by Alexa Aston
Because the king requested that Edward leave immediately, there hadn’t been time to find anyone to make peasant clothing for him, so he’d ridden through the streets of London before his departure and looked at what laundry hung outside drying. It took a while to locate something to accommodate his large height and broad chest but Edward thought his search was worth the effort. What he now donned would look well-worn, as if he’d possessed it for a long time. He needed to look the part for the role he would play.
Fortunately, the Black Death had caused increased movement in England. Before plague struck, decimating the population, workers stayed on the estates where they’d been born for their entire lives. The only people who left were soldiers headed to war or the nobility who either followed the king on his summer progress or returned to their estates upon leaving London. With a reduced working class, laborers found they could leave their birthplace instead of staying in one spot and find work at a wage they wanted. It led to growing cities and even other towns springing up. It would not seem odd for him to turn up in Canterbury because of this.
Edward slipped on the frayed gypon and pants. He was lucky to have convinced the woman he bought the used clothing from to give him an extra set. Of course, he had rewarded her with ample coin in order to claim two changes of clothes. Folding the clothes he had just discarded, he would leave them in the bag attached to Sirius’ saddle. His horse’s fine lines would be another thing that could give him away, so he would stable Sirius outside the city. Only when he had worked the wall for a couple of weeks and observed the behavior of both laborers and the men leading the construction would he return for his horse and change from commoner’s clothes to that of a knight and meet with the men in charge.
He brushed his fingers against his soft hunter green gypon before slipping it into the bag. It had been made for him by his mother. Not only was Merryn de Montfort a healer of some repute but she still enjoyed sewing clothing for her children and grandchildren. Securing his things with the leather strap, he gave Sirius a firm pat.
More than anything, he missed wearing his own boots, which he had left in London with Hal. Once again, Edward would have had nowhere to leave them and their outstanding workmanship and spurs that he’d received after being awarded his knighthood on the battlefield were more dead giveaways as to his identity. He smiled, thinking of the thoughtful Humphrey Gardyner, who had made it a point to find Edward at court after the lord commander recovered from his battle injuries. Lord Humphrey himself placed the spurs on Edward’s boots. He appreciated the nobleman’s kindness. Few men would have found time to make such a generous gesture.
Edward wished more men at the royal court could be like Lord Humphrey but men such as Gardyner and Geoffrey de Montfort seemed in scarce supply in King Richard’s London. Most courtiers thought only of how they could station themselves to become wealthier and more powerful, with little regard to others. He supposed his Father’s words had proven truthful—that his day at court had passed. The old guard of Edward III’s no longer was welcomed in a court that grew convincingly self-centered by the day.
Mounting Sirius again, Edward rode a short distance before he could see Canterbury on the horizon. He spotted a blacksmith’s shed and saw a young boy of about six playing alongside a fence next to the road. The boy climbed up and then jumped down. As Edward rode up, the lad froze, his eyes wide as he stared in Edward’s direction.
“Greetings,” he called out. “Is your father nearby? I wish to speak with him.”
“’Tis a fine horse you have there, my lord,” the lad said.
“Oh, I’m no lord,” Edward said humbly, “but I would like to see your father.”
The boy turned away from the fence. “I’ll fetch him.” He ran into the shed.
Moments later, a burly man with muscled arms and a thick chest appeared, a hammer swinging in his hand. His son followed closely behind.
“My boy says you wish to talk, my lord.”
Edward dismounted. “As I told the lad, I am no lord.”
The smithy appraised him. “You may say so but your horse tells a different story. So does your bearing and your speech, despite the mean clothing you wear.”
He winced. It never occurred to him that his speech might give him away. He would need to add to the story he’d invented as he traveled to Canterbury and remedy that.
“The horse was a gift. My father was steward to an earl and he wanted a better life for me. Told me to pay attention and imitate everything about our liege lord that I could, from the way he spoke to the way he walked.” Edward smiled shyly. “I have a gift for mimicry. It pleases me that you thought me highborn.”
The smithy gave him a toothless grin. “’Twas that or to think you had stolen the horse. You didn’t look the thieving type to me.”
Edward laughed heartily. “Nay, I am honest to a fault. At least, that is what my mother always told me. But I have a favor to ask.”
The man grew wary. “What would a stranger wish from me?”
“I will be in Canterbury for a few weeks and would rather keep a horse with these bloodlines out of the city. You yourself noted his fine lines. I would rather Sirius be somewhere away and safe, where he could be cared for. He is rather spoiled for an animal. My fault, I’m afraid, and that of my liege lord before he passed on and the horse came to me for services I’d rendered to him. I have ample coin to pay you. Would you be interested in stabling my mount until I return?”
He glanced to where the boy peered around from behind his father and tried to sweeten his offer. “Your son could help. Sirius loves children.”
“Could we keep him, Father? Just for a little while?” the boy begged.
The blacksmith considered the proposition as he rubbed his bushy beard. “You say you have coin to pay?”
