In truth, he wasn’t feeling much like eating and his head was swimming, but he knew the food and fruit juice would help him get his equilibrium back enough so that he could walk the half-mile back to William Marshal’s townhome of Farringdon House. He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to tell The Marshal about where he’d been – where they’d all been – but he’d think of something. He was, if nothing else, resourceful.
Unfortunately, time was not on his side.
As Caius and the other men devoured the meal and the good bread that a wench had brought to the table, the front door of the tavern lurched open and the moldy, stale smell of the river wafted in on the evening breeze. It pushed aside the smoke of the place, mingling with it to create a nauseating stench.
But the open tavern door revealed two more of The Marshal’s men, pushing through the crowd. They were clearly searching for their own kind and spied them just about the time Caius glanced up from his meal. Before he could react, Kevin, sitting next to him, was on his feet.
“Over here!” he said, lifting an arm to wave the pair of knights over. “Have my seat, Sean. I’ll get another.”
Sir Sean de Lara was Kevin’s older brother. An enormous man with a fearsome reputation, he was wearing a cloak with a hood up over his head because, unlike The Marshal’s men who moved about freely, Sean was not privileged enough to do that. He did, indeed, serve William Marshal, but he served the man in the capacity of the personal bodyguard to the king, keeping an eye on the king and being privy to the king’s inner circle, so moments when he publicly mingled with The Marshal’s men were rare.
Normally, Sean kept tightly to John’s side as a terrifying henchman known as the Lord of the Shadows, whose loyalties publicly were with John. Whatever dirty deed the king wished, Sean would do. But privately, he was a spy who served William Marshal and as a mole to the king, his work was invaluable.
Invaluable and reputation-destroying.
But tonight, he had come away from his post, and it was a moment not lost on Caius. In fact, it concerned him to simply see the man.
“Wait,” he said, stopping Kevin as he went to throw another man off a chair and confiscate it. He turned to Sean. “I am assuming you’ve not come to join us.”
As Sean shook his head, the second Marshal knight came to stand next to him. Maxton of Loxbeare was one of the original Executioner Knights, a specialty group of assassins within The Marshal’s stable. A big man with dark hair and dark eyes, he was unpredictable and dangerous, which made him the perfect assassin. He was also deeply loyal to his fellow knights and a man of great command ability. He came alongside the table, his focus on Caius.
“We thought we’d find you here,” Maxton said, looking with some disapproval around the table. “Don’t you lot know better than this? If The Marshal finds out, there will be hell to pay.”
A lecture from Maxton was not meant to be taken lightly and those at the table tried not to look guilty. Except for Caius; he and Maxton were very old and very good friends. Maxton was the perfect assassin, but Caius could match him and then some. There was great mutual respect.
He grunted at the man.
“You and I and Kress and Achilles have been in worse places than this,” he muttered, mentioning the names of the other Executioner Knights. “Do you recall that place in Iskenderun? The one by the sea where all of the Black Sea pirates would haunt?”
The corner of Maxton’s mouth twitched with a smile at the memory. “We are not speaking of Iskenderun.”
Caius reached up and grabbed his arm, shaking it as if to pull the man in on the humorous and frightening memories. “Aye, we are,” he said deliberately. “Remember the woman who wandered the place in her big, dark robes and would strike up a conversation with a man only to have her children emerge from under her robes and rob the man blind? She did it to Achilles and he thought her children were midgets. Remember? He tried to fight one of them and then realized he was doing battle with a ten-year-old boy who nearly bested him.”
Maxton couldn’t hold back the grin. “Shut your lips, you drunkard. We are not here to discuss Achilles’ failings as a warrior.”
When it came to their friend and comrade, Achilles de Dere, no insult was too great. Caius burst into laughter as Sean watched with mild amusement.
“Cai,” he said. “If I were you, I would sober up quickly. The Marshal has asked to see you.”
