Kress’ jaw ticked as he watched Achilles kick the half-conscious merchant aside when one of the man’s guards hit him across the shoulders with a chair. The chair splintered but Achilles did not; it simply made him madder. It was like pulling the tail of the bull.
“Christ,” Kress hissed. “We must remove him from this place before the entire tavern is turned on end. You know how he can be.”
“Aye, I know how he can be.”
“He will destroy everything in his path.”
“He will, indeed.”
Kress began looking around for the fourth man in their party, spying him over near the hearth in what appeared to be an oddly peaceful conversation with an older man, perhaps a traveler or merchant of some kind. In the midst of the chaotic room, the quiet conversation seemed out of place.
“Look at Max,” Kress said, pointing to their companion at the other end of the rumbling room. “He does not have a care in this world.”
Gart spied their companion as well. “He certainly is not afraid of conversation,” he replied. “He has done this ever since we left Baux, speaking with strangers in taverns, on the road, in churches… I have never known Maxton of Loxbeare to be so interested in the rabble of the world. Now, instead of helping Achilles, he is casually conversing.”
Kress’ blue-eyed gaze lingered on Maxton as the man lifted his hands to emphasize a point, chatting away. Kress opened his mouth to reply but another victim of Achilles’ rage stumbled past him, almost bashing into him, and Kress angrily pushed the man away, right back into Achilles’ orbit, where he was subsequently pummeled to the ground. Kress then continued his conversation with Forbes as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.
“Max was oddly quiet during our time in captivity,” he told Gart. “Do you recall that I mentioned this to you? He rarely spoke and when he did, it was oddly philosophical, like the man was reliving his life and trying to figure out where he had gone wrong. Do you see these people he speaks with? Merchants, holy men, anyone who seems intelligent or well-read. Somehow, someway, Max is rethinking the sins of his life. It is my opinion that now that we are free, he believes he has a second chance to right the wrongs he has committed.”
Gart’s focus was also lingering on Maxton off in the corner of the smelly, smoky, and noisy room. “He cannot change his life,” he said. “He cannot erase the past and the man is known for the strength of his sins as well as the strength of his accomplishments. The Marshal has a task for the three of you and Max is an important part of that equation. Has he mentioned to you that he does not wish to agree to The Marshal’s terms?”
Kress shook his head. “He has not mentioned anything to me,” he replied. “But, then again, we do not know all of it. Mayhap when we do, he shall voice his resistance.”
“If he does, then William Marshal will send him back to the Lords of Baux, not to mention what Eleanor will do to him when she discovers her money has been wasted.”
“I would fear Eleanor more than William.”
“As would I.”
Achilles, now bored with his fight because every man involved in it was either unconscious or fleeing, rubbed at his bruised knuckles as he made his way back over to Kress and Gart. There were at least a dozen men picking themselves off of the tavern’s dirt floor. But when Achilles de Dere was involved in a fight, that was the normal aftermath. Achilles had no problem single-handedly taking on more men than he could count on his fingers and toes, or at least he boasted that fact. He was mostly right and no one had the courage to argue with him. A fight with Achilles de Dere was a difficult fight to win.
“Foolish whelp,” Achilles muttered as he came to stand with Kress and Gart. “No man will accuse me of sullying his daughter when all I was doing was talking to the girl. And she was not all that attractive to begin with.”
Kress simply shook his head, resigned, as Gart spoke. “You have made a mess out of the place,” he observed, watching as the merchant was being helped to his feet by his plain-featured daughter. “Mayhap it would be wiser for us to wait outside for The Marshal. I do not want him to see the state of this room and think we are men without control.”
Achilles looked puzzled as Gart and Kress turned away from him, heading back to their table to collect their possessions. “What do you mean without control?” the big knight wanted to know, trailing behind them through the upended tables. “I have perfect control. Moreover, we have not eaten yet and I am starving. I am not leaving before I have been fed.”
