The Splendid Hour by Kathryn Le Veque
CHAPTER TWELVE
“That’swhere you were?” Christopher said, aghast. “The Great Synagogue?”
Standing in his father’s sparse solar with Alexander standing somewhere back behind him, Peter was facing his very angry father.
But he stood his ground.
“Aye,” he said. “I went to speak to the rabbi so I could understand the challenges in a marriage between a Christian and a Jew.”
Christopher was so mad that he was close to breaking his teeth. His jaw was grinding as he struggled not to explode at his son. Knowing that Alexander had been with him only made him madder. His focus moved from Peter to Alexander, back by the solar door.
“I would have thought you would show more sense where this is concerned,” he said, his tone strained. “You are a good deal older than Peter is, Sherry. You have seen the world. How could you, in good conscience, go with him on this… this folly and not stop him? At the very least, not stop to tell me what was happening?”
Alexander knew he deserved the lashing. He was prepared to take it. “I am not his father nor his keeper,” he said evenly. “I saw him slip from Lonsdale before sunrise and my instincts told me to go with him to keep him out of trouble. That is the only reason I went – to make sure he did not come to harm. He is capable of making his own decisions and it is not my place nor my privilege to tell him what to do. But I would be remiss if I let him go at it alone.”
That pushed Christopher over the edge, mostly because he knew Alexander was right. Furious, he grabbed the nearest chair and smashed it against the stone windowsill before tossing the whole broken mess from the window and out to the river’s edge below. He did it to release energy, but it didn’t work.
He was as mad as ever.
“Of all the damned, stupid actions,” he snarled, bracing his fists on the windowsill, his gaze on the river beyond. “Damned, stupid actions that will come back to haunt you, Peter. I told you not to pursue this.”
Peter was a little concerned having just watched his father demolish a chair. “Papa, I…”
“Shut your lips!” Christopher whirled on him, jabbing a finger at him. “Shut your foolish lips and listen to me. For once, just listen to me. Your little foray into London may very well cost you your freedom because Walter de Quincy’s spies saw you. You know the man has people following you everywhere you go. One of those spies saw you in London, with this… this woman… and now Walter is threatening to tell the rebel allies that you are giving information to the daughter of the king’s jeweler so that her father may pass our secrets on to John. Are you satisfied now?”
He was yelling by the time he was finished. Peter stood there, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “I did no such thing!” he fired back. “We never discussed you or the rebellion or anything at all. I would never do such a thing!”
Christopher knew that. Deep down, he knew that. His son was trustworthy, but he was so angry that he was bordering on irrational. He struggled to calm himself before he broke another chair, or worse. He took several deep, long breaths before attempting to reply.
“The Marshal called a gathering this morning,” he said. “A gathering you both should have been part of, but because of Peter’s recklessness, your absence was noticeable. The Marshal has received word from Kevin and Achilles that John’s mercenaries are already in England. They have lain siege to Rochester Castle. Dover Castle is also being harassed by French troops which landed and are trying to wrest it from the royalists who hold it. All of The Northerners are removing their armies from London today and departing for home. They have no chance of catching the mercenary army before it reaches Yorkshire and Northumberland, but they are going to try. Sherry, you are to muster all our troops and prepare them to depart by the end of the week. Send a thousand men to Canterbury. David is going to need them.”
Alexander nodded sharply. “It shall be done.”
“You may leave.”
Alexander quit the room without another word, leaving Christopher and Peter alone. Calmer now, Christopher focused on his son.
His golden boy, his eldest, a man he was so proud of that it was all he could do not to shout it from the rooftops. But at the moment, he felt sorely disappointed in the judgment of the man. He’d made a mistake that was going to cost him.
“And you,” he said, more quietly. “You will be departing for Ludlow in the morning. I need you on the Marches, taking control of my new properties. Your task will be to secure all four properties and staff them with de Lohr troops pilfered from Lioncross. Do you understand?”
Peter swallowed hard and nodded but had the sense not to argue. He didn’t want to leave London, not now, but any resistance to his father’s wishes would not be well met. Therefore, he didn’t try. He simply agreed.
But his father wasn’t done with him yet.
