Maximus. “You know it is not easy on de Montfort, either. He is Davyss de Winter’s godfather.”
Maximus and Gallus knew as much. Gallus waved the man off. “Such things happen in war,” he said, unwilling to elaborate. In fact, he changed the subject completely, mostly because he simply didn’t want to talk about it. “Where is de Montfort?”
Paeton pointed to the tent. “Inside.”
Thanking Paeton, Gallus headed into the tent but Maximus lingered behind. It had been a great while since he’d seen his friend and he wanted a few cordial words with him, perhaps to even tell him about Courtly. He found that he was proud and eager to speak of his new wife. However, Paeton spoke first.
“What will you do if Davyss lifts a sword to you?” he asked softly.
Maximus shrugged. “He will not.”
“Would you stake your life on it?”
“I would.”
Paeton didn’t have the heart to dispute him. “If he does and you do not lift yours,” he confided, “I will be there. I will not let him strike you down.”
Maximus looked at him. “Davyss will not strike any de Shera down and neither will his father,” he said. “But I appreciate your concern, Pete, I sincerely do. However, there is something else you should know, something I am sure my brother is telling de Montfort right now. We lost Garran de Moray to Henry’s cause because the king has asked Garran’s father, Bose de Moray, for his sword. Garran has chosen to support his father in this matter. Although I hate to even voice such a thing, it is my suspicion that Bose and Garran are with the de Winter army. They were both in Oxford and have since left, so I can only imagine that they have gone straight f
or Henry’s army.”
Paeton’s blond eyebrows lifted. “De Moray?” he repeated, aghast. Mulling over the revelation, he simply shook his head. “Then this will be a battle of legends because we have William de Wolfe and Maddoc du Bois among us. These men are beyond legend, Max. They are the immortals. And now they face each other in battle? I never thought I would live to see such a thing.”
Maximus put out a hand to the man, shaking his head firmly. “Do not curse them so by calling them immortals,” he said. “They are men of flesh and blood, just like us. They can die just as easily.”
“Let us hope not.”
Maximus drew in a long, deep breath, coming to grips with the power on both sides of the battle lines. It was truly quite remarkable. “I had better go inside and hear what de Montfort has to say,” he said. “Are you coming?”
“In a moment.”
Maximus threw a thumb out in the general direction of his encampment. “When you see Tiberius, send him on to me.”
Paeton nodded his head. “It will be my pleasure.”
“And no planning nasty tricks with him, at least until this skirmish is over and I can fight back.”
Paeton started to laugh, thinking on all of the rotten things they had done to each other over the years all in the name of good humor. Once, they’d fixed Maximus’ saddle so that it slid off his horse and Maximus with it. In retaliation, Maximus had tossed a hive full of angry bees into Paeton’s tent and sealed the flap shut so the man couldn’t escape. Pranks that had been good-natured but, in some cases, rather painful. Paeton still had an unnatural fear of bees as a result.
“I promise, no tricks,” he said, holding up his hand to honorably vow. “I cannot think of any good ones, anyway. I fear I am all out of ideas.”
Maximus rolled his eyes. “Then that is excellent news,” he declared. “That being said, I am going inside. It is good to see you again, my friend, tricks or no.”
Paeton waved him away, watching Maximus disappear inside de Montfort’s tent. There were already barons in there, gathering, although there was no formal meeting. That would come soon enough now that the Lords of Thunder had arrived. Now, they could start planning in earnest.
The fate of a nation was hanging in the balance and legends on both sides of the battle lines would soon be at war.
There could only be one victor.
It had been a difficult morning.
More than that, it had been a difficult night. Maximus, Gallus, Tiberius, and their men had left at midnight under a bright and full moon, heavily armed and confident that they could reach Wallingford by morning. Gallus and Jeniver had said tender farewells, with Gallus keeping his hand on Jeniver’s gently rounded belly, while Maximus and Courtly simply clung together. But they were soon forced to separate, necessary if they were to make de Montfort’s rendezvous by morning, so Maximus and Gallus left the women in their chambers, safe behind locked doors, as they headed out into the night.
Courtly had hardly slept at all after that. She kept seeing Maximus, dressed in full battle armor, prepared for a fight, and it made her sick to remember him like that. Although she knew the man was a warrior, and the very best England had to offer, she still didn’t like the thought of him heading into battle where men would be aiming to cut him down. She wanted him here, with her, safe and warm. But that was not meant to be.
Morning dawned misty and cold, but once the fog of the morning had lifted, Courtly and Jeniver had taken their small escort and had gone for a walk down the avenue and then back up again. Both women were edgy, nervous, and Jeniver seemed to feel much better when she could move around a bit, and Gallus had permitted her to walk up and down the street that The One-Eyed Raven was located on. On this morning after the men had gone, Jeniver saw no reason to deviate from her usual schedule. Therefore, she and Courtly walked up and down the street, observing their surroundings with interest and trying not to think of their husbands as they headed into battle.
