Which is why Vesper paid no attention. Even if she had seen them, she wouldn’t have given them a second thought. She sat with her father in the great hall of Eynsford, another wooden building with a steeply pitched thatched roof, and watched him wolf down bread, cheese, and a type of stew called engoule, which was made with barley, milk, and beef broth. McCloud had three bowls of it before he even started to slow down, taking the time to emit a very large burp before continuing with his meal at a more leisurely pace.
All the while, Vesper sat across the table from him, letting him eat and not interrupting him with dialogue. In truth, she needed time to think on their conversation and decide if she truly wanted to give the man another chance in her life. She was coming to think that it would be better if she did because she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life regretting her coldness towards her father.
He was making a great effort so perhaps she should, too.
As Vesper continued to watch him eat, the door to the hall opened and the four soldiers bearing blue and white tunics spilled forth. Desmond was right behind them.
“Sit,” Desmond instructed the soldiers, pointing to seating far down the table from Vesper and her father. “I will have food and drink brought to you.”
The soldiers moved to claim their seats but one of them, spying the lovely Lady Vesper, decided not to sit so far down the table. When Desmond left the hall, he managed to scoot in her direction, eyeing McCloud as he did. Not knowing if the man was her husband, father, or no one at all, he proceeded carefully.
“Greetings” he said to both of them, although his focus was on Vesper. “It is a very fine day today, even with the snow. It looks as if you have had a great deal here.”
Vesper didn’t want to strike up a conversation with a strange soldier, bold as he was. As she deliberately looked away, McCloud spoke with his mouth full.
“Be on your way,” he grumbled. “Our conversation is private.”
The soldier seemed contrite, but only slightly. He stopped his advance and backed off. “Of course it is,” he said as if to beg pardon. “I did not mean to interrupt anything. I was simply being friendly. My comrades and I have traveled a long way today, bearing important messages for all of London.”
Vesper still wasn’t looking at him but McCloud turned to him. “If that is true, then you had better do your duty and keep your mouth shut until you are with the man you are supposed to deliver the message to,” he said. “What fool would spout off about the important messages he is carrying to people he does not even know?”
The soldier, who had been very friendly and bordering on jovial, lost his humor. “Because this is a message that the entire country will want to hear,” he said, a hint of threat in his tone. “The Archbishop of Canterbury was murdered by men sent by Henry. We bear this news to take to the sheriffs to the north.”
McCloud was already looking at the man but Vesper turned to him, shocked by what she had heard. “Murdered?” she gasped before she could stop herself. “When?”
The soldier turned to her, the lovely woman with the high cheekbones and the pale eyes. “A week ago, my lady,” he said, pleased that she was being friendly. He wanted to show her how important he was and how much he knew about this terrible deed so he began running off at the mouth. “The archbishop was ambushed by at least six knights and several soldiers, men loyal to the king.”
It was an astonishing bit of news. “Sweet Jesù,” she said, stunned. “They killed him?”
“Assassinated him, my lady.”
“And it was Henry’s men for certain?”
The soldier lifted an eyebrow. “The men bore the colors of de Nerra, who is Henry’s justice in Hampshire,” he said, leaning towards Vesper and McCloud as if he was divulging deep and dark information. “Do you know who I mean? Surely you have heard of the man here at Eynsford. It is very close to Hampshire. Lord Eynsford must have had dealings with him.”
Vesper suddenly couldn’t breathe. De Nerra! The room started to sway and she grabbed hold of the table as if it would prevent her from slipping away. Everything was spinning around her as she struggled to right herself.
“De Nerra?” she repeated, her voice sounding oddly strangled. “How… how is that possible?”
The soldier didn’t seem to notice that she’d gone pale. “No one is sure. But my lord, the garrison commander at Canterbury Castle, thinks that de Nerra came to take Canterbury back to Winchester Castle to face Henry because Winchester is in the Hampshire jurisdiction. When Canterbury refused, de Nerra killed him.”
