The Splendid Hour by Kathryn Le Veque

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It was quiet before the dawn.

Liora hadn’t slept all night with thoughts of Peter rolling through her head. Her father had been right about one thing – there was peace at the house on Milk Street. There always had been. But since the introduction of Peter de Lohr, that peace had been fractured.

Badly.

But it wasn’t his fault. It was hers, completely. Now, she wasn’t satisfied with the peace if Peter couldn’t be part of her life. After the confrontation in the kitchen yard last night, Haim had brought Liora inside and she had run directly to her bedchamber. She went inside and closed the door, but when she peered into the corridor a couple of hours later, Haim was in a chair next to her door, reading by candlelight. He looked up at her, smiled, and she promptly shut the door.

Her father was on watch duty, making sure his daughter didn’t slip out to meet the Christian knight again.

Therefore, Liora went to bed, but she didn’t sleep. Clad in her night shift with a shawl around her shoulders, she sat on her bed and gazed from the window, up to the starry night above and wondered just how she was supposed to continue onward with Peter on the Marches, securing castles and fighting for a better England. He was a knight and she knew he had seen battles. It was well known that the de Lohrs were a warring tribe, but now that she was emotionally invested in one of them, the concept of battles and fighting became more real to her.

That kind of thing had never concerned her before.

But it concerned her now. If Peter was fighting, then it was possible he could become wounded. If he became wounded, how would she know? Would her father allow her to help him? Haim had been very polite and quite calm as he spoke to Peter, all things considered, but he could put his foot down if he needed to. She’d seen him do it, especially with Asa. Liora had never given her father a moment of trouble in her life until now.

Evidently, she’d been saving it all up for one major event.

About an hour before dawn, when the chickens began stirring, she finally rose and bathed in the cold rosewater in her chamber before donning a simple broadcloth dress, leather girdle that emphasized her tiny waist, and a broadcloth cloak. She braided her dark hair into two long braids, pulling her hair off her face with a kerchief and looking at herself in her polished bronze mirror, wondering if she looked as different as she felt.

In truth, she felt quite different. Life, for her, had changed drastically in the past few days. The moment she came upon Peter de Lohr in her kitchen yard was the moment her future was forever altered, and she hadn’t even been aware of it at the time. She’d never been in love; she’d never even been close. That was something she had never hoped for or expected. But love had showed up in her kitchen yard that night.

She wasn’t going to let it go.

Squaring her shoulders, Liora opened her door to see that her father was still there, still reading, and she told him that she was going out to tend the chickens. Haim permitted her to go, but he followed her, watching her from the house as she went out to the coop to gather eggs and feed the chickens.

And so, another peaceful day began on Milk Street.

The servants were up by the time she came back into the house with the basket of eggs. As they started the fire in the hearth and began the preparations for the day, Liora went back into the stable to release the goats. Feeding them in the morning was her usual task, so she opened the gate on the little corral and out they spilled into the kitchen yard. Using a large pitchfork, she shoveled some of the hay out into the yard for the goats, who provided milk to drink and also to make cheese. It was Asa who would clean up after them, and brush them, and make sure they were well tended at night.

The eastern horizon was growing lighter as the sun began to rise and Liora went about cleaning out the chicken coop. It was yet another duty she had, as the only servants her father had were those who worked for her mother, so she was well-versed in things that took place out in the yard. Both she and Asa were no strangers to work because their father insisted on it. He refused to raise useless children, as he put it. She was sweeping out the straw that the chickens roosted on during the night when the gate to the kitchen yard suddenly burst open.

Royal soldiers appeared.

At first, Liora was too surprised to be afraid. She’d never had a reason in her entire life to be afraid, and certainly not in her own home, so when the soldiers flooded into the yard, she simply set aside the broom to ask what the trouble was.

“Is something the matter?” she asked the first man who had charged in. “Can I help you?”

The man was older, wearing a dirty royal tunic with three golden lions against a scarlet background. When she came out of the coop, he fixed on her, as did the other soldiers in the yard.

They gravitated in her direction.

“Who are ye, girl?” he asked.

She looked at him curiously. “Liora, daughter of Haim,” she said. “Whom do you seek?”

A leering smile spread across the soldier’s lips. “The jeweler’s daughter?”