Gart was collecting his saddlebags. “We will eat somewhere else,” he said. “The tavern keeper will more than likely poison our food and wait until we are dead to steal from us to pay back the damage you have done to his tavern. I will not be robbed by a vengeful innkeeper.”
Achilles was frowning greatly but, in a way, he understood. He, too, began to collect his bags.
“I would not die easily,” he insisted. “It would take a lot of poison to kill me.”
Kress snorted. “Do you care to test that theory?”
“I do not.”
“Then pick up your bags and let us move on.”
“But what about Marshal?”
“I shall have to send word to him that we have moved to another tavern. He can find us there.”
Achilles slung his saddlebags over his broad shoulder, well-used and repaired bags that had been purchased second-hand from an old French smithy when they had left Baux-de-Provence. He didn’t like them, but he didn’t have the money, as of yet, to purchase finer. All of his possessions, including his fine horses and weapons, had been confiscated by forces loyal to the pope when they had been arrested last year. Achilles, much like Kress and Maxton, hoped to one day be outfitted to reflect their quality and status once again. Right now, all three of them looked like paupers.
“Max,” Kress hissed to his friend in the corner. “Let us depart.”
Maxton of Loxbeare was what most women would call deliciously formed. With dark hair and deep blue eyes, he was square-jawed and handsome. He was also aloof for the most part, at least towards women, and could be aloof towards men as well, which was why his sudden change in nature over the past several months had seemed so strange to his friends. Maxton was a complex man at best, but he was also extremely brilliant and an infallible commander, which made him something of an odd character. When the man heard Kress’ call, he turned to look at him with a complete lack of concern.
“Why?” he asked. “My business is not yet complete here.”
Kress grunted, displeased with the denial, as he looked to Gart for support. Forbes fixed on Maxton.
“Your business is our business, and our business is outside of this tavern,” he told the man in a tone that was not meant to be contested. “Gather your things, Loxbeare. We must depart.”
Maxton eyed Gart a moment, simply to convey that he was not so easily ordered about, before finally rising from his chair and moving back to their table where his worn saddlebags lay across the wooden surface. Gart and Kress were already moving for the tavern door, a warped panel that was barely able to close. They were nearly to the door when it abruptly pushed back and blinding white light from late afternoon filtered in. Gart actually staggered back, momentarily blinded, as a well-armed man entered the tavern.
For the Executioner Knights, their moment of destiny had finally arrived.
CHAPTER THREE
“Forbes,” William Marshal greeted, amused when Gart stumbled back and tripped down a step, down onto the dirt floor of the tavern. “You looked quite staggered to see me. I was unaware my presence had such an impact on you.”
Grinning, Gart blinked his eyes, as the light from the open door was still bright. “Always, my lord,” he said seriously. “You cause me to stumble every time I see you.”
William chuckled, noticing that Gart was with three other very large men. Knights, he assumed, although they weren’t wearing any protection and a quick perusal of their weaponry showed it sorely lacking. He point
ed to Kress, who was the closest man next to Gart.
“Introduce me to your companions, Gart,” he said, inspecting Kress from the top of the man’s blond head to the bottom of his enormous feet. “I would assume this is either Loxbeare or de Dere or de Rhydian.”
Gart nodded, turning to indicate Kress. “My lord, meet Sir Kress de Rhydian,” he said. “You have never met a man more deadly with a sword.”
William cocked an eyebrow at the knight. “We shall see,” he said vaguely, throwing a finger in the direction of an empty table over near the front windows of the tavern. “Let us retreat away from the entry so our business is not heard by the entire world.”
So much for them leaving the tavern to find another, less-hostile place. Gart simply followed William as the man headed for an empty table over near the front window.
“As you wish, my lord,” he said. “But truthfully, we were not expecting to see you until tonight.”
William waved him off. “We made excellent time with our travel,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the men following him. “If the big blond man is de Rhydian, then the other two must be Loxbeare and de Dere.”
