The Agents of William Marshal Volume I: A Medieval Romance Bundle, page 34
It had worked. Too well. Kress and his friends, Achilles de Dere, Alexander “Sherry” de Sherrington, and Bric MacRohan had all been lured into a place only known as The Pox, which actually should have been their first clue that the establishment was something to stay away from, but they’d gone anyway, enjoying fine beef and women that smelled of flowers. At the gaming tables, they’d faced some Northampton knights in a game called Passe-dix, an ancient game of chance.
One rolled the dice and took one’s chances in the game but, in this case, the Northampton knights had brought their own die, which happened to be weighted. The more they tossed it, the more they won. It took Kress and his companions about ten rolls to figure out what was going on. Not that they were stupid, but they’d been drinking the very fine alcohol provided by The Pox and it had muddled their heads.
But they’d figured it out, eventually. And they would get even.
So now, they wait in the shadows, knowing that, at some point, the Northampton knights were going to have to come through this street in order to reach the numerous taverns and boarding houses that were up on Candlewick Street. Oddly enough, no one in Kress’ group was waiting with swords in hand. What they had in mind would be far more of a lesson than a blade through the gut.
And they waited.
The night passed and they could hear the sounds of the city around them, settling in for the night. There was a brothel on this narrowed street with a madam who was quite strict with her customers. They came in for the night and they remained for the night, as she didn’t leave her doors open all night so that thieves and cutthroats could rob her.
They could hear the woman shouting at some of the patrons who were being too loud with their drink and revelry, and then they could hear a couple fornicating as the woman urged the man to “plow her field”. That term set off Alexander, who started to laugh as the woman urged her customer to “plow harder”. He must have done a good job because the woman stopped begging and satisfied grunts followed. Alexander clapped silently for a job well done.
But Kress kept his divided attention to a minimum. He was determined not to lose sight of why they were really there, why they were standing outside in the damp night, waiting for those who had eschewed common decency to cheat anyone they could out of their hard-earned money. The crew from Northampton hadn’t only done it to Kress and his friends, but to anyone else they could manage to wrangle for a game of chance. There had been several that Kress had seen.
Now, their time was up.
After standing in the shadows for at least a couple of hours, the offenders finally decided to make an appearance. Extremely drunk, Kress and his friends could see the five Northampton knights as they headed into the narrowed avenue, stumbling and laughing. The madam from the brothel yelled at them through a window, but they drunkenly yelled in return.
Plug your putrid hole, harpy!
Alexander would have laughed again had he not been so focused on the knights who were about to fall into his orbit. Kress stood next to him, his big body tense, while across the avenue, they could see Achilles and Bric, both of them poised and waiting. The men had a plan, and knew what they had to do, so as the Northampton knights came within range, the trap was sprung.
The four knights rushed out into the darkened avenue. Bric, a massive Irish knight with a nasty temper, threw the first punch, knocking out the knight nearest him. That made the odds even at that point – four on four – and the knights from William Marshal’s stable went to work on the ambushed Northampton men.
Because the men from Northampton were so drunk, it truthfully wasn’t much of a fight, and that worked in Kress’ favor. They were uncoordinated, and falling over, so Kress and his men pushed the Northampton knights down into the dirt and began stripping them of everything on their body – boots, clothing, purses – everything. That had been the plan. When one knight, a heavyset man with ham-sized fists tried to fight back, Achilles, who was a very big man himself, put his booted foot on the man’s neck as he yanked off the man’s belt.
Breeches came off, followed by boots and tunics as the drunken Northampton knights tried to fight back. Everything was pulled right off of them. One man knocked himself cold in the struggle, leaving Bric to gleefully pull off all of the man’s clothing quite easily. In fact, everything was stripped off in a rather short amount of time, with two of the men unconscious and three of them struggling to figure out what was going on.
Soon, there were five naked and dirty men in the gutter as Kress, Achilles, Alexander, and Bric confiscated every shoe, every tunic, every weapon, and every purse. As their victims tried to stand, realizing they were without a stitch of clothing on, Kress faced them.
“If you want your possessions, go to Farringdon House, home of William Marshal,” he said. “I will ransom your possessions back to you to recoup the money you stole from me.”
A very drunk man sat on the ground before him. “How are we supposed to pay?” he demanded, sounding as if he were close to tears. “You have everything!”
Kress’ eyes narrowed at the man. “Then mayhap next time you believe it will be a good idea to cheat, you will think twice,” he said. “I do not care how you get the money to buy your clothing back. That is up to you. But if you want your possessions, you’ll find them all at Farringdon House.”
The man slapped the ground. “Give me my breeches, at least,” he demanded. “Give us our dignity. Will you not do that, at least?”
Kress looked at Bric and Achilles, who shook their heads slowly. He returned his focus to the men on the ground. “You did not think twice before robbing us of our money,” he said. “Let this be a lesson to you. Cheat men of what belongs to them and you shall pay the price.”
The man on the ground was so drunk that he was driven to tears. “But we have nothing!”
