A Time of End

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Christin nodded vigorously. Her hair was starting to come undone, making her appear quite disheveled. “I agree completely, your grace,” she said. Before she could comment further, Wynter came by with a pitcher of wine and Christin grabbed her arm. “I need more drink, wench. Fill my…”

  She yanked too hard on Wynter’s arm and the woman dumped half the contents of the pitcher on her shoulder and arm. A portion of it splashed onto John, who wasn’t quite out of range. Outraged, and wet, Christin leapt to her feet.

  “You foolish chit,” she gasped. “Do you not realize who this is? You have offended the king with your sloppy behavior. Someone should teach you some manners!”

  With that, she grabbed Wynter by the hair and pulled her down onto the king’s table. Sean, who had been watching the fiasco so far and struggling not to laugh, stepped forward to pull the king out of the way as the two women began to fight on the table. Legs and hands were flying around. Gerard d’Athee was also there and Sean passed the king into the man’s protective custody as those nearest the dais stood up, concerned to see two women fighting right on the king’s table.

  Unfortunately, the man Christin had hit on the shoulder with the bone from the swan was fairly close to the table where the women were brawling. He was a knight who served the House of de Mandeville, a de Winter ally. Christin, on top of Wynter at this point and smashing turnips into her face, caught sight of the man, who was looking at her with outrage. That was all it took for Christin to unleash on him. Picking up a bowl of stewed fruit, she hurled it at him.

  “And that’s for challenging me, you revolting dog!” she screamed. “You are an abomination!”

  The knight was hit with the bowl on the jaw. As the fruit sprayed everywhere, he lost his balance and toppled back into the man next to him. That man didn’t take kindly to it and soon the two of them were throwing punches. Because they were fighting, their colleagues began to push each other and, within very little time, a full-scale brawl had erupted at one of the tables. Food began to fly and dogs began to scatter.

  But Christin wasn’t paying attention to that. She wasn’t hurting Wynter, nor was Wynter hurting her, but they were making a good show of pulling hair and smashing food into each other. This had been their plan all along and it was working splendidly. Christin grabbed a half a loaf of bread that had been artfully braided, with a hard crust, and began beating Wynter with it, who shoved her onto the floor.

  Both women were on the floor now, rolling around in spilled food, wine, and Christin’s vomit. Sean, who had been watching everything with great interest and even greater amusement, bent over Christin as she wrestled with Wynter.

  “My lady,” he said. “The king is…”

  Whap! Sean was hit in the face by the crusty bread Christin was swinging around. With crumbs in his eyes, he staggered back to clear his vision as someone tossed a man onto the table on the dais. The man rolled into Sean, who immediately grabbed him, lifted him up over his head, and tossed him back where he came from.

  It was an impressive move.

  When he managed to clear his eyes, his attention moved back to Christin and Wynter, who had stopped fighting and were now hiding under the table, giggling uncontrollably. Sean wiped at his eyes again, shaking his head at the pair as he realized it was all an act. All of it.

  He’d never seen anything so hilarious.

  Or ruthless.

  “Get out of my sight,” he growled to Christin. “Back to your room. Bolt the door and I do not want to see you again while I am here at Norwich. Stay away. Do you understand me?”

  Christin wasn’t frightened nor offended. In fact, she completely understood. Giving the man a grin, she grabbed Wynter and bolted to her feet, both of them running from the hall, half of which was still in turmoil. Sean watched her go, trying to glare at her, but having the most awful time struggling not to laugh. Quickly, he departed because he was losing the battle.

  But the fight in the hall was still going full bore. Men were brawling and food was still flying as Old Daveigh along with Alexander, Peter, Bric and Kevin tried to calm down the brawl. Alexander saw Christin flee the hall and he also saw Sean leave, departing quickly after the king, who had been hurriedly escorted out when the women started to fight.

  For an evening that had started out with great trepidation, it could not have ended better as far as he was concerned. Christin had performed magnificently, something that he would be sure to tell William Marshal when the man arrived. She deserved a great deal of praise for what she had done. There would certainly be no concerns over the king trying to bed her this night.