“Aye.”

“Someone wants a word with ye.”

“Me?” she said, shocked. “But who should want to speak with me?”

“Ye are the jeweler’s daughter, aren’t ye?”

“I said I was, but…”

He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her towards the gate, cutting her off. Liora’s puzzlement turned to fear when she realized their appearance hadn’t been random. They seemed to be specifically looking for her, the jeweler’s daughter, which she thought quite odd. She watched as two of them went into the house and she could hear screaming from the kitchen servants, but that was the last she saw and heard as she was dragged out into the alleyway and put onto a horse with a man who grabbed her lewdly around the chest. He had one big hand on her right breast, laughing low in his throat, as she beat his hand away so that it ended up around her waist.

Meanwhile, two of the soldiers had wrested Haim from the house and although he wasn’t putting up a fight, they were roughly dragging him. When he tripped, they thought he was resisting and someone hit him in the face. Liora screamed at the sight of her father being beaten, rousing the entire neighborhood, including her brother, who had clamored to an upstairs window to see what the fuss was about.

What Asa saw was his sister and father being taken away by armed men. Grabbing his pebble shooter, he ran down to the kitchen yard about the time the soldiers took off, and he chased them all the way down the street, screaming at them. He finally came to a halt at the corner of Milk Street and Lombard Street, watching the group of armed soldiers head west.

And just like that, his father and sister were gone.

Asa was furious and terrified. He could hear neighbors on his street raise the alarm and he could hear his mother screaming. As he stood there, several of his Maccabees came running up, watching the group of armed soldiers fade into the distance.

“What happened?” one of the boys demanded.

Asa realized he was close to tears, trying desperately not to cry and look weak. “The soldiers took my father and my sister.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know why!” Asa shouted, losing the battle against tears. “But we must go after them! We must help them!”

The older boy shook his head. “We can’t,” he said. “I know those soldiers. I’ve seen those tunics. They belong to the king!”

Asa frowned, baffled at the revelation. “Why did he take my father and sister?” he wanted to know. “What does the king want them for? He knows my father – Papa makes his jewelry.”

No one had an answer, but Milk Street was growing increasingly agitated as women began to wail alongside Asa’s mother. The boys could hear the weeping because some of their own mothers were joining in. Frightened, they began to look at each other.

“What do we do?” the older boy asked. “We need help, but we can’t go after them. They’ll kill us.”

Fighting other boy gangs was one thing, but fighting armed soldiers was strictly another. Even in their wild boyish ways, they knew they were no match for swords.

They only knew one other man who might be.

“Saint Peter!” Asa gasped. “We must find Saint Peter!”

“But where?” the older boy asked. “We don’t know where he lives!”

Asa nodded frantically. “I do, I do!” he said. “He told me he lives at a place called Lonsdale, to the west of London and next to the river. That’s what he said!”

“Then we’ll go to him,” the older boy said. “There is a road that goes along the river. We’ll go to every house until we find him!”

Asa was eager to move. “You have a horse, Egan,” he said. “Get your horse and I will ride with you. Hurry!”

Egan was already on the move, running back to his house as the other Maccabees followed. The boys entered the yard behind the house and pulled the old horse from the stable, all of them trying to put a saddle and bridle on the old beast. Everyone was so eager to help that it took more time than it should have but, soon enough, Egan and Asa mounted the old nag and kicked it to get it going while the other boys slapped it on the rump.

The old horse took off, heading down Lombard Street, aiming for the road the hugged the river in search of the only man they knew could help…

The man they used to shoot pebbles at.

They could only hope he didn’t hold a grudge.

*

Lonsdale

The army hadbeen mobilizing before dawn.

Peter was among them. The bailey of Lonsdale was lit up with the flames of a hundred torches piercing the mist that had rolled in over the river during the night, and Peter had been up since well before sunrise preparing to depart to the Marches.

Lonsdale was built in such a way that the troop house was built into the wall and into the sublevel underneath the house, so it could conceivably house eight hundred to a thousand men at any given time, and that was only in the troop house. It could also house another five hundred in the bailey alone. Christopher was a warlord and everything in his life had military purpose, including a home he’d built for his wife that was supposed to be for comfort. It was comfortable, that was true, but it wasn’t only for show.

