The Splendid Hour: The Executioner Knights Book 7

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Peter realized he was right. Odd how it took a man he’d known for years, a seasoned knight with decades of death and destruction in his past, to remind him of just how rich he really was. Alexander really had experienced a time of it with his complicated family relations, which made Peter feel better about his own.

  Perhaps he was glad Alexander had accompanied him this morning, after all.

  “I am grateful,” he said. “I did not mean to make it sound as if I were not. But the fact that I am not my father’s heir is… disappointing. Do not get me wrong; I adore my brother, Curtis. He will make an excellent earl. But there are times when I wish it was me.”

  Alexander looked at him, smiling. “If it was you, it would be much more difficult to pursue a marriage to a Jewess, so if I were you, I would be thankful for small mercies.”

  Peter chuckled, nodding his head in agreement.

  He had a point.

  The day began to grow brighter as they came to the outskirts of London’s city, with Westminster Palace in the distance. They could see Westminster Cathedral, a massive stone icon of religion and civilization, and the River Thames as the sunlight reflected off the water. The heavy forested areas had cleared out and now they were in the farmlands that surrounded London. People were out in their fields, using oxen or simply manpower to harvest the last of the summer crops, which at this stage were mostly onions and turnips. The fields were full of onions that had been plowed up and were waiting to be put in baskets. In fact, the air itself smelled onion-y as Peter and Alexander headed through Ludgate.

  Entering the city, Peter immediately felt a sense of anticipation. Last night as he’d lain awake, he’d planned what he would ask the rabbi. He decided to be succinct and to the point, and he thought he might even offer to pay the rabbi to broker a contract with Liora’s father. Surely the synagogue was looking for monetary donations just like the churches were. Perhaps he could even convince the rabbi that a marriage between a Christian knight and a Jewess was perfectly reasonable. But something told him that he couldn’t buy a rabbi, or convince the man that an interfaith marriage would be a good thing, but he chose to ignore that part of his common sense, at least for today.

  Today, he would get the answers he sought or go down trying.

  Once entering the city, they cut north to the main street that ran from one end of London to the other. It also intersected Milk Street and, a little further east, the street that contained the Great Synagogue. As they traveled, they happened to pass by a section of the city that was famed for taverns that catered to lower-quality clientele.

  However, they could smell the bread and food from those taverns even at this early hour, causing their stomachs to rumble, and they ended up stopping at one called The Farmer’s Prick to get something to eat. They came away with hollowed-out trenchers full of fish, battered and fried in fat, in a sauce made of eggs, vinegar, and pickled onions. They quickly ate, plodding down the street on horseback, and devoured everything including the stale bread bowls.

  Fortified with fish and pickled onions, they pushed on.

  Unfortunately, they didn’t make it very far because they passed Milk Street and Peter stopped his horse, looking up the avenue and seeing a portion of Liora’s house midway up the street. He didn’t see her, nor did he really expect to, but he pointed it out to Alexander, who told him to keep moving. He was preparing to do just that when he felt it.

  And he felt it again.

  He was in full armor this day, complete with hauberk, padded tunics, the de Lohr blue tunic, arm braces, helm, and everything else he took into battle, so he felt something ping against his arm, twice, but just a touch and nothing more. Unfortunately, Alexander had his face plate up and he suddenly put a hand to his eye.

  “Damnation,” he muttered, rubbing his eye. “Something just hit me.”

  Peter knew what it was right away. He didn’t even have to see the culprit. The aim told him everything he needed to know, so he quickly looked around only to spy Asa and his gang of toughs hiding out behind several barrels that had just been delivered to a merchant along the street. As soon as Asa realized he’d been sighted, he ran, but not away from Peter.

  He ran towards him.

  “Brace yourself,” Peter told Alexander. “We are about to be set upon.”

  Alexander was blinking his eyes rapidly, trying to clear his vision in his left eye, when several children rushed up to him and Peter. He counted seven, but there were more scattered around, as Peter braced an enormous hand on his thigh and peered down at a boy with a mop of curly, black hair.