The inn was located on a street with two other hostels and residences, and people moved about their business in a great rush. Children and dogs ran about in the street, one of the dogs being quite friendly with the ladies. It was a very big dog, scruffy and underfed, but it seemed to take to Courtly a great deal. Never having a pet, she tried to leave the dog behind at first but it kept following her, so she brought it along and back to the inn with her, mostly because she couldn’t get rid of it if she tried. And she had.
In truth, she needed the distraction, something to focus on other than the fact her husband was waging war, possibly this very minute. This was all so new and unfamiliar to her, a new world of worries that she’d never experienced before, so it was difficult to know how to deal with the emotions the situation invited. Jeniver wasn’t much better, but at least she’d had some experience with it, and she approved of the dog as a distraction. At least it would give Courtly something to do other than sit and worry. Therefore, Courtly focused on tending the scraggly mutt.
The innkeeper, now having become very familiar with his best guests, provided Courtly with a big, wooden tub to wash the dog in because it was so matted and dirty. Courtly didn’t actually wash the dog herself but she stood by as a stable boy did it, and the dog seemed to begrudgingly accept the fact that it was being bathed. He was calm enough, at any rate. He had a very big tongue and licked Courtly happily when she petted its head, assuring the dog that it was being very good and obedient as the boy scrubbed. When the dog was finally rinsed clean, she took it into the kitchen of the inn and dried it off near the big bread oven.
Courtly ended up with the dog in the common room, sitting at the designated de Shera table, feeding it scraps from the morning meal. The dog proved to be an excellent distraction, at least for a time, but thoughts of Maximus continued to infiltrate Courtly’s mind. It was much like a leaky dam. She would plug up one flood of memories with a distraction, only to have the flood return greater than before. She played the game for a while, petting and feeding the big and now, fluffy, dog, using it to keep at bay memories of Maximus, but soon she gave up the fight altogether.
As the dog lay down next to her and went to sleep, Courtly sat at the table with her chin in her hand, depressed, watching the activity of the room as patrons came and left. She wished with all her heart that Maximus would be the next person coming through the entry door, but alas, it was not to be.
“Well?” came a voice behind her. “Did you bathe the bugs from the dog?”
Courtly turned to see Jeniver as the woman took a seat next to her. Courtly smiled weakly. “Indeed I did,” she said. “He is a very friendly dog.”
Jeniver eyed the mutt. “He is a very big dog,” she said. “I am glad that he is friendly because he could certainly eat you for sup.”
Courtly laughed, turning to pet her new friend on the head. “I have decided to name him Henry,” she said. “I can order him about to my content, make him do my bidding, and feed him scraps from my table. It is a perfect name, truly.”
Jeniver laughed. “Maximus and Gallus will love that,” she said. Then, she set a small, wooden box onto the table, something she had brought down with her from upstairs. She began to open it. “I thought you might like to play a game to pass the hours.”
Courtly looked at the box with interest. “What is it?”
Jeniver pulled forth a stack of wooden cards, elegantly painted. “These are cards that I purchased when I visited Paris a few months ago,” she said. “My father bought them for my birthday. We can play games with them.”
Courtly had played cards before. “When I fostered, the lady of the house had cards,” she said. “She taught us to play Bone Aces. Do you know that game?”
Jeniver nodded. “I do,” she said. “This is exciting. It is the first time I have been able to use my cards. Gallus will not play with me because all he wants to do is gamble and I refuse to take money from him.”
Courtly’s mood lightened as her focus shifted from thoughts of Maximus to those of
a card game. As the barkeep brought the ladies some warmed, mulled wine, Courtly and Jeniver played round after round of Bone Aces. The object was, through accumulating numbered cards, to total thirty-one without going over that number. One could discard and accept new cards, but if they went over the limit, then a winner was declared and a new game began.
Fortunately, both Courtly and Jeniver could count and they played the game with relish. When their four-man escort saw what the women were doing, they showed great interest and Jeniver invited the head of the escort to join them. The man happily accepted but was greatly displeased when he won not one hand against the women. Insulted, the next man in the escort took over from him and he, too, lost every hand.
By this time, Courtly and Jeniver were having a grand time beating their escort at cards. They finished soundly beating the second man and were starting in on his replacement when the door to the common room opened and a figure entered. Courtly, who was facing the door, happened to glance up as the figure moved deeper into the room. Recognition dawned and all humor left her face.
“Auntie!” she gasped.
It was too late to run and hide, for Ellice had already spotted her niece. Oddly enough, she didn’t seem surprised to see her. Pale, and wet from the intermittent rain that was striking up this day, Ellice made her way over to the table. By the time she reached it, Courtly and Jeniver were on their feet, edgy, but Ellice only had eyes for Courtly.
“I hoped I would find you here,” Ellice said to her niece. “I had hoped you had not yet left to go to the de Shera stronghold.”
Courtly was torn between bewilderment and fear. “Oh… auntie,” she sighed, knowing her deception had just been discovered. There was great disappointment in her tone. “Why did you come here?”
England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 26