It was a fortress in disguise.

Several of his father’s friends and allies were in the bailey also, as they had been lodging at Lonsdale while the events went on in London. Caius was there, preparing to head north to Richmond, along with Maxton, Alexander, Marcus, Jax, Juston, Alastor, and David. David had come to collect the men his brother had promised him because he was departing for Canterbury that morning with the reinforcements.

The talk throughout the morning was about John’s mercenaries, now the topic of conversation whenever two or more of the men got together. The concern was in how quickly they were traveling into England and what state their properties would be in when they arrived home. Peter could hear them muttering about it as he helped Alexander muster the de Lohr army with the assistance of the master sergeants. His father and uncle were in private conversation with Jax and Juston over near the entry of the manse, but he wasn’t paying attention to them. In truth, he hadn’t spoken to his father since leaving Liora last night, mostly because he didn’t know what to say.

As the sun began to rise and poke holes through the mist with golden fingers of light, the army was starting to take shape. The quartermaster wagons were mostly loaded and ready to go and the men were properly outfitted. Peter finally stood back and watched the sergeants make the final adjustments, thinking about preparing his own horse for travel. But along with that thought came doubt.

Doubt that he was doing the right thing.

Peter hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep since he’d met Liora and last night was no exception. He’d tossed and turned all night, reliving the scene in the kitchen yard over and over. He had told Liora that it would be best for them to spend some time apart, to really think about their devotion and dedication to one another even though she’d told him that she would be willing to convert religions for the sake of their marriage. At the time, he thought a separation was the right thing to do but now he was starting to wonder. He didn’t want to be away from her, now more than ever, but it wasn’t as if he had any choice in the matter. He had a job to do and she had to make sure her decision wasn’t one she was going to regret.

“Good morn, Peter.”

Jolted from his thoughts, Peter turned to see Christin standing behind him, wrapped up in a cloak against the cold morning. She smiled at him, her gray eyes just like her mother’s, as she came to stand next to him. He smiled weakly at her.

“What are you doing up so early?” he asked.

She cocked a dark eyebrow. “Surely you jest,” she said drolly. “I have a toddler son and an infant. I have not slept a full night in two years. I am always up this early.”

His grin turned genuine. “That is your fault for marrying a man you love madly and bearing his children,” he said. “Does he at least help you when the boys are up in the night, demanding attention?”

Christin nodded. “He does, actually,” she said. “But he is terrible when it comes time to put them back into their bed. He wants them to sleep between us and pouts when I will not let them. The man threatens to weep like an old beer wife.”

Peter started chuckling. “I will not tell him you said that.”

“I do not care if you do.”

“Where are my nephews now?”

“With Mama,” she said. “God bless the woman for taking charge of them in the mornings so Sherry and I can have some peace.”

Peter grunted. “She has an infant of her own,” he said. “I’ve heard her and Papa arguing about the number of babies she likes to tend to.”

Christin laughed softly. “He complains, but he does not mean a word of it,” she said. “I’ve found him dead asleep with both of my children plus our two youngest siblings in his arms. There’s Papa, passed out like a drunkard on the bed, with children sleeping all over him. He’s really a softhearted man but he does not want anyone to know.”

As she and Peter shared a giggle, Christin caught sight of her husband over near the gatehouse. “Ah,” she said. “There is my husband. I must speak to him.”

Peter could see Alexander, too, in discussion with Caius and Maxton. “Are you returning with him to Lioncross?” he asked. “I heard Mama say something about staying here because she did not want to travel with Olivia just yet.”

Olivia Charlotte was their youngest sibling, a late baby for her parents born two months earlier. She had been born at Lonsdale, not Lioncross Abbey like most of the de Lohr children had been, but Dustin wasn’t keen on traveling with a newborn even though her husband wanted to return to the Marches.

“It is difficult to travel with an infant that small,” Peter said. “Mayhap Papa should leave her here while he goes about his duties. She’ll be safe here, away from the turmoil that Papa is sure to face.”

“And you are sure to face,” Christin said, looking at him. “I hope you do not mind that Sherry told me about Liora, but I will confess that he only told me after I heard you and Papa arguing yesterday.”