Kress looked up to see the madam from the brothel standing in her doorway, watching what was going on. In fact, their actions had drawn a good deal of attention, and now they had an audience. All around them, people were hanging from windows, standing in doorways, watching the humiliated knights and having a grand time of it. Kress pointed to the madam.
“Ask her to help you,” he said. “The one you called the harpy.”
As he began to back away, arms full of possessions, the men on the ground looked over at the madam, who simply snorted at them. Then, she went back inside and slammed the door, her message obvious.
As Kress and his men headed back down the dark street leaving their victims naked and dirty, they were rather proud of themselves for not outright killing them. They were, in fact, knights of the highest order, sworn to William Marshal above all, and in particular, Kress and Achilles were part of a trio of knights who had earned a name for themselves in England and beyond. As far as The Levant, if the names of de Rhydian or de Dere or even Loxbeare were heard, men whispered in fear…
The Executioner Knights.
Therefore, the Northampton men could have met a much different fate had they only known who it was they were cheating. On this night, fortune was on their side, indeed.
They lived to tell the tale.
CHAPTER ONE
Farringdon House
London townhome of William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke
The next day
“I’ve given them their clothing and their weapons.” An old man who was still powerful, still fully capable of death and destruction, spoke quietly. “Really, Kress. I understand and appreciate what you were trying to accomplish, but those are Northampton men. Enough insults and I could have the whole of Scotland down around me.”
Seated in the well-appointed and comfortable solar of Farringdon House, Kress had been facing the hearth during the course of his mild scolding. He was completely unrepentant, as were the others in the room. Bric, Achilles, and Alexander were all wholly unrepentant of what they’d done. Kress cast a disinterested glance in the Earl of Pembroke’s direction as the old man stood by the elaborate entry door.
“Appreciate, then, that I did not kill them for stealing, my lord,” he said. “They stole from everyone at that establishment. Someone had to punish them and if their liege has issue with the punishment dealt, then mayhap he would not be so quick to judge if he knew his men are cheats and thieves.”
William grunted, mostly because he doubted the man Kress referred to, the King of Scotland who was also the Earl of Northampton, would take kindly to his knights being so terribly humiliated. “And what were you doing in such an establishment?” he wanted to know. “I would expect it from soldiers, but from you?”
Kress lifted his dark blond eyebrows. “We were bored.”
William Marshal stared at him and his short, perhaps all too honest, answer. With a guttural sigh, one of great displeasure at what his knights had done, he closed the doors behind him and came into the chamber, his gaze mostly on Kress as the man sat in front of the hearth looking as if he hadn’t slept in a week.
All displeasure aside at having to placate naked knights who had come to Farringdon House demanding their clothing, William had more important things on his mind and he needed Kress and the others in the chamber primed and focused.
He didn’t need gamblers who punished men by stealing their clothing.
“If you are bored, how fortunate that you have me to keep you occupied,” he said, using that tone that captured men’s attention. “The rest of you, gather ’round. I called you here for a reason and it was not to pay off men you had stripped of their dignities.”
Achilles and Alexander served The Marshal directly, but Bric was somewhat different. He served the House of de Winter, a strong and powerful ally of William Marshal. Although he obeyed the old man and came nearer to the fire, it was with curiosity in his expression.
“Me, my lord?” Bric asked in his heavy Irish brogue.
William nodded, eyeing the man with pale blond hair and eyes so blue that they appeared silver in certain light. “Aye,” he said, scratching his neck. “You, too. What did Daveigh tell you?”
He was speaking of Bric’s liege, and the big knight shrugged. “That you had a message to deliver, my lord,” he said. “But I thought you wished for me to take a message back to Daveigh.”
William shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “The message is for you, MacRohan. I need your sword.”
“You have it, my lord.”
That was all William wanted to hear. His gaze lingered on the knight for a moment before returning his attention to the other three men in the chamber.
Men with reputations few had.
Kress and Achilles were the two in particular he was thinking of, men who had a long and somewhat unsavory history at times. There was a third man not with them at this moment, a man by the name of Maxton of Loxbeare. Maxton had married and was off near Gloucester, maintaining a heavy hold on the southern end of the Welsh Marches from the property he’d acquired from his wife, which had somewhat removed him from the trio that was him and Kress de Rhydian and Achilles de Dere. Even so, that brotherhood was still firmly intact.
The Unholy Trinity.
That was what both Christian and Muslim commanders called the three from their time spent in The Levant. If there was a dirty job to be done, Maxton and Kress and Achilles would do it. They were used like attack dogs by the Christian commanders, warriors and spies and assassins in every sense of the word. They’d gone into the crusade in The Levant as Christian warriors and had emerged the Executioner Knights.
They’d emerged killers, but they also emerged with a reputation that nothing could deter them from what they’d been sworn to do – kill, protect, attack – anything that was within their scope of talents. Once they gave their words, nothing could move that determination, not blood or begging or money.
What they were sworn to do, they would do, no matter what.
It was a reputation that followed them around and one William used to his advantage. At the moment, he had a particular task that he would entrust to men of such skill. Although Alexander wasn’t officially part of the Unholy Trinity, he was a spy and an assassin with skills to match Kress and Achilles and then some. He tended to work on his own, as that was the way he preferred it, but with Maxton missing, William needed Alexander’s particular talents. And he needed Bric purely because the man was the best swordsman William had ever seen.