They were back on the subject of Sean and Maxton’s appearance. Caius looked at him. “Sean, my beauteous lad,” he said. “I see two of you and you are twice as gorgeous. But you can see that I am clearly in no position to face The Marshal.”
Sean looked at Maxton, who shook his head and looked away, grinning. “How did you get so drunk?” Sean demanded. “I’ve seen you drink bottle after bottle of wine and feel nothing. What in the hell is the matter with you?”
Caius cocked a dark eyebrow and pointed to the men around the table. “You have these jackasses to thank,” he said. “They bet a man rumored to be the heir to the House of de Wrenville that I could outdrink him. Well, I did. I won. Now we are all richer for it.”
The smiles vanished off the faces of Maxton and Sean.
“The de Wrenville heir,” Maxton repeated hesitantly. “Marius de Wrenville?”
Caius lifted his shoulders. “I do not know his name,” he said. “And I do not care. So long as I have his money.”
Maxton began to look around the room, over the sea of human filth. “Where is he?”
Caius shrugged. “I do not know,” he said. “He could not hold his drink and his men dragged him away.”
Maxton and Sean looked at each other. Then, they moved to sit down around the table, pulling up chairs and calling for more food.
“Cai, eat what you can,” Maxton said, sighing heavily. “We need to sober you up before you see The Marshal.”
Caius lifted his cup of juice. “I am already ahead of you,” he said. But even drunk, he could see the expressions on their faces and there was concern there. “Why? What is the matter that The Marshal needs to speak with me about?”
Maxton simply shook his head as Sean answered. “I am not sure how to tell you this, but Marius de Wrenville is a favored of the king.”
Caius’ eyebrows lifted. “That arrogant little pup?”
“The same.”
Caius went back to his food. “No offense to you, Sean, but the king is not known for his taste in companions.”
Sean accepted a cup of the strong Portuguese wine from his brother. “True enough, but de Wrenville is having trouble with a neighbor and he has the king’s ear.”
“Why should that concern me?”
“That is what The Marshal wishes to speak with you about.”
Something in that statement seemed to sober Caius up dramatically. His head was still swimming, but something in the way Sean had said it seemed to bring forth his reasoning side without benefit of the drink wearing off. Suddenly, he was quite serious.
Something was afoot.
“I am not returning to Richmond Castle, am I?”
Sean shook his head. “Not right away,” he said. “But you have not lost your command if that is what you are asking.”
“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
At that moment, more food was put on the table and the knights began to grab at it. Sean didn’t answer right away, waiting for the wenches to depart. But Caius was watching Sean and Maxton over the tabletop, his black eyes fixed on them, unblinking.
The viper’s stare.
“Answer me, Sean. What is amiss?”
“Eat your food,” Maxton said, taking his attention off Sean. “The sooner you eat, the sooner you will sober up and the sooner you will find out. Do not ask us again to tell you; that must come from The Marshal and you know it. We do not have permission to speak of it.”
Caius did know it, but it didn’t make him happy. “But you know.”
“We know.”
“Describe the
situation in one word and I’ll not ask again.”
Sean sighed heavily, looking to Maxton, who was fixed on Caius.
“Trouble.”
CHAPTER ONE
Farringdon House
London Townhome of the Earl of Pembroke, William Marshal
“You’re drunk.”
“I was, but I am quite lucid now. I am told you wish to see me?”
Caius was answering the accusation of a man standing several feet away, across the vast and beautiful chamber with hand-painted walls that looked better suited for a prince or a king, or even a woman, and not a great warlord and spy master.
It was the lair of the legendary William Marshal.
A knight of the highest order, he was also a titled lord who controlled the winds of politics in England as much as the king did. John may have been king, but William was the puppet master to a large degree. Here, in his swanky London townhome of Farringdon House near the western edge of the city, the fate of a country was manipulated.
Changed.
Controlled.