  “So,” Peter said. “You have decided to take on two armed knights with your pebbles? I must say you are braver than I gave you credit for.”

  Asa shook his head. “I wanted you to see me,” he insisted. “I wanted your attention. I need your sword, Saint Peter!”

  “I told you that it weighs more than you do,” Peter said. “What do you need it for, anyway?”

  Asa pointed to a smaller street next to Milk Street. “Saul’s Army stole our eggs this morning and I want them back,” he said. “Lee-Lee tried to chase them, but they threw an egg at her.”

  Peter frowned. “They did, did they?” he said, greatly displeased. “Where are these louts?”

  “Saint Peter?” Alexander said, a glimmer of mirth in his eyes. “Are you going to introduce me to your admirer?”

  Peter grinned, pointing to the child. “Sherry, this is the leader of the Maccabees, Asa. Asa, this is Sir Alexander de Sherrington, one of the most elite knights in the entire world. He is not to be trifled with so the next time you shoot him in the eye, you had better be prepared to defend yourself.”

  Asa turned his big eyes to Alexander, who cocked a disapproving eyebrow. “It was you, was it?” he said. “Excellent aim, young Asa. But do not do it again.”

  Asa nodded, but he wasn’t particularly intimidated. He studied Alexander closely, noting the enormous broadsword sheathed on the man’s saddle. “You have a big sword, too.”

  “I do.”

  “Will you help us get the eggs back?”

  Alexander looked at Peter for any indication of how they were going to handle the request, but Peter shrugged. “They have probably already eaten them,” he said to Asa. “You would get nothing back but shells.”

  Asa scowled. “Then we will steal something of theirs!”

  “That does not solve the problem.”

  Asa was in a quandary. He turned to some of his gang behind him, bigger boys who were whispering furiously to him. It was clear that they were in a conference of some kind, but only for a few moments before Asa returned his attention to Peter.

  “Will you go down their street with us?” he asked. “If Saul’s Army sees you with us, they will be afraid to steal anymore eggs.”

  “Hold,” Alexander put a hand out, looking at Peter. “What is this all about? What are Maccabees and Saul’s Army?”

  Peter chuckled. “They are two opposing armies,” he said as if Alexander was a dullard. “Do you not understand? These are two armies fighting for territory. Asa and his Maccabees are from Milk Street and Saul’s Army is from… Asa, what street does Saul’s Army live on?”

  Asa, and several of the other boys, pointed to the smaller street. “King Street!” he said.

  Peter returned his attention to Alexander. “Two gangs fighting one another and now we have egg stealers,” he said. “Surely we must help them.”

  Alexander scowled. “Cease your foolery,” he said. “You have business in London to attend to, so let’s get on with it.”

  Peter lifted an eyebrow. “I am attending it,” he said. “Asa is Liora’s brother.”

  Alexander rolled his eyes when he realized why Peter was being so attentive to the young boy with the wild hair. “I see,” he said. “Then, by all means, let us support the Maccabees’ efforts so we can get out of here.”

  Peter grinned. “Indeed,” he said, returning his focus to Asa. “We will go with you, but then
I must depart. Where is your sister today, anyway?”

  Asa pointed to another nearby street. “She is with Papa,” he said. “She helps him.”

  Peter’s gaze moved to the street Asa was indicating. It was the Street of the Jewelers, very near to where Liora and her family lived. Up ahead, he could see the top of the Great Synagogue, a two-storied structure with big, stone columns in contrast with the surrounding architecture of London, usually of wattle and daub.

  The building caught his attention.

  “One more question and we will go with you,” he told the boy. “Who is your rabbi?”

  Asa scratched his head. “Rabbi Judah,” he said. “Why?”

  Peter shook his head. “I was simply curious,” he said. Then, he pointed to King Street. “Lead on. We shall follow.”