He looked at her queerly. “How did you hear us? We were in his solar.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “How could I not hear you with his big voice and my big ears,” she said, grinning at her own expense. “My husband was gone all morning with you. He wasn’t even here when The Marshal called his meeting and I know Papa was furious about it. Then I heard him bellowing at you and Sherry told me why. My husband says she is astonishingly beautiful.”

Peter looked at her a moment, hesitation in his manner. “I… I cannot decide if I should tell you that I do not wish to talk about it or if I really do want to talk about it,” he said. “I do not even know where to start.”

Christin smiled faintly. “Start at the beginning,” she said. “Where did you meet her?”

Peter shrugged. “I was hiding from Agnes de Quincy and ended up in an alley next to her home,” he said. “She hid me until the threat of Agnes passed.”

Christin chuckled. “Is this true?” she said. “And you told her why you were hiding?”

“I told her. She called me a coward.”

He burst into soft laughter and so did she, seeing joy in Peter’s face she’d never seen before. He looked positively giddy. But the laughter soon faded. “Sherry also told me that she is a Jewess,” she said. “I have never met one before. What is she like?”

“Like you and me,” he said. “She is witty, charming, and intelligent. I cannot take my eyes off her, Cissy. When I am around her, I feel as if I have never felt before. I am happy and joyful, as if I am walking on clouds. That’s what Papa called it and he is right. Does that sound silly?”

Christin shook her head. “It does not because I know exactly how you feel,” she said. “So does Sherry. He’s quite sympathetic to your cause, you know. We both are. But what does Papa say?”

He cast her a long look. “You mean to say that your big ears didn’t hear him?”

She grinned. “Not everything,” she said. “Surely he understands your position.”

Peter nodded, thinking of what his father had said the night before as they stood in Liora’s kitchen yard. The man had been opposed to any liaison between him and Liora until it came down to a critical moment in time.

I cannot live his life for him, but I will be by his side no matter what he decides.

“He does,” he said after a moment. “But Papa has a very pragmatic view of the situation. In order for me to marry Liora, either I must become a Jew or she must become a Christian. That is the only way we can have a marriage that will be recognized by either religion. Although he is not happy that I am willing to give up everything that I have worked for to be with Liora, ultimately, he understands.”

Christin was watching him intently. “Is she worth so much to you, Peter?”

He looked at her, nodding. “She is worth everything and more,” he said. “Cissy, when you met Sherry, did you know he would be the man you would marry right away? Or did it take time?”

Christin thought back to when she and Alexander had first had any real interaction. Christin had been an agent for William Marshal, one of the best, but she’d never really worked directly with Alexander until an incident at Norwich Castle that involved John and his lascivious attention towards her. She smiled at the memory of coming to know her husband during a fairly turbulent time.

“I was so enamored with him that I was dumbstruck,” she said. “He was the famous Alexander de Sherrington, the most elite assassin in The Marshal’s stable, and I was just me. I had no great background, no great training. I was in such awe of him. But I think even then I knew I would marry him.”

“And it happened quickly?”

“Fairly quickly. Ask Papa. I still do not think he is over just how quickly it happened.”

Peter cracked a smile. “I remember that time,” he said. “We were so involved with the king and trying to keep you from marrying his bastard son that it was a very difficult time for us all. The fact that you and Sherry fell in love in the middle of it speaks to the power of your feelings for one another.”

There was longing in his tone that Christin didn’t miss. “If your love for Liora is meant to be, Peter, then it will be,” she said. “But sometimes, you must fight for what you want. Somehow, the victory of it makes it all the sweeter.”

Peter scratched his head. “But Sherry wasn’t Jewish,” he said. Then, he looked at her. “Liora has already told me that she will become a Christian, but as Papa pointed out, we will be bringing her into a world she knows absolutely nothing about. You… you would help her, wouldn’t you? And be a friend to her?”

He seemed so distressed about it that she put her hand on his arm. “Of course I would,” she said. “I would do anything I could to help her. You need not even ask.”

That seemed to ease him a great deal. “I knew you would,” he said. “I do not know why I even felt the need to ask that. I suppose it is because the situation is something I’ve never faced before and I’m simply trying to navigate it the best way I can.”

