The Agents of William Marshal Volume I: A Medieval Romance Bundle, page 161
Although Dashiell wasn’t surprised by the usual de Lohr knights, he was surprised by the other warlords that had accompanied the de Lohr brothers – Marcus Burton, for one, a man some men called the third de Lohr brother, whose feats of strength and bravery were legendary. Gart Forbes had also come with them, a mountain of a man with a great bald head, a mean streak, and a spotless reputation.
But it was the last man of that impressive group that surprised Dashiell the most, a knight by the name of Bric MacRohan. Bric was an Irish knight, a legacy knight sworn to the House of de Winter, and the man throughout England known as Ard Trodaí, or the High Warrior.
As good as the de Lohrs were, and Burton and Forbes, these were older men who had already cemented their reputation and preferred to lead men more than actually participate in the heavy fighting. But MacRohan was a beast of a knight who was fearless in battle, more than anyone Dashiell had ever seen. He’d seen the man literally walk into the heat of fighting as if he were walking through a lovely meadow, showing no concern that his life might possibly be in danger. If there was a dirty job to do, or one with the least chance of success, MacRohan was the man for the job. He would volunteer for it, and happily so.
Dashiell greatly admired him his courage.
And it was this group of knights who had come to Ramsbury, some of the greatest England had ever seen. While Dashiell was pleased to have them, he was also very wary of their presence, which was why his softly spoken words were met by serious expressions. Christopher, with his second cup of warmed wine in hand, spoke in response.
“That meeting has been called off, Dash,” he said. He looked to the group around him. “We are still heading to Kent, but for another purpose now. You, and your army, will come with us.”
Dashiell glanced at the group, who all appeared quite solemn. “As you wish,” he said. “But what is happening? Why have the plans changed?”
Christopher sighed heavily. “As you know, John has marched into Scotland. He had to roll over Jax de Velt to get there.”
“I heard,” Dashiell said. “Is it true that de Velt was killed?”
Christopher didn’t say anything for a moment. “It is,” he finally muttered. “But it was a glorious death, I am told. Ajax de Velt has passed into legend, and he will be remembered with honor. But I, for one, will miss my friend.”
It was a sad note on a sad passing. “I am sorry for you, Chris.”
Christopher shrugged. “All warriors must die,” he said. “It was simply his time, I suppose. But the fact remains that his death shall not go unanswered. John will pay.”
It was an ominous statement. “Where is he now?” Dashiell asked.
“Still in Scotland,” Christopher said. “He has taken all of Alexander’s holdings in Northern England and any supporters of the Scot king have also had their lands confiscated. John is unstoppable now, Dash, and in order to combat him, we must do the unthinkable.”
“What?”
Christopher looked at him. “Prince Louis of France is preparing to sail for England as we speak,” he said quietly. “He is bringing his army, and his father’s army, with him.”
Dashiell hadn’t expected that answer. He looked at his cousin as if he hadn’t heard right. “Louis is coming to England?” he repeated. “You have invited the French?”
Christopher nodded, but it was clear that the weight of command was wearing heavily on him. “We have little choice if we are to survive,” he said. “Dash, I know this looks like treason, but I assure you, it is not. We have a man on the throne of England who has turned this country into a quagmire of poverty and despair. I do not have to tell you that. We are fighting for our freedom, our children’s freedom, and the happiness of England. Certainly, those are simple terms, but it is the truth. John has grown too powerful with his mercenary army. Men are fighting for the King of England that do not belong here. If John wins, those same men will infiltrate our lands, and our lives, and take places of position in our country. It will be a disease we will not be able to rid ourselves of. Do you understand that?”
Dashiell could see the anguish in Christopher’s expression, something he’d never seen from the man before. His cousin was one of the most powerful warlords in England, a man with a long history of service to the crown, and not one to panic in any event. Everything he did had a greater purpose. The fact that he was advocating the French army to aid the rebellion told Dashiell just how serious this all was.