“If you think I am sending you out of London to punish you, you would only be half-correct,” Christopher said. “There is a large part of me sending you away for your own good. But there is another part of me who wants you away from the warlords and away from Walter. He intends to leverage your interaction with the jeweler’s daughter to get what he wants – if you marry Agnes, he will keep the secret. If you do not, he will tell the warlords what he was told and declare you a traitor to our cause.”
Peter rolled his eyes, so incredibly outraged at what he was hearing. “What?” he hissed. “But I did nothing wrong, Papa. De Quincy is simply angry because I want nothing to do with his rude, petty daughter.”
Christopher knew that, but he couldn’t get past his son’s bad judgment. “Did you kiss the Jewess?”
Peter looked at him, shocked. “Kiss her? Of course I did not kiss her.”
“Did you kiss her hand?”
Peter opened his mouth to deny it, but quickly remembered that he had. “Her finger,” he said as the thought occurred to him. “She stuck her finger in my face and I kissed it. It was playful, innocent. I certainly did not ravage the girl for all to see. Ask Sherry.”
Christopher cocked an eyebrow. “I will deal with him later,” he said. “Right now, I am concerned for you. Your reckless behavior has put me in a very bad position, Peter.”
For the first time since entering the solar, Peter could see the strain on his father’s face. The man had gone from angry to stressed in a matter of seconds. He could see what his impulsive behavior had done to the man and he was torn between sorrow and defiance. He wasn’t sorry he’d gone to London, but he was sorry it caused his father grief. Marcus’ words came back to him at that moment. Do not mention this to your father, Peter. He has enough on his mind.
At that moment, he could see just how much his father had on his mind.
He began to feel like a very bad son, indeed.
“I’m sorry, Papa,” he said, daring to move towards him now that he was calmer. “I never meant to cause you grief. You know I would never knowingly do that. There was no way I could know that The Marshal would call a gathering today.”
Christopher looked at his boy. “That is not the point, is it?” he said. “You deliberately went off without telling me where you were going.”
Peter had. After a moment, he nodded. “Aye,” he said truthfully. “I did not want you to stop me. And Sherry… do not be angry with him. He tried to convince me not to go, but I would not listen to him. He went with me to make sure I was safe and for no other reason.”
Tempers had calmed and Christopher could see his vulnerable boy before him. Slowly, he shook his head.
“This is a fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into,” he said. “I simply do not understand how this situation could have gotten out of control so quickly. Is this infatuation worth it?”
Peter’s dark eyes glimmered. “More than ever,” he said. “You know I do not say this lightly, Papa. I’ve never spoken this way about a woman ever before, but there is something about Liora that makes me feel as if I’ve just awoken from a deep sleep to see the world for the first time. I’m not sure what more I can say about her, but she’s the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met. This isn’t a whim that is going to go away, Papa. It’s real.”
Christopher sighed heavily. Clearly, that wasn’t what he had wanted to hear, but his son was a grown man. He could make his own decisions, questionable as they were. “Then tell me what the rabbi said.”
With the flurry of anger abating, there was a strained calm between them now. Peter planted himself in the only other chair in the chamber, suddenly feeling weary and defeated.
Very, very weary.
“He was young and surprisingly helpful,” he said. “Rabbi Judah is his name. He was quite friendly and answered my questions without judgment, which I found astonishing. But what he told me was much as I expected – he said that marriage between Jews and Christians do not exist, at least any that are recognized by both religions. If Liora were to convert to Christianity, then our marriage would be recognized by our church. If I convert to Judaism, then our marriage would be recognized by her church. But both churches will not recognize the same marriage.”
Christopher watched his son struggle with something beyond his control. Part of him felt sorry for Peter, but another part of him felt his son was behaving immaturely. He went to stand in front of Peter, enormous arms folded across his chest.
“Let us look at this logically,” he said. “In the matter of who shall convert to which religion, think about who has the most to lose. Having not met Mistress Liora, I do not know anything about her, but I will assume that she does not hold a great social and financial standing in her community.”
Peter shook his head. “She is the daughter of Haim ben Thad,” he said. “He holds great social and financial status in his community, but she does not. However, her actions will directly reflect upon him.”
“Will he lose business?”
“Possibly. If she converts to Christianity, at the very least he may be shunned.”
“But his gentile business will not be affected. If anything, it may increase because of his daughter’s connections to you.”
“That is possible.”