“With your heart,” Christin said softly. “Navigate it with your heart, Peter. You cannot go wrong if you do that, but above all else, always think of her first. If she is willing to leave the only life she has ever known just for you, then you must be very considerate of that. But know that come what may, Sherry and I will embrace her with open arms.”

He smiled at his sister. She was a few years younger than he was, but they had practically grown up together. She had never been anything other than devoted and attached to him, and he to her. He reflected on telling Christopher how he’d always felt like an outsider, and that was only of his own doing, because certainly his family had never made him feel differently. Even now, when he was choosing a path that no one else in the family had ever chosen, more and more, it was feeling like the right path.

Right for him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, kissing her on the forehead. “That comforts me greatly. And, Cissy… if something happens in these battles were are sure to face against John’s mercenaries and I do not make it back to London, will you please go to Liora and tell her… tell her that my thoughts were only of her? I want her to know that I did not forget her.”

Christin didn’t like it when her brother or husband or father spoke in such ways. She couldn’t think of them as anything other than vital, strong, and alive, so to speak of death wasn’t something she was comfortable with. But for Peter’s sake, and because she knew he was right, she nodded her head.

“If you wish,” she said. “I will go to her.”

He forced a smile. “Thank you,” he said. “That eases me more than you know. You are an excellent sister, even if you are annoying on occasion.”

Christin giggled, swatting him on the arm, but she was prevented from sparring with him when a servant found her on the stoop and told her that her mother was in need of her. With children to feed, Christin forgot about seeking her husband and left to find her mother, leaving Peter on the steps of the manse.

But Peter had tasks to attend to, so he headed off to find his father, who happened to be speaking to Jax over near the gatehouse with several other men. As he approached, he could see old Juston de Royans and equally old Jax de Velt, men who had shaped the history of England over the past forty years. Juston, big and burly and with blond hair that had turned mostly to gray, had been Christopher and David and Marcus’ mentor back when they were young knights with the world at their feet.

In fact, Juston had been the mentor to many of the Executioner Knights, Maxton and Kress and Achilles included. His seat was Bowes Castle far to the north, close to Richmond where Caius was in command. Peter knew that his father wasn’t awestruck or submissive to any man, not even The Marshal, but because Juston used to be his mentor years ago, there was a hint of that submissiveness in Christopher’s behavior when he spoke to Juston. He still looked to the man as if he had all the answers, which he usually did. It was rather touching to see, a glimpse of his father’s past in his behavior with a man he respected greatly.

As Peter walked up on the group of men, his caught his father’s attention.

“The army will be ready for Canterbury in about an hour, my lord,” Peter said, formally addressing his father and his uncle in front of a group of men. “Is there anything else you need?”

Christopher shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “In fact, we were just speaking on how we are strapped for knights. Every knight I have is occupied with command duties, including those I left behind at Lioncross. I have none to spare.”

Peter looked at his uncle. “You have good knights at Canterbury,” he said. “Brickley de Dere is an excellent knight.”

David nodded. “He is in command while I am away,” he said. “I do not worry with Brickley in command, but we were speaking on the crop of knights coming out of Kenilworth. I intend to get my hands on one or two of those men when they are fully knighted.”

Everyone knew that Kenilworth Castle was one of the oldest and most elite training castles for knights in all of England. Many of the Executioner Knights had trained there, men from fine families with skills that been honed by the master knights of Kenilworth. Peter had trained there for a couple of years after leaving Marcus at Somerhill and he could attest to the fact that it was either sink or swim for the trainees at Kenilworth. If you did not succeed, you were doomed to failure.

There was no middle ground.

“I’ve heard that the de Wolfe brothers are in training,” Peter said. “All of Wolverton’s sons, including the youngest, William.”

That had some of the men snorting. “You mean the Gambling King?” Christopher said. “God help Edward – he’s going to have his hands full with that lad. He is either going to be the greatest knight England has ever seen or the greatest outlaw.”

The men chortled at Edward de Wolfe’s expense. He had three sons, very close in age, the youngest of which was a devious, brilliant, highly skilled warrior even at his very young age. In the siege of London those months ago, William de Wolfe had fought alongside Christopher de Lohr because the lad was just that good and they had needed men to fight. But he also had a penchant for gambling and managed to win money and possessions from almost every man he’d ever served with, Peter included.