“Of course I do, Chris,” he said quietly. “But inviting the French to fight with us…”
“We are simply bringing in our own mercenary army.”
Dashiell wasn’t quite seeing it that way. “But once the French are here, will they return home easily?” he asked seriously. “Or will they want rewards from us in the form of our women and properties?”
“It is possible.”
“Then you are replacing one disease with another.”
“We have no choice.”
Those were powerful words. With a heavy sigh, perhaps one of disgust, Dashiell turned away and headed to the table where the wine was. He found he needed it. As he moved, he passed near MacRohan, who wasn’t unsympathetic.
“Dash,” he said in his heavy Gaelic accent. “I have thought the same as you have. The French are looking for a foothold in England and by inviting them to side with us against the king, we are giving it to them. But ask yourself this, lad – would you rather have a Teutonic mercenary as your neighbor, or a French lord?”
Dashiell looked at the man. Truth was, he adored Bric and they had a long-standing friendship. He also trusted him implicitly, as he did all of the men in the room. But the thought of knowingly allying with the French against the king was something he was having a difficult time stomaching. After a moment, he simply shook his head.
“So we must choose the lesser of the evils,” he said. Then, he looked to the archbishop, sitting near the hearth. “It seems to me that this is a day for such choices.”
Langton couldn’t disagree. “The history of mankind is full of such decisions, du Reims,” he said. “It is not unusual.”
Christopher caught on to the fact that there was something more going on at Ramsbury, something he’d walked in to. “My lord, although it is always a pleasure to see you, I did not expect to find you here,” he said to Langton. “What is happening with Savernake that requires your presence?”
Langton glanced at Dashiell before speaking. “I was called here on another matter,” he said. “De Nerra and I were. It would seem that du Reims has arrested Clayton le Cairon for an act of attainder against the Duke of Savernake. The man has tried to murder him to gain his title and his wealth, and du Reims has arrested him.”
As the others looked to Dashiell in surprise, it was David who smacked his open palm with a fist. “God be praised,” he said with satisfaction. “Finally, Dash. You finally did it.”
Dashiell nodded, pouring wine into his cup. “I have, after Clayton made a very bold attempt against the duke,” he said. “But along with his arrest comes a problem of succession. With Clayton in the vault, and under charges, he cannot inherit the dukedom. That means it reverts to the king, and if the king wins this war against his nobles, then it is very likely a Teutonic mercenary – or another lord of John’s choosing – will be given Savernake and all of her wealth. That, my friends, would be a very bad problem for us to have.”
It was clear from David’s expression that he hadn’t thought of that. Much like the rest of them, he had only been thinking of saving Edward’s life and ridding themselves of Clayton. But the truth of the matter was that Edward would die one day and there would be no one to inherit his title and lands. As Dashiell had said, it would be a very bad problem.
“No matter what, Savernake cannot fall into the hands of the king,” Langton said. “It would be a disaster for us all. Du Reims and I were discussing that very issue today, but now that you have all arrived, I have a proposition that might work to our advantage.”
Dashiell was curious. “What is it, my lord?”
Langton was a very learned man, a very wise man. He didn’t give advice that he didn’t think through carefully.
“Since we do not wish for the dukedom to revert to the crown, the only alternative is to restore Clayton,” he said. “It is the lesser of the evils I spoke of earlier, du Reims. I fear that Clayton is the lesser of the evils in this case. It is my suggestion we keep him in the vault for the rest of Edward’s life, but once Edward passes on, we release Clayton and inform him that the dukedom is his, with stipulations.”
Christopher came to stand next to Dashiell, listening very closely to what the archbishop was suggesting. “What stipulations?” he asked.
Langton was to the point. “He assumes the dukedom, but it is only through our good graces,” he said. “He is expected to abide by our wishes and he cannot make a major decision without our approval. If he does, then we break all alliances with Ramsbury. We lay siege to the castle and claim it. By this, I mean it will become an outpost of the Earls of East Anglia and du Reims is placed in command. He will be supported by the House of de Lohr, of course, and the House of de Winter.”