Vesper was still holding on to the table, overwhelmed with what she was hearing. “It cannot be,” she breathed to herself before lifting her voice in response. “I… I can hardly believe it.”
The soldier nodded confidently. “Believe it, my lady, for it is true. All of Canterbury is in an uproar right now and it is swelling outward, like the ripples on a pond. Soon, all of England will know what has happened.”
Vesper had visions of Val swinging his sword at a resistant priest, following orders from a petty king. She was beginning to feel nauseous. “But… but if it is true, then he was only doing his duty, don’t you think?” she breathed. “Surely he would have only done such a thing on Henry’s order.”
The soldier shrugged, reaching out to snatch a cup of wine when a servant appeared with a pitcher. “That is what my garrison commander believes, also,” he said. “But the murder was witnessed by many and I have it on good authority that de Nerra cut Canterbury’s head off!”
He said it with relish. That was enough for Vesper. She let out a strange choking sound and leapt to her feet, staggering from the table and heading for the hall entrance. McCloud, who had been listening to the despicable tale with great amazement, took off after her. He grabbed her before she could reach the door.
“Vesper!” he demanded in a harsh whisper. “Where are you going?”
Vesper was in a panic. She was starting to weep uncontrollably. “I… I do not know,” she said. “I… I could not listen to anything more. Papa, did you hear what he said?”
McCloud nodded grimly. “I heard.”
“But it cannot be true!”
McCloud was a bit more worldly than his daughter was. He understood the depths of the politics in England and to hear that Henry gave such an order, to Val no less, did not surprise him.
“One cannot deny the facts if there were witnesses,” he said. “It was only a matter of time that such a thing could happen with the relationship between Henry and Canterbury. Henry must have ordered Val to do it and, of course, he could not refuse.”
Vesper was struggling for calm, wiping at the tears that were popping from her eyes. “It must have been horrible for him.”
“I am sure he did not relish the task.”
“Then he must be in a great deal of trouble now,” she said. “It does not matter if the king ordered him to do it. Everyone will be after him to punish him!”
McCloud knew that. His thoughts drifted to Val, a man who had enjoyed the king’s respect and the respect of his peers for so long. He was a paragon of virtue, a man with the world at his feet.
But now… God help the man if he really did kill the archbishop. There were enough royal guards in England to protect him from the rage of the faithful when they discovered who killed the head of the church.
Val de Nerra would be a man with a target on his head.
“Then let us pray that Henry intends to protect him,” he finally said. “Surely the king has realized that Val will be the target of everyone’s anger in spite of the fact that Henry gave the order.”
Vesper had succeeded in calming herself, but only mildly. All she could think of was Val and the trouble he must surely be in. These soldiers had been sent to spread the word of the assassination and, with it, name the man who had accomplished it.
De Nerra.
“No one will care that he was carrying out Henry’s wishes,” she said, her nausea coming in waves. “Soon en
ough, Val’s name will be spread all over England, relegated to the ranks of men such as Brutus and Cassius, or of the Romans who put Jesus Christ upon the cross. Assassins who were the most hated of men. Val does not deserve to be among them, Papa, if he was only doing his duty. It is not fair.”
McCloud sighed faintly. “Nay, it is not,” he said. “But we cannot help him. I wish I could.”
The weight of Val’s troubles was sitting heavily on Vesper, her heart aching for the man so desperately. She couldn’t stand that he was in such terrible trouble. Whether or not he’d been operating under Henry’s orders wasn’t the issue; it was the mere fact that Val, the sweet and intelligent and generous man she’d come to adore, was in terrible trouble.
She had to go to him.
“I am going to Selborne,” she said, suddenly pushing past her father and heading out into the bright winter’s day. “I must see Val. He must know that there is one person in this country that does not hate him.”
McCloud stumbled after her. “Wait,” he said, trying to grab at her as she walked. “Vesper, wait. You cannot go, child. You must remain here, safe at Eynsford.”