  Alexander had never been so proud of someone in all his life.

  With a grin, he went back to work trying to help Old Daveigh calm his unruly guests.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  From the unpredictable rain that had set a precedent for the season, the day had dawned remarkably clear and strangely warm. There wasn’t the usual chill to the air that there usually was, making it extremely pleasant for travel.

  In fact, David had his helm off completely and the sun had turned his nose red as the de Lohr group headed into the outskirts of Norwich. There was a wedding feast still going on, but it looked as if it had been going on for a few days because some people were sleeping on tables, others were picking at food, while still others were haphazardly dancing with music played by exhausted musicians. There were drunkards passed out all around and tatters of flowers and garlands.

  Christopher reined his horse to a halt, looking at the town square. It looked like a cluster of discarded poppets.

  “It looks like one hell of a party,” he said, tipping back his helm and wiping the sweat from his brow.

  David looked around him, grinning. “I’m sorry I missed it,” he said. “I cannot imagine de Winter’s celebration is going to be any great cause for copious drinking like this event clearly was.”

  As the brothers were nodding, looking on ahead to Norwich Castle in the distance, they heard a voice behind them.

  “It looks like one of the parties we used to participate in, long ago.” It was a deep, loud voice. “Usually, it would be David passed out under the table as Chris and I arm wrestled to see who could throw whom to the ground first.”

  Christopher and David turned around, both of them grinning when they saw an enormous knight on a big, black warhorse coming up behind them. The man was wearing a tunic of William Marshal, as he was the garrison commander of the mighty Richmond Castle and probably the fiercest knight in the north of England.

  “Cai,” Christopher said with satisfaction. “Do my eyes deceive me? Is it really you?”

  Sir Caius d’Avignon flipped up his visor, giving the brothers a full view of his smiling face. He was an enormous man, usually at least a head taller than everyone else around him, with hair and eyes as black as coal. His face was angular and strong, the brilliant smile displaying charmingly crooked teeth.

  “It is me in the flesh, gentle knights,” he said. “I should be asking you that question. Why in the hell would you attend a celebration in honor of John? He’s not exactly your favorite person.”

  “For the same reason you would.”

  “The Marshal ordered you to?”

  Christopher laughed softly. “He did not order us, but rather strongly encouraged,” he said. “Besides, it is a chance for me to see my eldest children. They both serve at Norwich.”

  Caius nodded as he reined his horse next to Christopher. “I have seen Peter from time to time,” he said. “An astonishingly good knight.”

  A prideful smile crossed Christopher’s lips. “He comes from excellent stock and has had excellent training,” he said. “His brothers are doing equally well. Curtis and Richard serve at Bowes Castle with Juston de Royans and they are both nearly as big as I am at sixteen and fourteen years, respectively. Myles is at Canterbury with David, still, and the younger children are at home with my wife and me. Rebecca has seen seven years, Douglas five years, Westley three years
, and Olivia Charlotte is the baby.”

  “The baby has two names?”

  “I liked one, Dustin liked the other, so she is called by two names.”

  Caius snorted. “How exhausting.”

  Christopher shrugged. “You get used to it,” he said. “In any case, Dustin insists on keeping our children to her bosom. It is like extracting teeth with her to send a child to foster.”

  Caius chuckled. “That is quite a brood, my virile stud,” he said. “Are you finished yet?”

  Christopher cocked an eyebrow. “My wife says I am a dead man if she conceives a child again, so I would say that we are finished.”

  Both Caius and David laughed heartily at that statement, mostly because Christopher seemed rather fearful of the wrath of his wife in such a case.

  “I cannot believe a man of your stature would be fearful of a woman,” Caius said. “You are the husband. If you want more children, that is your right.”

  Christopher gave a loud, ironic snort. “When you marry, you shall understand,” he said. “You’re completely ignorant, d’Avignon. Give advice only for the things you’re good for – slaying enemies and savages.”

