Tonight, Gallus intended to savor a measure of domination and vengeance in the name of England.
CHAPTER NINE
Maison de l’Or
1.4 miles east of the Tower of London
South bank of the Thames
A storm had rolled in from the east, bringing with it massive displays of lightning and a continuous chorus of thunder. By the time Gallus and his men arrived from the west, across the churning Thames by ferry, and made it to the outskirts of Maison de l’Or, the weather had deteriorated badly. The tempest had arrived.
But that was the de Shera brothers’ preferred weather. They fed off the storm, off of the lightning and thunder, using the chaos as an ally rather than an enemy. For that very reason, they had been called the Lords of Thunder early in their fighting years. They would charge off in bad weather where others would falter. The wind whipped and the thunder rolled, but Gallus, Maximus, and Tiberius welcomed it. As far as they were concerned, their reinforcements had arrived.
Maison de l’Or was fortified but not unbreachable. It was an older home so rather than stone walls, it had wooden walls, old trees sunk deep into the soil, with spiked ends. This was meant to deter invasion, but for the de Shera brothers, it made their task easier. It meant they could get a rope over the sharp end to gain a foothold. Tiberius, who was the most wily and silent of the three brothers, took Scott and Stefan with him and a long section of rope. The plan was for Tiberius to mount the walls, gain entry, and then open the gates for the rest of the force. As Gallus, Maximus, Troy, Garran, and about fifty men-at-arms lay in wait in the shadows, Tiberius and the two knights skirted the dark and shadowed walls.
Rain lashed against the old wooden walls and the thunder rolled as Tiberius and the knights waited for the men on the wall walk to move out of range before throwing the rope up in the hopes of catching the spiked end. It worked on the first try and Tiberius was the first one to pull himself up. Because it was so dark with the wind and rain, he went unseen as he heaved himself over the top of the wall and landed on the wooden platform built into it that served as a wall walk. Scott was the next knight up. As son of the legendary William de Wolfe, he had his father’s cunning. The man was the perfect assassin.
Scott immediately took off along the wall walk, heading for the sentries who guarded the gates, as Stefan came up the rope and vaulted over the top of the wall. Tiberius pulled up the rope as the two knights crouched down on the wall walk, trying to stay out of sight as much as they could. But they quickly followed Scott’s path towards the main gate.
Lightning crashed overhead, revealing the complex around them for a brief moment before it went dark again. Thunder rolled once again, rattling the very walls, as Tiberius and Stefan caught up to Scott. The man had already slain two soldiers manning the gates but there were several more they could see down below in a small hut built next to the gates meant to shield the guards from the elements such as this. They could see a warm glow emitting from within, evidence of a lovely fire. They could also see that the room was crowded with soldiers anxious to get out of the weather. Tiberius pointed to the room below.
“Are those the only soldiers guarding the gates?” he hissed to Scott.
The big, brawny, blond knight nodded. “Only these two were out in the elements,” he whispered back, loudly, over the noise of the storm as he threw a thumb back at the two men he had killed. “The rest of the soldiers are in there to escape this rain.”
Tiberius nodded, straining to catch a closer look at the guardhouse. “It’s made of stone,” he said. “How very odd. Everything else is made of wood.”
“The door is made of wood,” Stefan said, shaking water out of his eyes. “I can hold the door shut while you open the gates.”
Tiberius and Scott looked at Stefan. He was a very big and muscular lad with the strength of Samson. After a moment, Tiberius nodded.
“That is a sound enough plan as any,” he said. “We must get those gates open quickly. The longer my brothers are left out there to hide, the most chance of them being discovered. Let’s move.”
Stefan went first this time, sliding down a wooden ladder, freezing in place when lightning lit up the sky. When the flickering died away, he began to move again, this time with Tiberius and Scott behind him as they came down the ladder. Stefan didn’t waste any time. He ran right for the guardhouse where several men were inside, enjoying the warmth of the fire. Running up to the door, he grabbed the open wooden panel and yanked it shut before anyone inside the guardhouse could react.
“Go!” he roared.
Tiberius and Scott raced to the gate, which was simply bolted. Those of Maison de l’Or didn’t expect an assault from the inside, so it was fairly easy to throw the bolt and slide it through the guides. As Stefan strained to hold the door closed from those inside who were determined to open it, Tiberius and Scott pulled open the massive oak gates of Maison de l’Or to the host of unwelcome guests on the outside. Gallus and his men poured in through the breach.
As the main group of invaders, led by Gallus and Maximus, headed for the house, several of their men ran to assist Stefan, who was fighting a losing battle of keeping the guardhouse door closed. Troy and several soldiers, along with Scott and Tiberius, were standing at the ready when Stefan finally let go of the door and about eight soldiers burst out, looking for a fight. They quickly saw that they were badly outnumbered, but they had no choice but to take up arms, and a nasty fight ensued at the guardhouse as the house beyond was invaded.
Lightning lit up the sky and the thunder rolled as Gallus, Maximus, and Troy used a battering ram with an iron, ram-shaped head to break down the entry door. The manor house wasn’t particularly sprawling or large, but it was tall – three stories of rooms and alcoves with hidden dangers awaiting them, but they charged in searching for Honore.