Vesper was walking faster than he was, avoiding his snatching hands. “If I was in trouble, I am sure he would come to me,” she said firmly. “I will not let him go through this alone, Papa. He must know that he has my support.”
McCloud managed to get a hand on her, pulling her to a halt. “Wait,” he said again, getting a grip on her with his other hand. “You are not thinking clearly. If you go to Selborne, you will put yourself in harm’s way. Val is in the middle of a tempest and the last thing he needs is to worry about you. You must leave him to fight his battle, Vesper. Think of yourself and understand that you must remain safe.”
Vesper pulled herself from his grasp, her expression something short of anger. “I have spent my entire life safe,” she said. “Safe here at Eynsford, living a good and pious life. But that ended when you came to me those weeks ago and told me what was happening with you and my brother, and how you expected me to make a good marriage in order that you and Mat should not have to live like animals. It was you who cruelly took me out of that safe world, Papa, and when you did, I met Val. The days I spent with him were the best days of my life and I thought the joy therein was something I could never repay him. But now, I see how I can repay him – I can show him my support when all of England is turning against him. I am going to him and you will not stop me.”
McCloud could see her determination. She was like stone; hard and unmovable. He knew he could plead with her until there no more breath left in his body but, still, she would go to Selborne. There was no changing her mind but, in truth, he understood her point of view and he appreciated her staunch loyalty.
Loyalty, as Val had shown him without question for their entire association until that fateful day with Mat. McCloud thought that Val had executed his son because he had no more loyalty towards him, but that wasn’t the truth. It was McCloud who’d had no loyalty to Val as he’d tried to scheme against him. He’d greatly wronged the man. Realizing that, McCloud knew what he had to do.
“If you are determined, then I shall go with you,” he said quietly. “I’ve not done much for you in your life, Vesper… now that you are all I have left, I shall not let you go alone. And if I can lift my sword for Val, then mayhap I owe it to him. He has always been a good friend to me.”
Vesper watched her father’s expression, wondering if he was being truthful. “Do you mean that?” she asked. “In spite of the judgement he showed my brother?”
McCloud cleared his throat softly, speaking on an uncomfortable subject. “That is something I must reconcile,” he said. “I know in my mind that Val had no choice but my heart is a different matter. I miss my son and ever shall, but in the end… I know it was not Val’s fault. It was mine. Now, Val is in trouble. If you are going to him, then I shall go, too.”
Vesper began to realize that there might be hope between them, after all. Her father’s broken moral compass might possibly be fixed. Time would tell. But knowing he was coming with her made her feel better, somehow.
“Then wait for me,” she said. “I must gather a few things and then I will ask Lady Eynsford if we may borrow a pair of horses. I am sure she will give permission. Go back into the hall and wait for me to return. I shan’t be long.”
With that, she was off, but not before giving her father a pat on the arm. That small touch meant so much to McCloud. Perhaps his daughter would, indeed, forgive him for what he’d done. Now, they were united in their mutual support of Val and he couldn’t have felt more pleased.
Perhaps that support of Val would somehow heal what was broken between them.
McCloud could only hope.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Winchester Castle
Several days later
He wasn’t throwing things this time, but it was clear that he was devastated.
Henry sported a full beard to go along with his dark red hair that tended to look like straw at times, unkempt and uneven. But the man didn’t give a hang about his appearance so the hair remained dirty and on end, as did the beard at times. At the moment, that scruffy beard covered up a ruddy complexion that was red with fury and distress as he listened to reports from Canterbury soldiers who had only just arrived at Winchester.
Spouting tales of murder and mayhem, the soldiers had worked their way through four different men at the castle, from the gatehouse guards to the king’s Captain of the Guard, repeating the same story until they were finally permitted to see the king.
It was a tale that no man under Henry’s command wanted to repeat to him.