Christopher nodded faintly. “Now, let’s speak of you,” he said. “Should you convert to her religion, you will lose your knighthood. You will lose your command of Ludlow Castle. I alluded to this when we spoke before – employing a dishonored knight will be difficult, if not impossible. I can keep you at Ludlow, but as a dishonored knight, men would have a difficult time following you, which means you would be removed from the chain of command. Do you understand that?”
Peter took a deep breath before nodding. “I do.”
Christopher continued. “You would lose your title of Lord Pembridge and the income from those properties,” he said. “Mayhap you could still serve with The Marshal as an Executioner Knight, but you would never be a leader, Peter. Only a follower. With your source of income removed because of losing your title and command, you would be solely dependent upon me for any income. I would not let you starve, of course, but your opportunities would be incredibly limited. The best you could hope for is being a mercenary like these bastards who are now overrunning England. You would lose everything you’ve known and everything you’ve worked for would be drastically reduced. Are you willing to go this far for a woman you have only just met?”
Peter simply sat there, staring off into the chamber as he pondered his father’s words of wisdom. Nothing he said was untrue. Was he willing to lose everything for a woman he’d just met? For a woman who lit him up like a flint and stone ignited the driest kindling? Slouching forward, he put his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.
“This is so unfair,” he muttered.
Christopher sighed faintly, hoping he’d just helped Peter see the light. “I know,” he said. “Life is never easy. But the choices we make can define us forever.”
Peter sat there with his hands over his face. “I already came into this life with one strike against me,” he said. “I was born the bastard of a great English warlord. Everyone knows I am not Dustin’s child. Everyone knows you were not married to my mother. They may accept me, and embrace me, but in the backs of their minds they think ‘he’s not really a de Lohr, not truly’.”
“Peter, that’s not true.”
His hands came away from his face. “Aye, it is,” he said strongly. “I will not inherit your title. I should be the Earl of Hereford and Worcester because I was born thirteen years before Curtis was but, instead, the title goes to him and I am given a consolation title of Lord Pembridge. I’m a damned Executioner Knight, Papa. I’ve proven myself time and time again, but still, I get nothing from you but a courtesy title. Nothing that truly makes me a de Lohr or part of your world other than your name, but I suppose I’m not even really entitled to that. When I first came to live with you, my name was de Vries and you changed it. What’s one more strike against me should I convert to Judaism? What, exactly, am I leaving behind or sacrificing should I do that? Is it simply the fact that you don’t want such a black mark against your good name?”
He was on his feet by now, pacing and shouting. Christopher watched him carefully. “If I cared about a black mark against the de Lohr name, I would have never acknowledged you as my son,” he said. “And nothing you say is true.”
Peter came to a halt, glaring at him. “Isn’t it?”
“Nay,” Christopher said. “You are my eldest son and part of this family as much as I am or Dustin is, or Curtis is. You are our child.”
“If that is true, then have Dustin legally adopt me and declare me her son.”
Christopher’s eyes widened. “What?”
“You heard me. Have her legally adopt me and make me your heir.”
Christopher stared at him a moment. “Are you serious?” he hissed. “You have never once expressed any desire to legally be her son. She has never treated you any differently than the others, Peter. Never.”
Peter knew what he had asked was horrible and unreasonable. He was essentially taking away Curtis’ inheritance because he was being petty and spiteful. It broke his heart to realize that and to see the expression on his father’s face but, then again, this entire situation had him reeling.
His eyes filled with tears.
“Nay, she has not. But the truth is that I am not a full member of the family, not really,” he said, his lower lip trembling. “But if I convert to Judaism to marry the only woman who has ever touched me in a way I have never known, then I will destroy what privilege I do have. I know you do not want me as your heir. That belongs to Curtis. You are the only family I have, but even so, I am an outsider. I have been an outsider since the day I was born. You don’t understand that because you have never had to live with it.”
Christopher watched Peter crumble in front of him. It had gone beyond the issue of a marriage between Christian and Jew. Now, it had gone into the subject of the isolation Peter had felt his entire life. Christopher and Dustin had always gone out of their way to make Peter feel as if he were one of their family and, for years, they thought he felt the same way. But it was clear that the marital issue had brought up deeper-seated issues as far as Peter was concerned.
Christopher felt as if he’d just had a dagger plunged into his gut.