Servants, having been woken out of a dead sleep, screamed and ran as Gallus broke his men up into three groups; the first group was to secure the ground floor while the second and third groups were to secure the second and third floors respectively. As Maximus broke off to work with those searching the ground floor, Gallus headed up with the group to the second floor where he suspected Honore would be sleeping. Since that floor only had four big rooms, it wasn’t long before they discovered Honore in bed with two naked women.
Jacques Honore was an older knight with a bald head and a thin, black mustache. When Gallus and his men burst into Honore’s room, the Frenchman didn’t move a muscle. He simply lay in bed with one cowering woman on each side of him. He was too seasoned to panic at a group of armed men in his room. In fact, he was impressively casual about it.
“Je vous connais,” he said to Gallus. I know you. “You are a de Shera, are you not?”
Gallus was the only one of his men who didn’t have a broadsword drawn. The room was fairly dark except for the occasional burst of lightning and a faintly glowing hearth. He walked into the room, rather boldly, and looked around.
“Where are your candles?” he asked.
Honore pointed casually to a table next to the bed. “Here,” he said. “There is a flint beside it. Do you need more light in order to kill me?”
Gallus silently lit two tapers and the room began to glow with warm light. Standing next to the bed, his gaze missed nothing. He saw the hilt of a dagger peeking out from beneath the pillows and he saw the broadsword propped against the wall next to the bed.
“I am not going to kill you provided you give me the answers I seek,” he said, not at all in a threatening manner. He didn’t need to threaten with fifteen armed men at the door. “I will tell you why I am here and then you will tell me what I wish to know. A fair exchange, I think.”
Honore was very calm. He even smiled. “Mayhap,” he said. “May I at least allow my women to leave the bed and get dressed? It seems rather cruel to keep them here when I am the one you want.”
Gallus shook his head. “The whores remain,” he said. “What I have to say will not take long.
It has been brought to my attention that you are bringing French troops to station at the Tower. Is there truth in this?”
Honore shrugged lazily. “The queen has requested such protection,” he said. “It is my honor to provide her with it.”
Gallus cocked an eyebrow. “The queen has enough protection,” he said. “Surely you know that England will not permit foreign soldiers to be stationed at the Tower. Surely the queen knows it.”
Honore hadn’t lost any of his thin, almost smirking, smile. He began to pet the dark head of the whore pressed against his right side.
“The queen has a right to feel safe,” he said. “She does not feel safe with English soldiers all around her.”
Gallus sighed heavily and pulled up a chair next to the bed. As the storm outside lashed against the windowsills in the room, sending dark stains of water down along the walls, he faced the Gascon knight with the nasty reputation.
“Let me explain something to you, Honore,” he said. “The united English barons will not permit French troops to be stationed at the Tower of London. Therefore, we can do this one of two ways – either I meet the cogs that are bringing those troops to England and kill everyone on board, or you send a messenger telling them to turn back. It is your choice.”
Honore wasn’t intimidated, although he believed every word. “The House of de Shera,” he murmured, almost affectionately. “They call you and your brothers the Lords of Thunder. I should have known you would use a night like this to break into my home. The darkness is your cover, the thunder your friend. De Montfort is fortunate to have a man like you in his command.”
Gallus leaned back against the chair. “I serve England,” he said simply. “France does not like English soldiers on her soil and we do not like French soldiers on ours. Will you send a message to your men to turn back or will I have to kill them when they arrive?”
Honore laughed softly. “They may not make easy targets.”
“When are they coming?”
Honore was not a fool. He wasn’t about to divulge such information. “That is for me to know and you to find out,” he said, his dark eyes glimmering with mirth. “I must protect my men, after all.”
Gallus nodded. “I know,” he said. “But I had hoped you would make this easy for me.”
Honore laughed softly. “Why should I?”
Gallus scratched his head casually. “Because I am about to kick you out of Maison de l’Or and confiscate it in the name of de Montfort. If you do not tell me what I wish to know, I will claim it. If you tell me, I will leave it, and you, in peace.”
For the first time, Honore’s humor faltered a bit. “Alas, I cannot tell you,” he said. “My men could arrive tonight or they could arrive next week. This weather will slow them considerably.”
He was lying and Gallus knew it. “When did they leave France?”
“I am not certain.”
Another lie. Gallus pondered his options at that moment before standing up and making his way back to the chamber door. Troy was standing there, waiting for the word, and Gallus leaned in to the man so Honore would not hear him.
“Send about ten men down to the river’s edge to watch for the incoming cogs,” he ordered. “Honore will not tell me what I need to know no matter what I do, so we will have to take matters into our own hands. Chase the servants out and barricade all ground floor windows and doors with whatever you can find. Torch the house from the inside.”
Troy nodded smartly, his dark, hazel eyes glimmering. He liked that order because he had a particular dislike for the haughty Frenchman.
“With Honore inside?”
“If he refuses to cooperate, then he will seal his fate.”
Troy took a few men with him and left to carry out the order of clearing the house. Gallus, still standing in the doorway with five or six soldiers, returned his attention to Honore.