They had reached the table, which was empty except for a small man sleeping at one end of it. As The Marshal’s men roused the man and chased him away, the group began to collect their seats. Gart indicated Maxton, who was closest to him.
“This is Sir Maxton of Loxbeare,” he said, “and the tall brute is Sir Achilles de Dere.”
As Maxton and Achilles acknowledged William with a nod of their heads, Gart made a point of not introducing The Marshal by name because he didn’t want anyone else in the room to hear the introduction. Already, they were conducting their business out in the open and he was uncomfortable, but William didn’t seem to be particularly concerned. He’d brought about twenty heavily-armed men with him inside, men who fanned out through the room, so that William on the inside was well protected.
As they settled around the old, worn table, William wasn’t thinking about his men, or the tavern, or anything else for that matter. His attention was entirely upon the three knights he had just been introduced to.
He’d been waiting a long time for this moment.
“Loxbeare,” he said to the bearded knight with the dark blue eyes. “I know your father well. He is quite thrilled to have you home.”
Maxton nodded faintly. “That seems strange, my lord, considering I have not spoken with my father in almost fifteen years.”
William could immediately sense a serious, if not somewhat morose, man beneath the hulking exterior. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond to what seemed to be a family issue so he simply overlooked it. “Your father is a fine man,” he said politely, turning his attention to the big blond knight who had been more congenial. “De Rhydian, is it? You must be an excellent knight if you are keeping company with Loxbeare and de Dere.”
Kress smiled, lopsided. “I have allowed them to keep company with me, my lord,” he said arrogantly. “I would have hoped they’d have learned something from me by now.”
William grinned; he liked a man with confidence. His attention finally came to rest on Achilles, the tallest of the group. He also looked to be the youngest with his smooth face and bright eyes, but from his weathered neck and hands, it was clear that he was much older than he appeared. Then William noticed the bloodied knuckles on the man and he couldn’t help but notice that the common room of the tavern had seen some serious upheaval. He motioned to the room before them.
“Was there some trouble here?” he asked.
Gart, trying to appear entirely ignorant, lifted his eyebrows questioningly. “Why would you ask?”
William gave Gart a rather wry expression. “I entered the tavern as you four were fleeing,” he said. “The room has been wrecked. What did you do?”
Gart held a serious expression for a few moments longer before being unable to do so. He cracked a smile, looking at Kress and Achilles, who were also grinning. Kress was shaking his head in exasperation. No one seemed willing to answer so Maxton was the one to finally speak.
“Achilles created a ruckus as only Achilles is capable of doing,” he said calmly. “But surely you do not wish to speak about a brawl in a tavern, my lord. Your presence here represents something far more important than a knight’s fight, so we would appreciate it if you would simply get on with it.”
William turned to the serious, even blunt, knight. “Indeed, I will,” he agreed. His attention was drawn to the man; he couldn’t quite put his finger on what was wrong, but there was something behind Maxton’s stormy eyes that made him appear quite edgy. Unstable, even. It was something William would have to watch. “I have come to see the three men who were ransomed with a good deal of money. I have come to ensure that you understand why you were ransomed.”
Gart, seeing that William was having some difficulty with Maxton’s seemingly hard attitude, cleared his throat softly. “I have informed them why they were ransomed, my lord,” he said quietly. “They know that they have been returned to England to do a job.”
“But you have not told them what job.”
“Nay, my lord. That should come from you. We have been two months upon the road home, so you will forgive us if tempers are short and we are weary in general. Proceed as you will. They are ready to hear it.”
He sounded as if he were making excuses for Maxton’s behavior, which he was. William didn’t like that and especially not coming from Gart. Forbes was not a man given to apologies. His gaze, intense and appraising, looked over the three knights seated at his table. The room around them was starting to show signs of life again as the tables were righted and patrons settled down again, but William didn’t notice. He was only focused on the men before him.
