The Splendid Hour: The Executioner Knights Book 7

by Kathryn Le Veque

  I cannot live his life for him, but I will be by his side no matter what he decides.

  “He does,” he said after a moment. “But Papa has a very pragmatic view of the situation. In order for me to marry Liora, either I must become a Jew or she must become a Christian. That is the only way we can have a marriage that will be recognized by either religion. Although he is not happy that I am willing to give up everything that I have worked for to be with Liora, ultimately, he understands.”

  Christin was watching him intently. “Is she worth so much to you, Peter?”

  He looked at her, nodding. “She is worth everything and more,” he said. “Cissy, when you met Sherry, did you know he would be the man you would marry right away? Or did it take time?”

  Christin thought back to when she and Alexander had first had any real interaction. Christin had been an agent for William Marshal, one of the best, but she’d never really worked directly with Alexander until an incident at Norwich Castle that involved John and his lascivious attention towards her. She smiled at the memory of coming to know her husband during a fairly turbulent time.

  “I was so enamored with him that I was dumbstruck,” she said. “He was the famous Alexander de Sherrington, the most elite assassin in The Marshal’s stable, and I was just me. I had no great background, no great training. I was in such awe of him. But I think even then I knew I would marry him.”

  “And it happened quickly?”

  “Fairly quickly. Ask Papa. I still do not think he is over just how quickly it happened.”

  Peter cracked a smile. “I remember that time,” he said. “We were so involved with the king and trying to keep you from marrying his bastard son that it was a very difficult time for us all. The fact that you and Sherry fell in love in the middle of it speaks to the power of your feelings for one another.”

  There was longing in his tone that Christin didn’t miss. “If your love for Liora is meant to be, Peter, then it will be,” she said. “But sometimes, you must fight for what you want. Somehow, the victory of it makes it all the sweeter.”

  Peter scratched his head. “But Sherry wasn’t Jewish,” he said. Then, he looked at her. “Liora has already told me that she will become a Christian, but as Papa pointed out, we will be bringing her into a world she knows absolutely nothing about. You… you would help her, wouldn’t you? And be a friend to her?”

  He seemed so distressed about it that she put her hand on his arm. “Of course I would,” she said. “I would do anything I could to help her. You need not even ask.”

  That seemed to ease him a great deal. “I knew you would,” he said. “I do not know why I even felt the need to ask that. I suppose it is because the situation is something I’ve never faced before and I’m simply trying to navigate it the best way I can.”

  “With your heart,” Christin said softly. “Navigate it with your heart, Peter. You cannot go wrong if you do that, but above all else, always think of her first. If she is willing to leave the only life she has ever known just for you, then you must be very considerate of that. But know that come what may, Sherry and I will embrace her with open arms.”

  He smiled at his sister. She was a few years younger than he was, but they had practically grown up together. She had never been anything other than devoted and attached to him, and he to her. He reflected on telling Christopher how he’d always felt like an outsider, and that was only of his own doing, because certainly his family had never made him feel differently. Even now, when he was choosing a path that no one else in the family had ever chosen, more and more, it was feeling like the right path.

  Right for him.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, kissing her on the forehead. “That comforts me greatly. And, Cissy… if something happens in these battles were are sure to face against John’s mercenaries and I do not make it back to London, will you please go to Liora and tell her… tell her that my thoughts were only of her? I want her to know that I did not forget her.”

  Christin didn’t like it when her brother or husband or father spoke in such ways. She couldn’t think of them as anything other than vital, strong, and alive, so to speak of death wasn’t something she was comfortable with. But for Peter’s sake, and because she knew he was right, she nodded her head.

  “If you wish,” she said. “I will go to her.”

  He forced a smile. “Thank you,” he said. “That eases me more than you know. You are an excellent sister, even if you are annoying on occasion.”

  Christin giggled, swatting him on the arm, but she was prevented from sparring with him when a servant found her on the stoop and told her that her mother was in need of her. With children to feed, Christin forgot about seeking her husband and left to find her mother, leaving Peter on the steps of the manse.

  But Peter had tasks to attend to, so he headed off to find his father, who happened to be speaking to Jax over near the gatehouse with several other men. As he approached, he could see old Juston de Royans and equally old Jax de Velt, men who had shaped the history of England over the past forty years. Juston, big and burly and with blond hair that had turned mostly to gray, had been Christopher and David and Marcus’ mentor back when they were young knights with the world at their feet.

  In fact, Juston had been the mentor to many of the Executioner Knights, Maxton and Kress and Achilles included. His seat was Bowes Castle far to the north, close to Richmond where Caius was in command. Peter knew that his father wasn’t awestruck or submissive to any man, not even The Marshal, but because Juston used to be his mentor years ago, there was a hint of that submissiveness in Christopher’s behavior when he spoke to Juston. He still looked to the man as if he had all the answers, which he usually did. It was rather touching to see, a glimpse of his father’s past in his behavior with a man he respected greatly.

  As Peter walked up on the group of men, his caught his father’s attention.

  “The army will be ready for Canterbury in about an hour, my lord,” Peter said, formally addressing his father and his uncle in front of a group of men. “Is there anything else you need?”