The chamber was warm and dim, the only light and heat coming from a roaring fire in the hearth that was taller than a man. That meant an inordinate amount of heat filled the room and even though Caius said he was lucid, the truth was that he was still tipsy and the warmth of the room was making him sleepy.
But he fought it, instead, focusing his intense gaze on the older man with the yellowed eyes and a piercing stare of his own.
It was that piercing stare that beheld Caius just a little bit longer than necessary, as if to determine whether or not the man was telling him the truth. But Caius met the man steadily.
William finally looked away, gesturing to two chairs that were positioned in front of that uncomfortably warm hearth.
“Sit,” he said. “Something has come up, Cai. This is… complicated, I fear.”
Caius broke from his position near the entry, where he’d been standing, and headed towards the chair William had indicated. He wondered if he was weaving as he walked because he certainly felt that way, trying to pretend that he wasn’t. He was trying awfully hard to pretend he wasn’t drunk, as William had accused.
He wouldn’t let the man have the satisfaction.
“If it is personal, then I am at your service,” he said. “You honor me.”
William sat down, heavily, in the more comfortable of the two chairs, leaving Caius to plant his bulk in the hard-bottomed oak chair. William shifted, seemingly unable to look Caius in the eyes for the moment.
There was much on his mind.
Around them, other knights were in the chamber, in the shadows, watching and listening. Caius knew that Sean and Maxton were there, along with Kevin, Bric, Dashiell, and Peter. Morgan and Gareth had been left down in the central courtyard of the fortress-like townhome, waiting for their commanders. They were newer members of The Marshal’s elite force, but some privileges still had to be earned.
Like being part of a private meeting.
For William, it was not only private, but personal. That was clear in his manner. He finally looked up at Caius, at the men back in the shadows, knowing he was among men who not only served and respected him, but were as close to friends as a man like him could get. His guard came down, just a little, and he cleared his throat softly.
“Two months ago, my niece, Alice, daughter of my sister, Margaret, was married,” he said. “This, in and of itself, is not an astounding thing. Women are married all the time. But Alice… let us say that she is not an attractive girl. She is also not young at thirty years and four. We never thought she would be married, but a surprising offer came from Covington de Wrenville and my sister naturally accepted. I did not find out about it until last week when I received a call for assistance from de Wrenville himself. He impressed upon me his new ties to my family and insisted I come to his aid.”
Caius was listening closely. So far, there hadn’t been any earth-shattering revelations. “What is his trouble, my lord?”
William gave him an exasperated look. “What isn’t his trouble?” he said. “Do you know anything about Covington de Wrenville?”
Caius lifted his big shoulders. “I have heard the name, but I’ve had no direct contact with him. His seat is in Worcestershire, I think.”
“Shrewsbury,” William corrected. “In short, Covington de Wrenville is a warlord loyal to John. His son, Marius, is a favorite of the king at the moment and I am convinced this entire marriage was orchestrated to establish family ties to me.”
Marius de Wrenville. The same whelp Caius had beaten in the drinking game at The Pox. No wonder Maxton and Sean had looked so shocked when they realized the de Wrenville heir had been Caius’ opponent, but Caius wasn’t sure he should tell The Marshal that. It might make the situation worse, so he pretended that he didn’t know anything about the family.
“Every family in England would like to be related to you,” he said. “Surely that is not surprising.”
William rolled his eyes. “It is not, but I would rather not be tied to this family,” he said. “Covey de Wrenville is a man if ill repute. He is loyal to the man who can do the most for him and this marriage to a woman some have cruelly called Ugly Alice was to establish ties to me so that he can call upon family honor and force me into an alliance. If I refuse, he will run to Margaret and I do not wish to be at odds with my dear sister. I believe that his son and the king orchestrated this entire thing to somehow subjugate me to Covey. He can ask for my army and it will be difficult for me to refuse him. But Covey is loyal to the king, meaning John can use my armies through Covey.”