“You know that you have been ransomed for a purpose,” he said. “But hear me now; I will inform you of your purpose from my own lips and you will understand the situation as it stands. Firstly, let me be plain – you three now belong to me. I have ransomed you and you are therefore in my service. Is this in any way unclear?”
Kress and Achilles shook their heads, with Maxton responding a split second later. William continued. “Excellent,” he said. “Now, I wish to discuss your reputation in The Levant. It is my understanding that the three of you carried out, shall we say, unsavory tasks for the Christian commanders. Is this true?”
Again, Maxton was the one to nod. When dealing with the three of them, it was always Maxton who spoke for the group. “We did as we were told, my lord,” he said. “There was nothing more to it.”
William cocked an eyebrow at the man. “I would hope there is a great deal more to it,” he said. “I was also told that once you left The Levant, you found lords in France and Saxony and beyond who would also pay you for those particular skills.”
“A man must make money the best way he can, my lord.”
“Forbes tells me that you three are known as the Executioner Knights for your skill as assassins and spies.”
The three men looked at Gart who gazed steadily back at them. It was clear he wasn’t going to elaborate on what he’d already told William; he expected the men in question to do it. After a moment, Kress pursed his lips and looked at his lap while Achilles stretched his long arms over his head and leaned back in his chair, unwilling to answer. Only Maxton was left to respond, once again.
They would leave the explaining to him.
“All men have their strengths and weaknesses, my lord,” Maxton said, his voice somewhat quieter. “Ours happen to be stealth, strength, and utter fearlessness. We work well as a team. We did as we were told and we accomplished our mission.”
“No matter how unpleasant?”
“No matter, my lord.”
“Your feelings do not come to bear?”
“Not in any case, my lord. They never have.”
William could see that. He was coming to understand something else, too – when Loxbeare spoke, there was no boastfulness. Either he was being m
odest, or he was simply unwilling to elaborate on their reputation. William suspected it was the latter; assassins usually did not live long if they bragged over their accomplishments. He understood their position all too well.
Therefore, he leaned forward on the old table, motioning the knights nearer. For what he was about to say, he didn’t want to shout. As the three men leaned forward to listen, William eyed Gart, unspoken words passing between them. Gart would keep an eye out for anyone trying to listen to their conversation. As Gart sat back in his chair, far enough to keep on the alert but still close enough to hear the conversation, William began.
“You will answer me truthfully, in all things, or I shall send you back to the Lords of Baux without hesitation,” he said in a tone that suggested utter, complete compliance. “I’ve no time for foolishness or lies. Do you understand?”
The three men nodded.
“Swear upon your honor,” William said.
They did, in unison, and William continued. “I understand that you had an encounter with Lothar on your return from The Levant. Confirm this to me.”
Lothar. Sitting on the right hand of The Marshal, the mere mention of the name caused Maxton to stiffen somewhat. He knew that William was referring to the pope by his birth name – Lothario. Rather than address the man by his proper title, he was using a casual reference and Maxton knew it was because of the ongoing war between the pope and the King of England. There was little to no respect there, long gone to dust in the constant embattlement between John and the Catholic Church.
Even so, now that the name of the Holy Father had been brought forth, the light of why he and Achilles and Kress had been ransomed by William and Eleanor of Aquitaine was beginning to flicker in Maxton’s mind, and not in a good way. In truth, perhaps he’d always suspected, but now, he was receiving confirmation of it.
There was only one explanation – that they knew of the offer made from the Holy Father to the Executioner Knights. Maxton didn’t know how they knew, but they did. He found his eyes flicking to Gart as the man sat there, alert and silent. But Gart wasn’t looking at him and Maxton began to grow suspicious; perhaps Gart had told The Marshal, but how did Gart find out about the offer? Maxton had never told him and on their trip home from Baux, the subject of the Lateran Palace, or the pope, or anything else religious had never really come up. Perhaps, that was because Gart had already known, and he’d been leading the three knights home to face an interrogation about it.
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