“I suppose I will go and wait for your boats,” he said. “I will give you one last opportunity to tell me all I wish to know. Otherwise, I cannot vouch for your safety.”
Honore was back to grinning. “Let me clear the women from my bed and I will give you a fair fight.”
Gallus shook his head. “Why would I want to give you any benefit whatsoever?” he asked. “You, by your very presence, sully my country. You are the worst sort of parasite, bleeding England dry with your greed. And now you think I will stand by while you bring more parasites to England’s shores, into the very halls that I hold dear? I will not stand for it and neither will many of my fellow Englishmen. Therefore, you will tell me what I want to know or I will destroy you.”
Honore was struggling to maintain his casual attitude. “Much as you protect your country, I will not betray mine.”
Gallus’ eyes glittered, dangerously. The lightning flashed and the thunder rolled one last time, giving credence to family known as the Lords of Thunder. Bolts of lightning seemed to come from Gallus’ very eyes.
“Then enjoy the last few moments of your life,” he said. “You are a threat against my country and my life, and I will eliminate all threats. You will never see France again.”
With that, he slammed the door and took a bench that was in the corridor outside and wedged it up under the door latch so it could not be easily opened. He had his men then move down the stairs to the ground floor where Troy had finished clearing out the remainder of the servants. Even though it was raining outside, the interior of the manor would still burn quite easily, so Troy and several soldiers methodically torched every room on the lower floor, creating enough of a blaze so it would block the stairs, and then made their way out of the burning structure.
Outside, the storm continued to pound but the interior of Maison de l’Or was going up swiftly, creating great clouds of billowing black smoke pouring out through the windows in spite of the rain. Most of Honore’s men had been killed, or had run off, so Gallus and his men stood in the courtyard of the manse, pelted by the rain, and watched the house go up in flames.
They could see Honore on the second floor by the windows as he tried to jump out of one, but the heat and smoke from the floor below him drove him back. As Gallus, Maximus, and Tiberius watched, the Frenchman tried to escape through another window in another room but the same thing happened. Eventually, the ceiling on the ground floor gave way and they didn’t see Honore after that. He had been caught up in the collapse of the first floor, buried under burning debris. As the storm raged, Maison de l’Or blazed until nothing was left but the soaked exterior walls.
Only when they were certain that no one inside the house survived did Gallus and his brothers turn to leave. They headed to the river’s edge, sending scouts along the shoreline, hunting for the fleet of Frenchmen that were supposed to be coming. They spent the rest of the night and most of the next day searching until cogs bearing soldiers and horses were sighted nearing what was left of Maison de l’Or. By that time, Gallus had gathered an army as a reception committee and when the cogs made land, he was there to meet them.
With Honore’s home looking like charred ribs, the cogs weighed anchor on the shore of the Thames as Gallus and his men hid behind the great walls of the manse. There was also a grove of tall Beechwood trees that had been planted long ago, trees that provided shade and privacy for the now burned-out manse, that now provided cover for the de Shera men. As the sun set and the shadows grew long, Gallus and his men hunkered down, watching.
At first, the three cogs bobbed in the water but no one made a move to disembark. Men were on the deck, inspecting the burnt home and wondering if they had come to the right place. It was clear that there was a good deal of indecision on the part of the French, puzzled and concerned by the state of Maison de l’Or.
As Gallus watched the confusion, he decided to act; were the French to decide to come ashore, it would be more of a battle. As it was, they were contained on the cogs, so it made sense to prevent them from disembarking. He was hoping for a good fight, which is why he had waited for them to disembark, but he
thought perhaps now he would simply stop them where they were. He didn’t like the idea of more Frenchmen putting their feet on English soil.
With Maximus and Tiberius behind him, Gallus emerged from his hiding place and, quite casually, made his way to the water’s edge where the cogs were anchored about thirty feet off shore. They approached on foot but made sure they remained clear of the range of the archers, at least as much as they could. Additionally, Tiberius and Maximus were carrying nasty-looking Welsh crossbows, which had long-range capabilities. Gallus carried a torch in his hand.
“Vous dans les navires,” he called out to them. “Je vais vous donner une chance de retourner à la maison!” You in the ships! I will give you one chance to return home!
There was no immediate answer as Gallus, Maximus, and Tiberius remained on the shore and waited, but there was a good deal of shuffling around. They could hear men shouting at each other and orders being relayed.
Finally, they heard a high-pitched noise, like the wind whistling through the trees, and they knew immediately what it was. An arrow landed about three feet to Tiberius’ right, burying itself in the dirt with a loud, dull thud. The message was clear. All three brothers looked at the arrow, quite casually, before returning their attention to the cogs.
“English dogs!” came the curt French reply. “Get away or there will be more arrows upon you!”
Gallus looked at his brothers. “It seems they are not fond of our hospitality.”
Maximus shook his head. “I would like to keenly demonstrate my reaction to their presence.”
With that, he lifted his crossbow, which displayed an arrow tip that was covered in pitch. Tiberius lifted his, too, and Gallus used his torch to light both arrow tips, which flamed brightly into the night.
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II Page 13