  Caius grinned wolfishly. “The only thing I have been slaying as of late lies between a woman’s legs.”

  That set Christopher and David off into laughter again. Caius was, if nothing else, quite entertaining. They had served with him in The Levant, part of the close circle of Richard’s trusted men, and Caius had been jovial and witty at times. He was also one of the most brilliant, deadly tacticians around, so much so that the Muslims called him Britania Faybr, or The Britannia Viper.

  He was big, fast, and deadly.

  He was, therefore, a man that Christopher and David respected and liked. Christopher clapped the man on the arm.

  “Come along, lad,” he said. “Let us go and slay a few cups of wine and some of de Winter’s fine food.”

  “No women?”

  “Not for me, but be my guest if there are any eligible women in attendance.”

  Caius thought that sounded like a good idea. The three of them continued on through the village of half-drunk people, heading towards the enormous, square bastion in the distance. More people were arriving as well, groups of invited nobles, and they could see several houses that they knew, allies of de Winter and of William Marshal. There were several roads into Norwich, as it was the largest city in Norfolk, and parties were coming in from all over.

  Christopher recognized all of them, in fact. Summerlin, de Leybourne, and Ashbourne were just a few groups of men he recognized. As the groups bottlenecked into the city gates, he found himself in conversation with Padraig Summerlin, the garrison commander of Castle Rising. He was a good man, married to one of Old Daveigh’s daughters. It was quite a festive atmosphere as men arrived for days of drink and food in celebrations of the king’s birthday the coming month. And just as they passed beneath the city gate, they began to hear a commotion behind them.

  William Marshal was bringing up their rear with about a hundred solders and Maxton and Kress riding with him, armed to the teeth. Although Christopher and David had brought about the same number of men-at-arms with them, they were treating the ride a little more casually. David still had his helm off, enjoying the sun, and Christopher’s shield wasn’t even on his saddle. There was a small group from Thetford between them and The Marshal’s party, one Lord Croxton, and Maxton and Kress scared the hell out of Lady Croxton as they pushed their group.

  Christopher could hear Lady Croxton weeping loudly.

  It was mostly Maxton, harassing people in order to make way for William Marshal, but Christopher didn’t comment on the fact. That was typical Maxton; no tact, all business. He and Maxton had known each other for over twenty years and they had never particularly gotten along, mostly because they were so much alike in personality – forceful, commanding, demanding. But Maxton had a darker edge about him, something Christopher didn’t have, nor did he like, and there had been times in the past when he and Maxton had butted heads.

  But these days, they couldn’t work up the energy to do so. They had accepted one another for who, and what, they were, and although they would never be the best of friends, they managed to get along for the most part. As Maxton pushed through the Croxton group to reach the de Lohrs and Caius, he ended up shoving the lone Croxton knight out of the way by kicking the man’s horse in the flanks. As the animal bolted off, he turned his attention to the men he knew.

  “Here we are, together again,” he said, mostly focused on Caius. “Cai, God help you, you’re uglier than I remember.”

  Caius snorted. “Thankfully, the women do not think that.”

  Maxton rolled his eyes, for it was true. They all knew that women flocked to Caius like a moth to the flame. His attention fell on David next.

  “My lord,” he greeted. “I see that you are still in the company of that one.”

  He nodded his head in Christopher’s direction and David smiled thinly. “You mean the Earl of Hereford and Worcester?” he said. “Show some respect, Loxbeare.”

  Maxton turned to Christopher and the two of them gazed at each other, appraisingly. That was usual with them. “My lord,” Maxton said. “All the way from the Marches, I see.”

  “And you,” Christopher said evenly. “How is Gloucester?”

  “Quiet. Just the way I like it. And Lioncross?”

  “Quiet. Just the way I like it.” Christopher looked at David and Caius, and now Kress as he joined them. “You would never guess that Maxton and I are allies along the Marches. He really loves me, but he will never admit it.”