“Where is Wolverhampton, by the way?” Peter asked, looking around. “I’ve not seen him this morning.”

Christopher sobered as he shook his head. “He has already departed,” he said. “He is far enough to the north that he is worried about the mercenaries, so he is already gone.”

Peter looked around to the other men gathered, noticing that a few were missing. “Savernake is gone?” he said. “I do not see Dashiell or the duke.”

“They departed yesterday, but Dash is heading to Rochester Castle,” Christopher said. “It is under siege and we are quite certain that the Earl of East Anglia has sent his army to protect his holding, so Dash went to join up with his father’s army.”

That made sense considering Dashiell du Reims was the heir to the earldom of East Anglia, an old and powerful holding, but East Anglia was also related to Hereford because Christopher’s mother and East Anglia’s father had been brother and sister.

“Will we send men, too?” Peter asked. “They are cousins, after all.”

Christopher shook his head, looking at David. “I can only spare men for your uncle right now. The bulk of my army is on the Marches, but I will supply men if I am asked. With more men than anyone else on the Marches, I expect the requests to come.”

That was very true. Lioncross Abbey had a six-thousand-man standing army, a massive army that was spread between a few garrisons, now to be spread between even more with Peter taking a thousand to Ludlow and, more than likely, Alexander taking another thousand to Wigmore. Men and material were about to be moved all over England in an attempt to protect property and weaken John’s mercenary force, but it would take time.

And time was something they didn’t have a lot of.

“Hold the Marches, Chris,” Jax said quietly. “We can hold the north, but you must hold the Marches. If the mercenaries get control of any castles along the Welsh border, they won’t stay there. They’ll head into Wales and that will start another war with the Welsh princes. Peace is already a fragile thing there. I do not have to tell you that.”

Christopher shook his head. “Nay, you do not,” he said regretfully. “But the Marches will hold. Truthfully, John doesn’t seem to be interest in Wales. I’m more concerned with his interest in Scotland.”

Jax glanced at Juston, John de Longley, Alastor de Bourne, and finally Gilbert d’Umfraville, all of them lords of enormous castles in Northumberland. They had the most to lose and since the revelations of yesterday, that fact had never been more apparent. John, in fact, was brand new to his title because his father had recently passed away, so this was a test of his command skills.

Jax finally shook his head with the absurdity of it all.

“It wasn’t even a year or two ago that we were fighting to keep Scotland from invading the north,” he said. “There is great irony in the fact that now, we are allying with them to keep John’s mercenary army from taking our lands. They will want Northwood Castle, home of Teviot, because it controls a great river crossing and a good portion of the river itself. They will want Castle Keld, home of de Bourne, because it controls a major road in and out of Scotland. They will want Prudhoe Castle where d’Umfraville lives because of its strategic importance. They will want Bowes Castle because it controls a major road that crosses east to west from Cumbria to Northumberland, and they will try to claim Alnwick, where de Vesci lives, simply because Alnwick is a prize. But most of all… most of all, they will come for Berwick Castle and Pelinom Castle, my home, because both are crucial to holding Northumberland in general. Something tells me that out of all the battles I have fought in my lifetime, and there have been many, this may very well be my most important.”

By the time he finished, everyone was looking at him with great concern and perhaps even greater trepidation. For The Dark Lord, the greatest knight of his generation, to speak in such a way was unusual, indeed. It was quite unsettling. But Jax had aptly brought the truth of the matter into focus, something all of them were concerned with.

Peter found himself looking around the group of old warriors, the greatest men of their generation, men who had fought for England their entire lives. Men who were legends to all fighting men throughout the known world. Men who, ironically enough, now found themselves fighting against the king of their own country. They were now rebels, fighting an unjust ruler and called outlaws because of it.

It all seemed horribly unfair to their legacies.