He needed that power.
“Then let me be plain, good men,” William said after a moment, moving to the table near the hearth that contained a pewter pitcher of wine, covered with a cloth. He removed the cloth and began pouring the tart, red wine into a matching pewter cup. “The king is amassing a good deal of Welsh support. This has been going on for the past few years, steadily, but I am seeing more and more of John’s insertion into Wales. You are aware that he married his daughter to Llywelyn last year, the last great Welsh prince, which virtually seals his alliance with the Welsh. I am sure this has not gone unnoticed by men who watch the winds of England’s politics.”
Kress, who had been listening carefully, shook his head. “He has been quite solicitous in Wales,” he said. “He visits frequently, so I have heard.”
William nodded. “He does,” he said. “He has been a guest at my own properties in Wales and I have accompanied the king on a few of his forays into the country, but I will be honest when I say that I have accompanied him simply to watch him. John is, and always has been, a man who bears watching.”
Kress looked at him as if waiting for more to come forth, but William abruptly fell silent. Kress leaned forward in his chair.
“And, my lord?” he said. “What do you wish us to do? Watch him for you?”
William shook his head. “Nay,” he said, lifting his wine to his lips. “I am to make an alliance that will balance out John’s power in Wales. It is never good for John to have too much power, especially in Wales. John has made a marriage with his daughter and a Welsh prince, so I shall make a marriage of my own.”
“With whom?”
William took a long drink before answering. “That is why you are all here,” he said. “I need men of the highest order for this task. A bride must be escorted to her husband and you four shall be her escort. Bric, you shall be the muscle. Achilles, you shall be the guard dog. Sherry, you shall be the wisdom and the decision maker. Kress… you shall focus on the bride and nothing else. You will be her shadow, her chaperone, her nurse, and her Father Confessor if she needs one. She is to be your focus and nothing else. Am I making myself clear so far?”
The four men nodded, coming to understand somewhat why they’d all been gathered. “You are, my lord,” Kress said. “Who is this bride?”
William continued. “Her name is Cadelyn,” he said. “She currently resides at Castle Rising in Norfolk. She is a ward of the Earl of Arundel, Hugh d’Aubigney, but he has tucked her away in the wilds of Norfolk to keep her hidden.”
Kress looked at the others curiously before speaking. “Hidden from what?”
William turned to look at the group. “From John,” he said frankly. “From any man who should become too ambitious if he knew who she really was. You see, Lady Cadelyn is as rare as any mythical beast. She is the daughter of Owain Dant y Draig, a descendent of the last King of Rhos, and Nesta ferch Madog, a direct descendent of the last king of Pengwern. She is, quite literally, the purest Welsh blood imaginable, a daughter of two ancient Welsh kingdoms, and her father came to me after she was born and begged me to protect her. Even then, there was rumor of her birth and she was being sought, not only from the English, but from the Welsh. An offspring like that could inspire unimaginable power from both sides.”
Kress stared at William a moment, rather dumbfounded. When he’d come into the chamber, he knew that he was to be given a mission. William had been alluding to such a thing for the past few weeks, so Kress knew something was happening. He simply didn’t know what it was until this moment and the reality of what William was telling them all settled hard.
“And we are to escort her?” he asked. “Escort her where?”
William held up a finger as if what he was about to say was a brilliant move on his part. “I have arranged a marriage with Tatius de Shera,” he said. “You know who de Shera is, do you not?”
Kress immediately nodded. “The Earl of Ellesmere,” he said. “The House of de Shera is older than nearly any other house in England. It predates any Saxon families, or even the Northmen settlers. Legends says that the House of de Shera descends from a lost Roman legion. I have fought alongside the younger de Shera brothers long ago, Atilius and Fabius, but never Tatius. He remains at his castle, The Paladin, up near Chester. I hear that he rarely comes forth.”
William held up a hand as if to beg patience while he answered questions that were not even yet spoken. “I traveled north several months ago at the request of Tatius,” he said. “That was the trip where I asked you to remain in London because the king was at Westminster.”
Kress nodded. “I recall, my lord.”
William wandered over to another chair that sat facing the hearth, lowering his aged body into it. “I will be honest, Kress,” he said. “Tatius is not a man who should hold the earldom. He is a poet, a man of gentle hobbies, but he is a drunkard. He does not take pressure well. He has younger brothers who essentially rule the earldom and the armies, and I suspect that they would like nothing better than to be rid of Tatius or, at the very least, have the man out of the way so they can rule unencumbered. It is not an ideal situation, but Tatius is the only brother unmarried and he is the earl. He asked if I knew of the child of Owain Dant y Draig, having heard of her existence from the warlords of Gwynedd. It was he who suggested the betrothal and I agreed.”
Kress cocked his head curiously. “He knew of her? How would he even know?”
William sat back in his chair. “Her birth was no particular secret when it happened, I suppose,” he said. “Men heard of it. That is why Owain panicked when he thought of the child being used, or stolen, or worse, and rightly so.”