“Aye. Enough to feed and house him.” Edward winked at the boy. “And, hopefully, for someone to brush Sirius and talk to him every day so he won’t feel so lonely without me.”
The man came to a decision. “Aye. We will care for your horse, my son and I.” He extended his hand. “I am John. This is Will.”
“Short for William,” the boy said. “Mother named me. But she lives with the angels now.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” Edward said. “You must miss her very much. But I’ll wager she looks down upon you from Heaven and watches over you every day.”
“That’s what Father says,” the boy proclaimed.
“Then your father is a wise man.”
The blacksmith said, “We were about to stop and eat our noon meal. Would you care to join us?”
“That would be most kind of you, John. And I am Edward. Edward Munn. Most pleased to meet you both.”
He’d already decided he could not use the de Montfort name, with it being one of the oldest, most noble in England.
“Bring Sirius into the shed. You can rub him down and give him some oats. I’ll prepare something for us to eat.”
“Can I stay with Edward, Father?” Will begged. “He can show me how to brush Sirius.”
His father ruffled Will’s hair. “You may. But do everything Edward says.”
“I will!”
Will led him and Sirius behind the shed to an enclosed structure.
“This is where Father shoes horses. Sirius can stay here.”
Edward removed the horse’s saddle and the small bag that contained his own clothing and the extra set he’d purchased from the London fish wife. He decided he would take the satchel with him instead of leaving it behind. Though John seemed a good man, it wouldn’t do for him to become curious and go through Edward’s things.
“Let me tell you about everything Sirius wears and why he does so.”
He passed a pleasant half-hour with the boy, discussing the horse’s equipment and how to care for both it and the animal. Edward demonstrated how to brush Sirius and gave Will a chance to try his hand at it.
“Talk to him the entire time you brush him,” Edward suggested. “
He likes that.”
Will looked puzzled. “What do I say to him?”
“Just speak to him as if he were your friend, for that’s what a horse can be. And be sure to scratch here, between his ears. Sirius likes that most of all.”
After they finished, Will brought him inside a one-room cottage. John gestured for them to be seated and they ate a simple meal together. Edward thought of the rich foods eaten at court and how these two would be happy with a few morsels of court leftovers.
As they ate, Edward asked John about construction on the wall.
“Been going on for some time. It creates steady work for those men who come to Canterbury, which is a good thing.”
“Who leads the construction?” Edward asked, though he already knew. He wished to draw out what he could from the smithy. Local gossip would be something to consider during his time in Canterbury.
“The Crown appointed Lord Botulf to be in charge.” John shrugged. “From what I hear, he only goes to the site on occasion. The actual work itself is in the hands of Perceval Rawlin. He is head of all the crews spread throughout the wall and decides who does what.”
“What do you think of him?”
John grew thoughtful. “I have not met the man in person but I know others who have. Even some who have worked under his direction.”
“And?” Edward thought John was being evasive.
“He’s a bloody bastard,” the blacksmith said. “Deceitful. Corrupt. Why do you ask?”
“I was curious. I’ve heard of the work on the Canterbury walls and thought it had been going on for far too long. Mayhap they need someone else in charge.”
“That won’t happen anytime soon. Not with Rawlin lining his own pockets, not to mention Lord Botulf’s. The great lord seems to look the other way. Most venture to guess that Rawlin gives at least half of his profit to Lord Botulf, which guarantees no questions are asked.” John paused. “But who am I to say? I’m but a humble smithy.”
They finished eating and Edward told John he would be happy if the blacksmith chose to exercise Sirius each day.
“For such a large horse, he’s gentle as a lamb. You would have no trouble riding him if you wish to do so.”
“I may.” John stroked his beard. “I haven’t ridden in some time but I would love to be on the back of a magnificent beast such as Sirius.”
“Then feel free to do so. Take young Will with you.” Edward winked at the boy. “I think he might like that.”
He gave John several coins for the horse’s care and promised more upon his return. Saying his goodbyes, Edward slung the bag over his shoulder as he stepped out into the road and turned toward Canterbury. It felt good to stretch his legs after a couple of long days in the saddle.
A short time later, Edward entered through the city’s gates and decided to walk the streets for a bit. He wanted to familiarize himself with Canterbury and would need to find a place to sleep. He wondered if someone in his position would stay at an inn or even eat there, or if that would be too much coin for a day laborer. He would ponder that as he walked the city.
The main thoroughfare teemed with people that afternoon, much as London did. Edward passed cottages, stalls, and street vendors selling their wares. Though he’d already eaten, the meal hadn’t filled his belly and the smell of meat pies enticed him enough to purchase one and down it in a few, swift bites.
Edward ventured down side streets and then wound back around to the main road that cut through the city. More than anything, he was eager to see the cathedral, which was said to rival any structure in London. As he drew closer, the church did not disappoint. Its majestic beauty nearly took his breath away. He entered and wandered about the main church, soaking up its grandeur. He knelt and said a quick prayer, hoping all in his family were well and that he would accomplish his mission in Canterbury to the best of his ability.