  Christopher shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “In fact, we were just speaking on how we are strapped for knights. Every knight I have is occupied with command duties, including those I left behind at Lioncross. I have none to spare.”

  Peter looked at his uncle. “You have good knights at Canterbury,” he said. “Brickley de Dere is an excellent knight.”

  David nodded. “He is in command while I am away,” he said. “I do not worry with Brickley in command, but we were speaking on the crop of knights coming out of Kenilworth. I intend to get my hands on one or two of those men when they are fully knighted.”

  Everyone knew that Kenilworth Castle was one of the oldest and most elite training castles for knights in all of England. Many of the Executioner Knights had trained there, men from fine families with skills that been honed by the master knights of Kenilworth. Peter had trained there for a couple of years after leaving Marcus at Somerhill and he could attest to the fact that it was either sink or swim for the trainees at Kenilworth. If you did not succeed, you were doomed to failure.

  There was no middle ground.

  “I’ve heard that the de Wolfe brothers are in training,” Peter said. “All of Wolverton’s sons, including the youngest, William.”

  That had some of the men snorting. “You mean the Gambling King?” Christopher said. “God help Edward – he’s going to have his hands full with that lad. He is either going to be the greatest knight England has ever seen or the greatest outlaw.”

  The men chortled at Edward de Wolfe’s expense. He had three sons, very close in age, the youngest of which was a devious, brilliant, highly skilled warrior even at his very young age. In the siege of London those months ago, William de Wolfe had fought alongside Christopher de Lohr because the lad was just that good and they had needed men to fight. But he also had a penchant for gambling and managed to win money and possessions from almost ev
ery man he’d ever served with, Peter included.

  “Where is Wolverhampton, by the way?” Peter asked, looking around. “I’ve not seen him this morning.”

  Christopher sobered as he shook his head. “He has already departed,” he said. “He is far enough to the north that he is worried about the mercenaries, so he is already gone.”

  Peter looked around to the other men gathered, noticing that a few were missing. “Savernake is gone?” he said. “I do not see Dashiell or the duke.”

  “They departed yesterday, but Dash is heading to Rochester Castle,” Christopher said. “It is under siege and we are quite certain that the Earl of East Anglia has sent his army to protect his holding, so Dash went to join up with his father’s army.”

  That made sense considering Dashiell du Reims was the heir to the earldom of East Anglia, an old and powerful holding, but East Anglia was also related to Hereford because Christopher’s mother and East Anglia’s father had been brother and sister.

  “Will we send men, too?” Peter asked. “They are cousins, after all.”

  Christopher shook his head, looking at David. “I can only spare men for your uncle right now. The bulk of my army is on the Marches, but I will supply men if I am asked. With more men than anyone else on the Marches, I expect the requests to come.”

  That was very true. Lioncross Abbey had a six-thousand-man standing army, a massive army that was spread between a few garrisons, now to be spread between even more with Peter taking a thousand to Ludlow and, more than likely, Alexander taking another thousand to Wigmore. Men and material were about to be moved all over England in an attempt to protect property and weaken John’s mercenary force, but it would take time.

  And time was something they didn’t have a lot of.

  “Hold the Marches, Chris,” Jax said quietly. “We can hold the north, but you must hold the Marches. If the mercenaries get control of any castles along the Welsh border, they won’t stay there. They’ll head into Wales and that will start another war with the Welsh princes. Peace is already a fragile thing there. I do not have to tell you that.”

  Christopher shook his head. “Nay, you do not,” he said regretfully. “But the Marches will hold. Truthfully, John doesn’t seem to be interest in Wales. I’m more concerned with his interest in Scotland.”

  Jax glanced at Juston, John de Longley, Alastor de Bourne, and finally Gilbert d’Umfraville, all of them lords of enormous castles in Northumberland. They had the most to lose and since the revelations of yesterday, that fact had never been more apparent. John, in fact, was brand new to his title because his father had recently passed away, so this was a test of his command skills.

  Jax finally shook his head with the absurdity of it all.

  “It wasn’t even a year or two ago that we were fighting to keep Scotland from invading the north,” he said. “There is great irony in the fact that now, we are allying with them to keep John’s mercenary army from taking our lands. They will want Northwood Castle, home of Teviot, because it controls a great river crossing and a good portion of the river itself. They will want Castle Keld, home of de Bourne, because it controls a major road in and out of Scotland. They will want Prudhoe Castle where d’Umfraville lives because of its strategic importance. They will want Bowes Castle because it controls a major road that crosses east to west from Cumbria to Northumberland, and they will try to claim Alnwick, where de Vesci lives, simply because Alnwick is a prize. But most of all… most of all, they will come for Berwick Castle and Pelinom Castle, my home, because both are crucial to holding Northumberland in general. Something tells me that out of all the battles I have fought in my lifetime, and there have been many, this may very well be my most important.”

  By the time he finished, everyone was looking at him with great concern and perhaps even greater trepidation. For The Dark Lord, the greatest knight of his generation, to speak in such a way was unusual, indeed. It was quite unsettling. But Jax had aptly brought the truth of the matter into focus, something all of them were concerned with.