“There was an old master knight at Kenilworth by the name of Boone Pendleton,” Peter said quietly. “He died the year I was knighted. I’m sure you know the name, but he was someone I greatly admired. Right before I was knighted, there was some trouble over in Kidderminster and Kenilworth was called upon because we were the only available army at the time. I do not remember the exact details, but the master knights, and several squires, including me, took the army over to Kidderminster to face a Welsh incursion. I was absolutely terrified. In fact, I think most of the squires were because we were suited up like knights and expected to fight. I remember Boone repeating an old Viking prayer and it was a cry we all took up. It started out with Behold, I see those I love, and my relatives who have died before me…”

He was cut off when Christopher lifted his head and spoke the next line. “I see my father seated in the great hall, with an empty seat beside him.”

David continued. “I see the greatest warriors who have ever lived, surrounding my father, calling to me.”

Astonished, Peter watched as all of the men took up the prayer, speaking the last few lines –

Death is not the end, but the beginning, for a true warrior never dies.

He takes his place of greatness beside those who are worthy.

Mourn not the glorious dead but rejoice in their legacy.

They wait for me, not in this life, but in the next,

Where their legends shall live forever.

There was something so incredibly reverent about that prayer being spoken by some of the greatest men who had ever held a sword. Peter didn’t feel as if he should speak, as if the silence after that glorious poem should not be broken. It hung like a spell over them, each man feeling it to his very bones, knowing that today, more than ever, it held true. In truth, it brought tears to Peter’s eyes, for it was an emotional moment for them all.

It was Christopher who finally broke the silence.

“Listen to me and listen well, all of you,” he said, though he was mostly looking at Jax and Juston. “If any of you fall in battle and I survive, know that I will stop at nothing to avenge you. John has been a thorn in my side for over twenty years. What he is doing now is beyond what I thought he was capable of and if it costs the lives of good men like you, know that my vengeance will know no limits. If William Marshal stands in my way, he will pay the price. I will burn him and all he stands for to the ground if he opposes me. But I will avenge you, I swear it.”

With that, he reached out to Juston first, gripping the man’s hand in a silent promise of his pledge. Juston nodded, his old eyes glimmering, as Christopher moved to Jax and did the same thing. He held Jax’s hand just a little longer than necessary, knowing that out of all of them, Jax might find himself the most involved. With two prime properties, he would be a preferred target.

After Jax, Christopher shook hands with Teviot, de Bourne, and d’Umfraville, reaffirming bonds of men who had an uphill battle. They were all preparing to head out when the sentries began to cry out that a rider had been sighted.

The gates of Lonsdale were already open because of the assembling army, so no one seemed concerned over a lone rider. In fact, the group of warlords were breaking up, including Peter, but he noticed that Alexander was going to the gate because, as the commander of the de Lohr armies, that was his job. Peter had never felt ousted by Alexander when he married Christin and swore an oath to command Christopher’s armies because it was well known that Alexander was the best commander of men in England. Even when the Executioner Knights went on a mission, it was almost always Alexander in command.

Therefore, Peter was happy to surrender the responsibility. He turned for the manse but ended up running into Maxton and Caius and striking up a conversation, when he heard Alexander shouting his name.

“Peter!”

Peter turned for the gatehouse, but there were so many men between him and the gatehouse that he couldn’t see Alexander at all. But he heard his name again and headed in that direction, followed by Maxton and Caius simply because their horses were over near the gatehouse and they were preparing to depart with the rest of the warlords. The three of them closed in on the gatehouse, finally spying Alexander, and Peter’s calm demeanor took a turn for the worse when he saw who Alexander was standing with.

Asa.

Peter bolted.

The little boy was on a horse with another child and Peter could see that Asa had been weeping because there was dirt smeared all over his face. Incredulous, he came to an unsteady halt.

“Asa?” he gasped. “What in the h-… I mean, what are you doing here? How did you find me?”

When Asa laid eyes on Peter, the tears returned with a vengeance. “You said you lived next to the river,” he said, wiping his eyes furiously. “You said you lived at Lonsdale. We went to the manse before this one and asked for you, but they told us where Lonsdale was.”

He was pointing down the road, speaking of the manse that was about two miles up the river, closer to London. “That’s Hurlingham,” he said, greatly concerned. “Why are you looking for me? What’s wrong?”

Asa thought he could be very brave and explain the situation, but seeing Peter seemed to suck the courage right out of him because in Peter, he saw help. He saw hope. He was so frightened that he couldn’t speak.

The sobs began to come.

“They came and took them,” he wept. “My papa and Lee-Lee. The soldiers came and took them away!”