After that, he headed toward Trinity Chapel, where he wished to pay his respects to the Black Prince. Edward had grown up hearing tales about Edward of Woodstock from his father and Raynor. Both men had fought under the Plantagenet prince during the wars in France. Geoffrey de Montfort had stressed to his three sons that not only was the Black Prince a brilliant military strategist and commander but he was one of the best men that ever walked the earth. The Black Prince was known for his generosity as much as his leadership and Geoffrey had emphasized to his sons that both were equally important in life.
Multitudes of pilgrims milled about the chapel, most making their way toward the front. Edward assumed that was where Thomas Becket’s shrine lay. He looked around and spotted what had to be the place where the Black Prince was interred. As he approached, he saw a man close to his father’s age standing nearby.
But it was the woman next to him that drew Edward’s interest.
The candlelight of the chapel bathed her golden hair in warm, rich tones. He longed to reach out and run his fingers through her tresses.
That gave him pause. He hadn’t a romantic bone in his body, unlike Hal, who could wax poetic without thought. Yet everything about this woman made him long to speak to her. She was petite in height, with small, round breasts and an even smaller waist. Her fair skin glowed in the candlelight. He studied her profile a moment and liked the pert, upturned nose. He only wished he could see her eyes as she looked at the wall in concentration.
Edward glanced away, not meaning to stare. He heard the two speaking to one another in hushed tones as he looked upon the final resting place of the Black Prince. This was a knight for all knights to admire. He wondered what kind of king the Black Prince would have made if his life hadn’t been cut short by illness and then felt guilty for the thought. ’Twas the man’s son who now sat on the throne and Edward had sworn allegiance to Richard.
Lost in his reverie, he didn’t notice when the woman left. Edward stepped back and saw she was now missing. The companion she’d stood by offered him a friendly smile.
“Not a pilgrim come to see Becket, but one wishing to pay homage to our famous Black Prince?”
“I have heard many stories of him,” Edward said, reminding himself to remain in his role of Edward Munn, a simple worker and not a knight who aspired to be like the Black Prince.
“This is the man who should have been England’s king,” the older man said firmly. “His son makes a mockery of his grandfather’s ways.”
The stranger’s words shocked Edward to his core. If spoken in London, ’twould be considered treason. Edward felt tainted merely standing next to someone who had voiced such a blasphemous opinion. He tried to mask his surprise but he obviously failed.
“I have disturbed you, my friend. If so, I am sorry,” the man apologized.
“Excuse me.” Edward turned away and left the chapel, not wanting to be lured into a conversation with the outspoken fellow. He would return another time to see the rest of the chapel and study the architecture of the church in more detail.
What he wanted to do now was find the mystery woman.
He hurried outside and scanned the crowded street in front of him, looking in both directions. Luck was with him. He caught sight of her moss green gown and hair, made more golden by the sunshine that fell upon it. Striding her way, he quickly closed the gap between them, thanks to his long legs and her much shorter ones.
As he drew close, he grew curious at the scrolls she carried under one arm. Edward had never seen a woman serve as a messenger and wondered if she delivered missives for a living. Something about her intrigued him like no woman ever before.
He came within a few feet of her, ready to reach out and touch her shoulder—but something held him back.
’Twas his knightly code.
Guilt rose in him. A knight was sworn to tell the truth at all times. How could he speak to this lovely creature and introduce himself by giving her a false name? That was no way to approach a woman, especially one who interested him so. Edward backed off, slowing his pace to allow distance to be created again between them.
> But what of when his task had been finished? He would like to meet her then. Leaving matters in Fate’s hands wasn’t good enough. Canterbury was a huge city and he might never lay eyes upon her again.
Edward once more closed the gap between them. He would merely see where she went and that she arrived at her destination safely. If she went into a cottage and stayed, he might assume she resided within and he would know where to go when his time in Canterbury came to an end. But what good would that do him? To meet an intriguing woman and then leave the next day, never to see her again?
What foolishness had overcome him?
Still, he continued to follow her and decided he would make sure she got to where she headed without a problem. He thought it odd that she was unaccompanied and used that as an excuse to shadow her.
Suddenly, he heard something rumbling in the distance, above the din of the street noises. Then a scream. Then more. His eyes looked ahead and saw a team of horses running wild, with no driver to slow them.
And they ran straight for the woman.
With a burst of speed, Edward reached her seconds before the uncontrolled horses did. He flung himself through the air, knocking her out of the way in the nick of time.
They both landed hard on the ground, Edward falling on top of her and then scrambling off so as not to crush her. He quickly came to his feet and latched on to her elbows, drawing her up.
The deepest blue eyes he’d ever seen met his. Her mouth fell open. Nothing came out.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I . . . I think so.” She looked around. “What happened?”
“Someone must have lost control of their team of horses. They stormed toward you.”