  Peter found himself looking around the group of old warriors, the greatest men of their generation, men who had fought for England their entire lives. Men who were legends to all fighting men throughout the known world. Men who, ironically enough, now found themselves fighting against the king of their own country. They were now rebels, fighting an unjust ruler and called outlaws because of it.

  It all seemed horribly unfair to their legacies.

  “There was an old master knight at Kenilworth by the name of Boone Pendleton,” Peter said quietly. “He died the year I was knighted. I’m sure you know the name, but he was someone I greatly admired. Right before I was knighted, there was some trouble over in Kidderminster and Kenilworth was called upon because we were the only available army at the time. I do not remember the exact details, but the master knights, and several squires, including me, took the army over to Kidderminster to face a Welsh incursion. I was absolutely terrified. In fact, I think most of the squires were because we were suited up like knights and expected to fight. I remember Boone repeating an old Viking prayer and it was a cry we all took up. It started out with Behold, I see those I love, and my relatives who have died before me…”

  He was cut off when Christopher lifted his head and spoke the next line. “I see my father seated in the great hall, with an empty seat beside him.”

  David continued. “I see the greatest warriors who have ever lived, surrounding my father, calling to me.”

  Astonished, Peter watched as all of the men took up the prayer, speaking the last few lines –

  Death is not the end, but the beginning, for a true warrior never dies.

  He takes his place of greatness beside those who are worthy.

  Mourn not the glorious dead but rejoice in their legacy.

  They wait for me, not in this life, but in the next,

  Where their legends shall live forever.

  There was something so incredibly reverent about that prayer being spoken by some of the greatest men who had ever held a sword. Peter didn’t feel as if he should speak, as if the silence after that glorious poem should not be broken. It hung like a spell over them, each man feeling it to his very bones, knowing that today, more than ever, it held true. In truth, it brought tears to Peter’s eyes, for it was an emotional moment for them all.

  It was Christopher who finally broke the silence.

  “Listen to me and listen well, all of you,” he said, though he was mostly looking at Jax and Juston. “If any of you fall in battle and I survive, know that I will stop at nothing to avenge you. John has been a thorn in my side for over twenty years. What he is doing now is beyond what I thought he was capable of and if it costs the lives of good men like you, know that my vengeance will know no limits. If William Marshal stands in my way, he will pay the price. I will burn him and all he stands for to the ground if he opposes me. But I will avenge you, I swear it.”

  With that, he reached out to Juston first, gripping the man’s hand in a silent promise of his pledge. Juston nodded, his old eyes glimmering, as Christopher moved to Jax and did the same thing. He held Jax’s hand just a little longer than necessary, knowing that out of all of them, Jax might find himself the most involved. With two prime properties, he would be a preferred target.

  After Jax, Christopher shook hands with Teviot, de Bourne, and d’Umfraville, reaffirming bonds of men who had an uphill battle. They were all preparing to head out when the sentries began to cry out that a rider had been sighted.

  The gates of Lonsdale were already open because of the assembling army, so no one seemed concerned over a lone rider. In fact, the group of warlords were breaking up, including Peter, but he noticed that Alexander was going to the gate because, as the commander of the de Lohr armies, that was his job. Peter had never felt ousted by Alexander when he married Christin and swore an oath to command Christopher’s armies because it was well known that Alexander was the best commander of men in England. Even wh
en the Executioner Knights went on a mission, it was almost always Alexander in command.

  Therefore, Peter was happy to surrender the responsibility. He turned for the manse but ended up running into Maxton and Caius and striking up a conversation, when he heard Alexander shouting his name.

  “Peter!”

  Peter turned for the gatehouse, but there were so many men between him and the gatehouse that he couldn’t see Alexander at all. But he heard his name again and headed in that direction, followed by Maxton and Caius simply because their horses were over near the gatehouse and they were preparing to depart with the rest of the warlords. The three of them closed in on the gatehouse, finally spying Alexander, and Peter’s calm demeanor took a turn for the worse when he saw who Alexander was standing with.

  Asa.

  Peter bolted.

  The little boy was on a horse with another child and Peter could see that Asa had been weeping because there was dirt smeared all over his face. Incredulous, he came to an unsteady halt.

  “Asa?” he gasped. “What in the h-… I mean, what are you doing here? How did you find me?”

  When Asa laid eyes on Peter, the tears returned with a vengeance. “You said you lived next to the river,” he said, wiping his eyes furiously. “You said you lived at Lonsdale. We went to the manse before this one and asked for you, but they told us where Lonsdale was.”

  He was pointing down the road, speaking of the manse that was about two miles up the river, closer to London. “That’s Hurlingham,” he said, greatly concerned. “Why are you looking for me? What’s wrong?”

  Asa thought he could be very brave and explain the situation, but seeing Peter seemed to suck the courage right out of him because in Peter, he saw help. He saw hope. He was so frightened that he couldn’t speak.

  The sobs began to come.

  “They came and took them,” he wept. “My papa and Lee-Lee. The soldiers came and took them away!”

  Peter was stricken with confusion and terror. “What soldiers?” he demanded, grabbing the child. “What do you mean they took your father and Liora away? Who in the hell were they?”