Therefore, the soldiers were thrust at Henry like sacrificial lambs to take the brunt of the king’s distress for the news they bore. In the hall of Winchester and surrounded by some of his advisors, at least the ones who had gone hunting with him after Christmas and had only just returned, Henry had listened to a shocking tale of the murder of Thomas Becket. According to the soldiers from Canterbury Castle, a royal garrison for Henry, witnesses spoke of men cornering the archbishop before Vespers before proceeding to kill him. The witnesses were traumatized, naturally, but more than one swore that the archbishop was murdered by four knights before being joined by two more and about ten soldiers, most of them wearing tunics of the Itinerant Justice of Hampshire.
De Nerra.
By the time the soldiers were finished delivering their message, Henry’s face was so red that those nearest him thought he truly might burst. It wasn’t enough that the king had suffered years of long battle with Becket; what mattered was that a man who had once been as a brother to him had been murdered by an itinerant justice loyal to the king. Henry was beside himself at the news, as if he’d never had a quarrel with Canterbury in his life.
He was shattered.
“This cannot be,” he said when the soldiers finished their story. Then, louder. “This cannot be! It is not possible!”
The soldiers from Canterbury, three of them, cowered at the sound of Henry’s booming voice. The king’s tendency to rage was well-known.
“Our garrison commander, Sir Owen Hampton, interviewed many monks who claimed to have seen the murder, my lord,” the older of the three said steadily. “We were told that four knights instigated it and had killed the archbishop by the time more de Nerra men arrived. In fact, the men that arrived later stopped what could have been an utter butchering of the archbishop, so his body remained intact for burial.”
Henry was quivering with emotion, both rage and disbelief. “But he is surely dead?”
“Aye, my lord, Canterbury is dead.”
Henry just stared at them after that, unmoving, seemingly paralyzed. It was difficult to know just how the man was going to react, but everyone in the room was trying to gauge him. Such terrible news would surely have consequences. There were several senior nobles around him, watching him closely for his eventual reaction, including Tevin du Reims.
The
Earl of East Anglia had gone hunting with the king when they’d arrived at Winchester right after Christmas simply to appease the man, but he had intended to return home on the morrow. He had a wife and children and grandchildren who were demanding his return. But after hearing the shocking news from the Canterbury soldiers, Tevin was quickly starting to reconsider his plans to leave.
Being one of the king’s most trusted men, he had privileges in speaking and action that others did not. Henry seemed to tolerate almost anything from him. Therefore, Tevin didn’t give thought to stepping into the conversation about something that had the entire chamber reeling.
“It makes no sense that Val de Nerra should go to Canterbury to assassinate Becket,” he said in disbelief, mostly speaking to Henry but in part to the soldiers who had accused de Nerra of precisely that. “Did anyone see de Nerra there? Can anyone place him at the scene?”
The three soldiers shrugged, shaking their heads, looking at each other in confusion. “If he was, no one has identified him, my lord,” the older soldier said. “But witnesses place his men there. They described men bearing his colors.”
Tevin didn’t like the sound of that at all. “His colors, aye, but not him,” he pointed out. “It is possible these men were acting without de Nerra’s knowledge. And you said that only some of the men were wearing de Nerra colors? What about the others? It is entirely possible that there are other lords involved in this… this disgrace.”
The older soldier, a man with a dirty face and a bushy beard, simply shook his head. “We were not there, my lord, and did not see the men who killed the archbishop,” he said. “All I can tell you is what witnesses have told us.”
“Then how did you know it was de Nerra?”
“A crimson and white tunic with a gold lion, my lord. It was identified by Owen Hampton as a de Nerra standard, as he has many dealings with the Itinerant Justice of Hampshire because of the close proximity of Hampshire’s jurisdiction to Canterbury.”
Tevin stared at the man a moment, realizing the identification had been true. He knew de Nerra’s colors and they were as the soldier said. He was starting to get a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he looked at Henry.
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