  Excited, and full of revenge against the egg stealers, Asa and his friends began to run, followed by the knights on their warhorses. The boys were whooping and shouting, exciting the horses, who sensed a battle. They were running so fast that by the time the knights made their way down King Street, Asa and his gang were already beating up on some hapless child in the middle of the street.

  Peter immediately dismounted and broke up the fight.

  “Here, now,” he said, pulling Asa off the boy and then pulling the child on the ground to his feet. “What goes on?”

  Asa was furious, his little fists balled. “He stole my eggs!” he shouted. “I am punishing him!”

  Peter looked at the child, a little boy with dirty blond hair and a dirty face. He was also quite skinny as opposed to the well-fed Asa and his crew. Peter glanced at the street itself – it wasn’t nearly as well-appointed as Milk Street, just one block over. More of Saul’s Army began to come out of the shadows, bigger children than Asa and his friends, but skinny and not particularly well dressed. Sensing what was happening here, Peter looked between Asa and his victim.

  “Stealing is never acceptable,” he said to the blond-haired child. “Would you like it if someone stole from you?”

  He had to give the kid a little shake because he wouldn’t answer. The boy’s mouth was working. “Nay,” he said. “But… but we need the eggs.”

  “They’re my eggs!” Asa shouted.

  “Shut your lips,” Peter commanded quietly. As Asa frowned, he returned his attention to the other boy. “Why do you need the eggs?”

  The boy began to turn red in the face. He refused to answer until Peter gave him another jolt. Then, he seemed nervous.

  “Because we need to eat,” he said. He pointed to Asa. “They have lots to eat. We take a few eggs. What’s that to them? They have money and food. They can always get more eggs.”

  Peter suspected from the beginning that this was beyond the usual stealing. The boys were hungry. Saul’s Army just had that look. He released both boys but when he spoke, it was to the blond.

  “Listen to me and listen well,” he said. “I do not want to hear about you stealing any more eggs from Asa’s chickens. If I hear about that, I will come back to this street looking for you. Is that clear? And you will not like it when I find you. But if you are truly hungry, there is a tavern at the end of this road, by Ludgate. It is called The Farmer’s Prick. Do you know it?”

  The little boy was looking at him in confusion, trying to follow along with what he was saying but also not willing to take his eyes off Asa in case Asa should charge him again, so he was off-balance. But he nodded after a moment.

  “I… I think so,” he said. He pointed west. “That way?”

  Peter nodded. “That way,” he said. “If you go there every morning around to the kitchens, I will make sure they feed you and your friends a meal. Once a day, in the morning. But in return, you must stop stealing eggs. Do you understand?”

  The boy’s confusion cleared up and he looked surprised. “Go to the tavern?”

  “Aye.”

  “And we will eat?”

  “As long as you stop stealing eggs.”

  The boy’s eyes widened and he nodded quickly. “Aye, my lord.”

  “Then the deal is struck. I will say no more.”

  Peter lifted an eyebrow at him as if to emphasize what should happen should he go back on his word before turning away, motioning to Asa as he went. Asa trotted after him, followed by the rest of the Maccabees.

  “If they continue to steal eggs, you will tell me,” he said. “But I have a feeling this will stop their thievery. And you stay away from them, too. Do not antagonize them.”

  Asa cocked his head. “Ant… ant… what?”

  “Do not vex them.”

  Asa looked over his shoulder at the other gang begrudgingly. “As you say,” he said. But Peter swung himself back into the saddle and Asa ran after him. “Where are you going now?”

  “I have a man to see,” Peter said, turning his horse after Alexander, who was already heading down the avenue. “Go home, Asa. Do not stay here where trouble can find you.”

  Asa was about to shout something after him but thought better of it. He dashed off, running between the houses as his friends followed suit. When Alexander and Peter emerged onto the main road again, Alexander turned to him.

  “A brilliant bit of negotiation,” he said. “Are you certain that you do not wish to handle the mediation between your father and the king?”