Caius was beginning to understand. “That is indeed troubling, my lord,” he said. “But how may I be of service?”
William sighed heavily and stood up, moving to the table against the wall that contained two big pitchers of wine and fine rock crystal cups. They had been a gift from a Gascon warlord years ago. Pouring himself a full measure of wine in a contemplative gesture, he returned to his seat.
“Covey is having trouble with a neighbor,” he said. “This neighbor, I am told, is aggressive and disloyal to the king. He has asked for my assistance in defeating this neighbor once and for all, for it has apparently been a long-running feud. John wants the neighbor arrested and brought to London to face his justice.”
“And you want me to accomplish this?”
William shrugged. “That is the intent,” he said. “But something tells me that there is more to this situation than meets the eye. The de Wrenvilles hold Winterhold Castle north of Shrewsbury and the neighbors in question are the de Thoringtons of Hawkstone Castle. Their lands border one another. Now, I know Rupert de Thorington, or at least, I did long ago. He went on Crusade with King Richard and as far as I know, he has never been disloyal to the Crown, but I have not seen him in many years. I suppose the situation could have changed.”
“And you want me to determine if it has?”
William nodded. Then, he set the wine down and fixed on Caius with a grim and serious expression.
“Cai, I fear this is a ruse for John to somehow gain control of the army I send to Winterhold,” he said. “If it is, I need you in command. You will not let John and his loyalist take control of my men. Furthermore, there is something you should know about Hawkstone – not only is it a mighty fortress, but it sits upon rich and mythical lands dating back to ancient times. There is a mountain in the midst of the property with caves and magical waterfalls. I have seen it myself, many years ago. It is said that an ancient Mercian king buried his treasure somewhere on the Hawkstone property. I would not be surprised if de Wrenville wanted that property badly enough to lie about de Thorington to get it. But that is something you must discover.”
“And if I discover your suspicions to be correct?” Caius asked quietly.
William sighed heavily yet again. “My sister’s only daughter is married to Covey,” he said. “Can I go against him? Of course I can. Without hesitation. But that would hurt Alice and, in
turn, hurt Margaret. I want to avoid this at all costs if possible because, truthfully, if Covey feels I will not support him, he may mistreat Alice. That is my fear. But in the end, I will not submit to Covington de Wrenville or to John. They are both ruthless and immoral, now with my niece swept up in that filth because of a marriage contract I was not told of.”
Caius scratched his dark head. “It was kept secret from you for obvious reasons, my lord,” he said. “You would have opposed it and they knew it.”
William nodded wearily. “As I said, this was orchestrated. I need your skill as a diplomat, a spy, and a warrior to help solve this delicate situation.”
Caius was coming to understand what Sean and Maxton had meant when they’d told him the situation was trouble. It was trouble, indeed, and an extremely delicate situation.
“I will do all that I can, my lord, you know that,” he said after a moment. “How many men am I taking with me?”
“I will send two thousand with you,” William said. “Christopher de Lohr is already moving them from Pembroke and Lioncross Abbey Castle to Wolverhampton. You will rendezvous with them at the seat of Edward de Wolfe, Earl of Wolverhampton. Have you ever been to Warstone Castle?”
Caius shook his head. “I have not, my lord,” he said. “Though I do know the earl. He is a great friend of Christopher de Lohr.”
William nodded. “They served with Richard in The Levant,” he said. “Edward served Chris even after they returned home, until his father passed away and he assumed the earldom. Edward is an excellent warrior, but he is a better statesman. He has the gift of persuasion. His discourse has sealed many a treaty and bargain.”
“For the king?”
“He hates John, but he serves the man because he must. As do I.”
“And I.”
“Exactly.”
Caius knew the situation; they all did. Serving a monarch no one could stomach, but was a necessary evil until his young son, Henry, is old enough to effectively rule. Until then, they all had to serve John. But in the case of William Marshal and his agents, it was really England they were serving over the monarchy.
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