It was a very bold proposal, but one that would assure the dukedom remained intact for the most part. Dashiell listened very carefully to the proposal, mulling it over just as the others were.
“I have fought with Clayton before,” Marcus Burton said from his seat near the window. A big, brooding man with brilliant blue eyes, he had a long history as an enemy of the king. Edgy and fierce, he was not a man to be crossed. “I know his father, and I knew Clayton before he married the Savernake heiress. He and his father do not live very far from my seat of Somerhill Castle in South Yorkshire. I knew of them for the most part, an ambitious family with a greedy father and an even greedier son. The marriage to Savernake’s heir was calculated, as we’ve always known, and I cannot imagine that Clayton would readily accept any conditions to his rightful assumption of the dukedom. The man will do what he pleases, regardless.”
Dashiell wasn’t hard-pressed to agree. “Marcus is right,” he said. “He does not respond well to threats. I should know, as I have been threatening him for the past three years. What he does fear is anything physical – I have had to beat him on occasion and that is the only thing that makes an impact.”
“Then use it,” Christopher said grimly. “Use that threat, Dash. We will give Clayton back his dukedom but if he betrays us, in any fashion, it will have lethal consequences.”
It was probably the only thing that would work, but the thought of returning the dukedom to Clayton made Dashiell feel ill.
“Oh, God…” he finally mumbled. “We are going to have to give it back to him, aren’t we?”
Langton cocked a bushy eyebrow. “Unless you want the next Duke of Savernake to be a Teutonic mercenary.”
Dashiell sighed heavily. “I do not,” he said. “I do not believe any of us do.”
Langton nodded wearily. “Then it is settled,” he said. “Unhappily, it is. But the matter of you attending your cousins and the rebellion when they meet Prince Louis on the shores of England is not. What say you, du Reims?”
They’d come back to the original subject and Dashiell looked at the archbishop. “Do you support this move with the French, my lord?”
After a brief hesitation, Langton nodded. “I do.”
Dashiell ran a hand through his hair thoughtfully, as if that gesture would help him make a decision. He had the largest army of any of them, second only to Christopher, so he knew his participation was key. But, truthfully, there was only one real decision he could make.
“I trust my cousin,” he said after a moment. “If Chris believes this is the only way, then I trust him. Savernake will support Louis’ arrival. So will East Anglia; I will ensure that my father sends men to Kent as well.”
“How many men will that be?”
“I have almost two thousand men here at Ramsbury, plus my father’s army is nearly the same size.”
“A sizable force, indeed.”
Dashiell nodded, thinking on his father’s reaction to all of this. Talus du Reims was a man of reason, but his impatience sometimes got the better of him. And, he hated the French with a passion. As Dashiell pondered his father, the big and frightening figure of Gart Forbes emerged from the shadows behind him and put a trencher-sized hand on Dashiell’s shoulder.
“There is nothing else you could do, Dash,” Gart muttered. “There is nothing else any of us can do. John, and his mercenaries, must be purged from England and this is the only way. There is an old saying – my enemy’s enemy is also my friend. I fear that is how we must look at the French arrival.”
“We must look at it another way, too,” Christopher said.
All eyes turned to him. “How?” Dashiell asked.
Christopher’s blue eyes glittered in the weak light of the solar. “Vengeance for de Velt.”
That was the most powerful reason of all, at least with this group. Vengeance for a friend could be a powerful motivator. Without much more to say on the subject, Burton and Forbes moved over to the table where the warmed wine was, pouring themselves full measures and drinking deeply. David and Christopher soon joined them.
All but Dashiell, of course. He was still pondering the situation and the events of the day as a whole. It had truly been a momentous day, one he would forever remember. The day he was betrothed to Belladonna, the day that he realized Clayton would, indeed, have to inherit the dukedom, and the day he learned that the French were coming to England’s shores to help them in their battle against the king.