Peter was stricken with confusion and terror. “What soldiers?” he demanded, grabbing the child. “What do you mean they took your father and Liora away? Who in the hell were they?”

Asa was off on a crying jag, so the older boy spoke. “The king’s soldiers,” he said, his voice trembling. “They came and took Asa’s sister and father away this morning. We came to find you so that you could help.”

For a moment, Peter was frozen with shock. He simply couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was Alexander who asked the question Peter couldn’t seem to bring forth.

“Are you certain?” he asked. “You know it was the king’s men?”

The boy nodded. “The yellow lions on a crimson tunic,” he said. “We’ve seen it before, many times. They came and took Asa’s sister and father.”

“Where did they take them?”

The boy shook his head. “I do not know,” he said. “But they were heading towards the palace.”

Westminster.Peter hadn’t realized he’d stopped breathing but, suddenly, he took a big breath, so deep that his head began to swim. “But why?” he asked. “Why would they do that? Did they say anything? Make any demands?”

Asa found his tongue. “I didn’t hear them say anything.”

“But your father is the king’s jeweler. Mayhap it had everything to do with that?”

Asa shook his head. “They took Lee-Lee and she screamed,” he said. “I heard her scream. Then they came into the house and took my father. They were dragging him away.”

Peter looked at Alexander in shock. “Why take them both?”

Alexander shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “It sounds as if John is clearly displeased, but to take them both away? I can see him taking the jeweler, but his daughter along with him?”

Peter nodded, his mind reeling. “It makes no sense,” he said. “What they are describing sounds as if they have taken Liora and her father prisoner.”

Alexander didn’t want to agree with him, but he had no choice. That was exactly what it sounded like.

“Aye,” he said. “That would be my assumption as well.”

“Saint Peter, please!” Asa begged. “Please help. You have a big sword and you can free them!”

Peter looked at the child, hearing the heart-wrenching plea. Without a word, he bolted, running towards the stable as fast as his legs would take him. Alexander ran after him and because he was running, Maxton and Caius began to run, too. All of them running for their horses simply because Peter was. Maxton and Caius didn’t even know why Peter was running, or what the weeping young boy was talking about, but that didn’t matter. Peter thought it was serious enough to run and they wouldn’t let him go alone, wherever that may be.

Something was badly amiss.

As knights were dashing towards the stables, Christopher caught sight of them. He was over near the manse entry with David, watching men race for their horses. They were scattering through the assembling army, mounting horses and tearing off through the gatehouse. Puzzled, and concerned, Christopher caught Alexander before he could get away.

“Sherry!” he shouted. “What is happening?”

Alexander reined his horse to a swift halt, causing the horse to rear up. “Trouble,” he said. “Stay here.”

Christopher scowled. “What is –?”

Alexander cut him off. “Stay here, Chris,” he said in a rare use of Christopher’s given name. “If you get involved, it will only make it worse, so stay here.”

Christopher had no idea what he was talking about, watching the man tear off through the courtyard and sprint from the gatehouse. He scratched his head, baffled at what had just happened, as Marcus came up to him.

“What in the hell was that all about?” Marcus asked.

Christopher shook his head, baffled. “I have no idea,” he said. “Sherry said to remain here, but he and Peter and Cai and Maxton just flew out of here as if the world were ending.”

Marcus looked at David, who shrugged. He returned his focus to the gatehouse, seeing two young boys on a horse still standing there. He pointed.

“Who is that?” he asked.

Christopher’s vision wasn’t what it used to be. All he could see was a horse and two figures, but not much else. “I don’t know,” he said. “Who does it look like?”’

“Two children.”

The curiosity was mounting. Christopher, Marcus, and David headed to the gatehouse to find out who the children were and what, exactly, they had to do with the flight of the knights out of his bailey. When he finally got close enough to speak to the children, he didn’t recognize them, but after a brief conversation with the smaller of the pair, a great deal suddenly became very clear.

Now, he knew why Peter had left so swiftly.

Stay here, Chris. You’ll only make it worse if you get involved.

When he told David and Marcus his suspicions, they didn’t quite agree with Alexander. Neither did Jax or Juston.

Soon enough, the group of them were heading towards Westminster, too.