“Nay, I do not understand,” he said hoarsely. “I have tried very hard to understand and I have done all I can to make you feel as if you belong to me. You are my son, Peter. You know that your mother did not tell me that she was pregnant with you. Had she told me, the situation would be markedly different. I would have married her in spite of the fact that her father, the Earl of Chaumont, did not want a lowly knight for his daughter. Please know that is the truth.”
Peter nodded, wiping his eyes, embarrassed at his outburst. “I know,” he said. “But you did not love her, did you?”
“Nay.”
“Then I was not conceived in love like the rest of my siblings.”
Christopher closed his eyes and hung his head. “I do not know what you want me to say,” he murmured. “I did not love your mother, but I was very fond of her. She was a kind and good woman, and mayhap with time, I would have fallen in love with her, but we were never given that chance. Her father had hopes for a great marriage with her and, at the time, I was not a great prospect. Were you conceived in love? Nay, you were not, but I cannot change that and if it makes you feel different, know that I would do anything in the world to change how you perceive yourself. I never knew until this moment that you felt as if you weren’t truly part of this family and to have that knowledge guts me. It truly guts me.”
Peter could hear the pain in his voice. He knew he was making his father feel guilty for something that had happened all those years ago and he knew that it was wrong of him. He was hurting, so he wanted his father to hurt.
It was so very, very wrong of him.
“I’m sorry, Papa,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t mean to sound spiteful and foolish. I’m not, you know. And I’m sorry to make you feel guilty for your relationship with my mother. I should not have done that. But all my life, I have had the bastard stigma follow me and now that I see happiness within my grasp, to have someone who will belong only to me… to know that cannot happen unless something drastic happens is disheartening.”
“I know,” Christopher said, feeling deeply hurt for his son. “If I could help, I would. Do you want me to go and speak with her father?”
Peter shook his head, moving out of Christopher’s way when the man came over to comfort him. He wasn’t ready to be comforted yet. He was embarrassed and unsettled.
“Nay,” he said. “I do not want you involved at all. Please, Papa. This is my problem and I must deal with it in my own way.”
“You do not have to deal with your problem on your own. That is what I am for.”
Peter knew he meant it. But years of feeling like an outsider were difficult to shake. Now, he wanted a marriage that he, an outsider, couldn’t have because of family – and vocation – repercussions. He was hurt, confused, and dipping his toes in a sea of grief because of it. When his father moved closer, he simply held up a hand and stepped away.
“Just… leave me alone for now, please,” he said. “I have a good deal of thinking to do on the course my life will take from this point forward. But I want you to know that I love you, Papa. I love Dustin and I love my brothers and sisters. I do not want you to think that I do not. But come what may, I must make the decision I feel best for me. However, whatever that decision is, know that I will not marry Agnes de Quincy. I am very sorry her father has threatened you, but I have done nothing wrong and I will not marry his daughter.”
Christopher watched his son move away from him and it broke his heart. “Nay, you will not marry her,” he said. “I will not give in to a threat, but I do believe that de Quincy has learned his lesson the hard way about that.”
Peter paused and looked at him. “What do you mean?”
Christopher scratched his head casually. “I mean to say that the man has several missing teeth and broken ribs that suggest to him that threatening me was not the right thing to do,” he said. “Before you ask, I never touched him. But there were others more than willing to deliver my message.”
Peter’s eyebrows lifted and a gleam came to his eyes as he understood what his father meant. “Never threaten a man whose allies are Executioner Knights.”
Christopher merely shrugged and turned away. “I suspect he will think twice before doing so again,” he said. “But even so, Agnes de Quincy shall not be your wife. This I swear.”
Peter watched the man as he turned back to his table cluttered with missives and maps. He was moving more slowly than he had been earlier, the weight of a country and an unhappy son bearing down on him. He’d done just what Marcus asked him not to do – he gave his father more worry than he already had.
Perhaps it was best that his father not be involved in this situation at all.
That would be the kind thing, the magnanimous thing to do. Marcus was right – Christopher’s burdens were great. He was, without question, one of the most respected warlords in England and he was, largely, the architect of the rebellion. Not the sole architect, of course, but he’d had a big hand in it. His directives moved mountains, men, and kings. If William Marshal was the driving force, then Christopher was the wheels. And now he had a son who was unhappy with his lot in life.