Aye, a momentous day, indeed.
“Could you men stand to hear some good news for a change?” Dashiell turned to the group as they drained the wine. “You are, mayhap, wondering why Canterbury is here.”
Heads turned to him, with Christopher peering over his shoulder where Langton was seated next to the hearth, warming himself in front of a mighty blaze.
“That had crossed my mind,” he said. “I assume it was because of Clayton’s issue?”
Dashiell shrugged. “There is more.”
“What more?”
Dashiell looked at his cousin, his eyes twinkling in the firelight. “Do you recall the conversation we had at Driffield about a certain young lady?” he asked. “A daughter of a duke, in fact.”
Christopher’s tired face lit up. “I do,” he said. “Lady Nightshade, isn’t it? What is her name again?”
Dashiell started to laugh. “Belladonna,” he said. “You asked me a question on that day at Driffield. Do you recall?”
Christopher shook his head. “I do not.”
“You asked me if I could stand the thought of her married to another man.”
“And?”
“And I cannot. That is why I have asked the archbishop for his blessing on our betrothal. Since the duke cannot give it, I have asked permission from the church and it has been granted. The lady and I are to be married.”
A great cheer rose up from Christopher and David, David going so far as to rush his cousin and sweep him up into a big hug, no easy feat considering Dashiell’s size.
“God be praised,” David said. “I was wondering if you would ever declare your intentions. Your father will be delighted.”
Even as David hugged him, Dashiell accepted Gart’s outstretched hand in congratulations. “Aye, he will be,” he said. “My younger brothers are already married, and I do believe he was worried that I should never wed. It will be a great relief to him.”
As everyone congratulated Dashiell on his betrothal, Bentley came forward as well. He’d been standing on the fringes of the discussion, listening to some of the most powerful men in England discuss serious issues that would affect them all.
He’d been on the fringes since de Nerra and Canterbury had arrived earlier in the day, watching and listening in case Dashiell needed him. So much had been discussed, and so much had happened on this day. It had been quite eventful, not the least of which was Dashiell’s betrothal to Belladonna.
It was a rather bittersweet moment for him, to be truthful. He and Lily had been verging on a betrothal when Clayton had interfered, so he understood well what it was like to love a woman and not be able to have her. It made him long for those days before Clayton’s arrival, days when he and Lily were free to show their love.
But those days were long gone.
Still, he was happy for Dashiell. When the others moved away from Dashiell and back to the table with the wine on it, Bentley came forward with a weak smile on his lips and congratulations on his tongue, but such words were never meant to be. The sounds of screaming suddenly filled the air and everyone froze, shocked at the sound.
But their frozen state was only momentary; Dashiell bolted from the room, and everyone bolted after him with the exception of Canterbury. He was moving slower but, still, he was moving, all of them rushing towards the sound of screaming on the floor above.
What they found would change the course of their plans, permanently.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
With Dashiell in her father’s solar along with the other important warlords that had so recently arrived, Belladonna was left at the dais with Aston, whom Dashiell left behind to oversee the men and the fortress while he was in conference. When Aston left the great hall to go to the gatehouse, Belladonna also left to go see to her sister. She very much wanted to tell Lily about the betrothal, excited to share such wonderful news with her sister.
It was such a surreal moment in Belladonna’s life. Finally, she was betrothed to the man she loved and even as she made her way to her sister’s chamber, she felt as if she were walking on air. It was still storming outside but, to her, it was the most beautiful day she had ever experienced. Nothing could change that.
So many non-important things were crossing her mind as she headed to Lily’s chamber – what dress she would wear for her wedding, for example, and how many children they would have. Belladonna had always wanted a large family, so she thought eight or nine sons would be a good number. But then she giggled when she thought that she might have to adjust that number after having given birth for the first time. She’d seen servant women in labor to bring forth their children, and it seemed to be quite painful.