  Peter snorted. “Not in the least,” he said. “But remind me to visit that tavern before we leave town so I can pay them for the meals they will be dispensing. Those children were hungry.”

  Alexander nodded, his attention moving towards the Great Synagogue in the distance. “I know,” he said. “I could see that. Your actions were noble, Peter. Solomon could not have done better.”

  Peter gave him a half-grin. “That is why they call me Saint Peter the Rock. I am a noble, immovable object.”

  “Come along, Rock. Let’s get this over with.”

  They resumed their trek down the road, heading for the Great Synagogue. London was growing busier as the morning deepened, with people going about their business. In the distance, Peter and Alexander could see an armed contingent entering town, bearing the banners of Huntingfield, who was the Sheriff of Suffolk. He was one of the rebel leaders, and had once been close to William Marshal, but he was more than likely coming into town by John’s summons. Another warlord to make an offer to because the man had troops inside of London.

  Peter reined his steed to a halt.

  “See the yellow banner in the distance?” he asked.

  Alexander came to a stop beside him. “I do. Huntingfield.”

  “Do you think The Marshal summoned him on behalf of John?”

  “Probably.”

  Peter sighed faintly. “This is such a strange time right now,” he muttered. “I do not think I will ever get over being on the opposite side of The Marshal or Achilles, or Cullen or Bric. It seems so odd to speak of a summons by The Marshal and know that I am no longer an ally in the technical sense of the word. My father feels the same way.”

  Alexander watched Huntingfield draw closer. “Claiming sides is only for public perception,” he said. “Our loyalty to The Marshal goes beyond politics. It is the moral truth and center of our world, of what is right and what is wrong. Maxton, Kress, Achilles, Caius, Kevin, Bric, Dashiell… we will never be against one another. We will always fight together for what is right. Even Sean, though the man is still sick from the wounds he sustained when the White Tower fell to the rebels. He was always a part of us, even when he was against us.”

  Peter glanced at him. “Have you seen him lately?”

  Alexander shook his head. “Not lately,” he said. “Kevin was with him in the beginning, but Kevin has been moved up north by The Marshal. He’s keeping an eye on things up there and reporting on it.”

  Peter thought of his close friend, Kevin de Lara, brother of Sean. Kevin was an excellent knight, a true devotee of William Marshal, and Peter thought of his friend as he scouted the north for signs of rebellion and mercenaries. I
t was dangerous work in a dangerous time.

  “I miss him,” he said. “I miss Sean. I miss all of us together, as it should be.”

  “The only way that is going to happen is if John is dead.”

  Peter lifted an eyebrow. “And The Marshal still feels that the king needs to be protected? Why would he save the life of a man who has only thrown us deeper and deeper into chaos?”

  Alexander had a complicated answer for him, but he didn’t speak of it. Peter was young. He was idealistic and he missed his friends. He missed the Executioner Knights as a complete unit. Sometimes men parted for a time only to come back together again, stronger than ever. Alexander was certain this would be one of those times.

  Eventually.

  “Come on,” he said, spurring his horse forward. “We’ll speak on all of that later. Right now, we have a rabbi to see.”

  Peter followed him, but they didn’t get too far. He found himself looking down the Street of the Jewelers, knowing that Liora was there, and his entire focus shifted from his fractured friends to the beautiful woman he was increasingly smitten with. He peered down the street, which didn’t seem busy at all on this bustling morning, and he found himself pulled in that direction.

  Increasingly pulled.

  He could hear Alexander calling after him.

  “Peter!” he shouted. “Where are you going?”

  Peter hadn’t even realized that he’d turned his horse down the Street of the Jewelers. One moment, he was looking in that direction and in the next, he was entering that very street. It was narrow, and had the rare feature of cobblestones, so his horse was loud as he passed the various shops that were built like fortresses. The Street of the Jewelers also included gold and silver-smiths, and those were positioned on the edge of the avenue. He could smell the acids and tannins used to smelt the metals.

  Alexander was tagging along behind him.