Peter knew it wasn’t fair of him, any of it.
Going to his father, he put his arms around him and kissed him on the head.
“Thank you, Papa,” he said softly, releasing him. “And for everything else… I am sorry if I have disappointed you in any way. But I do have a great deal to think about.”
Christopher turned to his son, patting him on the cheek. “We both do.”
Peter wasn’t sure what that meant, but he forced a smile before quitting the solar. Lost in thought, he hit the first step of the mural stairs when his younger brothers, Douglas and Myles, came rushing out of the shadows and grabbed him by the legs with the intention of taking him down. Myles was nine years of age and Douglas had seen five years, so they were old enough to be strong and devious. Peter gripped the wooden railing on the stairs, the one so elaborately carved with lions, as his brothers tried to topple him.
Unfortunately, he didn’t last long when Myles pounded on his fingers, causing him to lose his grip, and down he went into a pile on the floor. Myles and Douglas were relentless, trying to steal his coin purse, daggers, and anything else of value on him until he got the upper hand and wrestled both of them over to a lovely, embroidered chair in the entry.
Nearby hung a tapestry with silken cords that could draw it up and down, and Peter yanked off one of those silken cords. He managed to get both boys into the chair and, using the cord, tied them up to the chair as they fought and kicked. Douglas was even biting. It was exhausting and hilarious, but in the end, Peter had them both tied onto the chair, with Myles sitting upright and Douglas upside-down because in his battles, that was the direction he ended up. Out of breath, Peter stood back and surveyed his handiwork as Myles and Douglas yelled and growled.
“There you go, you nasty little thieves,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I’m going to leave you to rot.”
“I’m going to cut you when I get out of here!” Douglas said, his face turning red because he was hanging upside-down. “Let me go!”
“Never,” Peter said. “Today is my victory!”
More kicking and growling until Myles kicked Douglas in the head and the boy began to wail. Peter just stood there and laughed as he felt a presence come up beside him. He turned to see his father standing there, looking at his sons bound to the chair.
“They tried to rob you again?” he asked in resignation.
Peter held up the red fingers on his left hand. “They tried to smash my fingers and steal my money.”
“Then you are justified.”
As the boys begged for their father to release them and Christopher calmly explained that they deserved to be punished for their thievery, Peter found himself thinking of Asa. That pebble-shooting, boy-sized hoodlum. He wondered how well Myles and Douglas would get along with another boy who was just as ruthless as they were and the thought made him smile. He thought it was quite a pity that two Christian boys and a little Jewish boy couldn’t be playmates. But then again, perhaps it was better this way. If those three joined forces, no one in London would be safe ever again.
Leaving his father to deal with the bandits he had raised, Peter headed up the stairs, to his chamber that overlooked the river from the eastern side of the house. Thoughts of Asa turned to thoughts of Liora. Liora, a woman he’d just met, but Liora, a woman he couldn’t get out of his mind. Sweet, untouched, pragmatic, beautiful Liora. Now, he had to decide what was important to him – flying in the face of two religions to court a woman that he was told he couldn’t have, or turning away and continuing on with his life, such as it was.
There were times that people touched his life that he would never forget – his father and Dustin, for example. He hadn’t known them all his life, but he felt like he had. No matter what he’d said about feeling like an outsider, he couldn’t imagine his life without them. And then there was Liora – with a look, a smile, and a few brief conversations, somehow, she had gotten under his skin.
Even if he turned away now, Peter wasn’t entirely sure he could, or would, forget her. She would always be the one he would wonder about – wonder how his life would have been with her by his side. Wondering if he would regret not standing up for what he wanted against what he was told he couldn’t have. His whole life had been dictated for him, planned for him, everything out of his control. Well, this was one thing he could control.
He wanted to control.
Reaching the upper floor, he ended up going down the back stairs, the one that led to the kitchens and beyond that, the stables. Liora had told him not to come around tonight, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to tell her about Rabbi Judah and about the discussions with his father. He wanted to see if, in the end, all of this would be worth it. He couldn’t make a decision based on only knowing someone for a couple of days, but he was willing to try if she was willing. Perhaps something astonishingly beautiful was waiting for them if they would only show the courage to stand up to convention.
As the sun began to wane in the west, Peter headed off for London again.