  There was an ironic jest in that, and some humor. It wasn’t true, but it wasn’t entirely untrue, either. The relationship between the pair was complicated. As David and Caius shook their heads to the unspoken rivalry between Christopher and Maxton, Kress reined his horse next to the group.

  “Greetings, my lords,” he said, far more polite to Christopher and David than Maxton had been. “’Tis a fine day for much drinking and eating.”

  “You will keep the drinking to a minimum,” William said as he rode up. “I do not need a bunch of drunken lords about with John on the prowl. Has he arrived yet?”

  Everyone turned in the direction of the castle, the great square box on the hill that loomed over the town. There were banners flying, both de Winter and Plantagenet, snapping in the light breeze.

  “I would guess he is here,” Christopher said. “His feast begins today, after all.”

  William simply lifted his eyebrows, seemingly not too thrilled about the whole thing. He was here only because he had to be. The enormous de Lohr/Marshal group pushed through the village, as they were now on one of the wide avenues that headed for the castle. As they neared the first of several gatehouses that led to the keep, they could see a rider heading in their direction. A man in armor was thundering towards them. Christopher was the first to take notice.

  “Look there,” he said. “That looks like Peter.”

  It was. Everyone turned to see Peter galloping towards them on the heavy-boned warhorse his father had given him when he was knighted. Another expensive de Lohr animal that Peter was quite fond of. As the knight drew up alongside his father and uncle, the customary smile wasn’t there.

  In fact, he looked very serious.

  “I thought it was you,” he said to his father. “I had the men watch for your banner and they thought they saw it coming in through the city gate.”

  “They did,” Christopher said to his eldest. “What has you riding out here like a madman?”

  “John is here,” Peter said, looking at the six knights before him. All powerful men, all of them knowing the stakes with John present at any gathering. “He arrived yesterday. Papa, we had an… incident last night with Christin.”

  Christopher stiffened. “What incident?” he demanded. “Be plain.”

  “She is well,” Peter said quickly, seeing this father was immediately on the offensive. �
�She is not harmed, but there have been some developments. I rode out here to tell you because I am not entirely sure we will have any privacy once we enter the castle. John’s men are everywhere. He brought a small army with him.”

  Christopher looked at William, who was trying not to show any great concern. “What developments have there been, Peter?” William asked calmly.

  Peter wedged his big horse between his father and William. Even though they were in public, they were fairly isolated from prying ears with soldiers surrounding them and the noise of the city in general.

  That was exactly what Peter had counted on.

  “Papa, you must promise to remain calm,” Peter said. “I am telling you this in the presence of Lord William on purpose. I will reiterate that Christin is well, but John invited her to sup with him last night. From what I was told, she tried to flee after the invitation was delivered but Sean de Lara caught her and told her not to run. He told her that John has confided in him that he wants Christin as a bride for his son, Robert FitzRoy.”

  Christopher, normally a neutral man, couldn’t temper his reaction. His eyes bugged. “FitzRoy?” he hissed. “He has lost his damnable mind if he thinks I’ll ever consent to a marriage between Christin and his bastard!”

  Peter held up a hand. “I know,” he said. “We all know. But Sean had a plan and we put it into action last night at the feast when Christin dined with John. Sean’s plan was for Christin to behave horribly – he told her to drink, to belch, to behave like a base-born chit because John cannot stand women like that. He prefers his women well-bred and lovely and obedient, and Christin was anything but. Papa, you should have seen her – I have never seen anything like it in my life.”

  They were all hanging on Peter’s every word. Christopher was close to exploding. “What happened?” he demanded.

  Peter started to grin. “She pretended to be drunk,” he said. “She chatted so much that John couldn’t get a word in, she chewed like a common man, belched like a knight on a three-day drinking binge, ended up vomiting at one point, and then she got into a fight with a serving wench. It was brilliant, Papa, all of it. We’ve not yet seen John this morning and he has stayed far away from Cissy. If she wanted to discourage him, I think she did.”