Everyone lurched at that suggestion. David and Marcus went so far as to speak words of denial. No one wanted Christopher going into the arena with the lions, which was exactly what this would be akin to. He’d be walking into the heart of the enemy. The Marshal was gazing back at him steadily, for nothing he said was untrue. Absolutely nothing.
But he had something to say about it.
“What if I told you that I want Peter there for the ultimate mission.”
“What’s that?”
“To kill a king.”
That brought a strong reaction from Christopher. “What in the hell are you saying?”
William sighed heavily, looking to the trusted men around him. Liora and Haim were far enough away that they couldn’t really hear what was being said, but to ensure that, he lowered his voice.
“Do you want this rebellion to go on forever?” he hissed. “Why do you think I had Sean positioned so close to John? One word from me and he could kill John and make it look like an accident. It is true that Sean fed us information and controlled the king to a certain extent, but his position always was, since the beginning, to be my Trojan horse. Do you remember the tale of Troy and how the Greeks, unable to breech the walls of the city, built a great wooden horse that they proceeded to hide in? When the Trojans opened the gates and brought the horse into their citadel, the Greeks broke loose and destroyed the city. That is Peter’s position now, Chris. Let him save England.”
Christopher stared at him. It was as terrible and terrifying a position as any man could have, much less his son. He kept trying to take his relationship to Peter out of the equation, but he couldn’t. He simply couldn’t do it. His son had placed himself in grave danger because he loved a woman and should he keep that position with John, he would become another Sean de Lara.
If he survived.
Christopher couldn’t, in good conscience, let that happen. He was still Peter’s father no matter how much The Marshal tried to tell him to stay out of it.
To let Peter save England.
He just couldn’t do it.
“Take me to John,” he asked again, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I want to see him face to face.”
“I’ll take Peter’s place,” Caius spoke up. When everyone looked at him, surprised, he simply shrugged his big shoulders and looked at The Marshal. “When you first secured that position with John, you offered it to me and to Sean. Do you recall? Sean took it to save my reputation because he knew what it would mean to any man who assumed it. It would ruin his life, but Sean did it to save me. Now, let me take up the mantle in Sean’s place. Please, my lord.”
William looked at him, shaking his head. “It would be perfect except for the fact that you are married now and you control the bastion of Richmond,” he said. “What would your wife say to you taking this position, Cai? You know what that would do to her. To your marriage. You are brave to offer, but I must decline.”
Caius knew that and a massive part of him was greatly relieved, but he felt as if he had to offer. “I understand,” he said. “But you must understand that someone protected me from that position, once. I felt as if I had to do the same.”
“If I changed my mind and let you do it, would you?”
Caius nodded without hesitation. “I would.”
The Marshal understood a man of honor. “I believe you,” he said. “But it is out of the question.”
“Then let me,” Alexander said. “I have the most perfect life imaginable and I love my wife and family, but if this is a job for an assassin, then you’ll want me. Peter does not have the instincts that I do.”
Christopher reached out to put a hand of gratitude on Alexander’s arm, knowing the man was trying to spare Peter. It was deeply touching. But The Marshal shook his head.
“You would be perfect, Sherry,” he said. “But you are too important to the de Lohr war machine. If you had no other responsibilities, I would agree, but I cannot.”
Alexander knew that but, like Caius, he had to offer. Peter was young and talented, with his whole life ahead of him. Even though he was a seasoned veteran and a spy, he hadn’t suffered the years of missions and degradation that Caius and Alexander had. They’d already gotten their hands dirty with killing and dirty deeds. But Peter hadn’t. There was something in both Alexander and Caius that wanted to protect Peter from the seedier tasks in life.
Like killing a king.
It was something Christopher greatly appreciated, but it didn’t solve the problem. When Maxton opened his mouth to chime in, Christopher simply held up a hand to silence him. He knew what the man was going to say, but he didn’t have to say it.
That was something Christopher had to do alone.
“William,” he said quietly. “Must I ask again for you to take me to John?”
The Marshal looked at him, knowing he couldn’t deny him. To do so would be to bring all of the House of de Lohr down around John and Westminster, and with so many rebel warlord armies still in London, it could be messy, indeed. All Christopher would have to say was that his son was in danger and his allies would come running.
That was something The Marshal couldn’t chance.
“Very well,” he said after a moment. “But all of you are coming. I will not let him go in alone.”
He was looking to the group of men around him. Heavily armed men who would fight to the death should John try to move against Christopher. It was as dangerous a situation as they’d ever faced, but they were ready and willing to do it. No questions asked. It was Marcus who began to move towards the gatehouse, hand on the hilt of his broadsword, ready to rumble.
The others followed.
Leaving Liora and Haim in safety back by the seamstress’ shop, The Marshal ordered the gate guards to lift the portcullis. As the old iron grate creaked and groaned with the old ropes lifting it, the group of men passed beneath it. William took the lead at that point, taking them on the same path he’d taken Peter when he’d escorted the man to the king. The royal apartments were a vast block, built from wattle and daub and with richly carved interiors, but no one really noticed the opulence when they entered.
Least of all Christopher.
He had been here, years ago, when Richard had been king, so this wasn’t his first visit. But it could very well be his most important. David was on his right side and Marcus on his left, and he could feel their strength lift him. He was about to go against The Marshal; he was about to go against all of them and he needed that strength for what was to come. When they finally reached the king’s private rooms, The Marshal entered first with Christopher right behind him.
Christopher would never forget the look of surprise on John’s face.
John and Peter were on the far side of the chamber, with John sitting and Peter standing against the wall. There didn’t seem to be anyone else in the room, which would work in Christopher’s favor. He looked over his shoulder and motioned to Maxton to lock the door, which he did and stood in front of it to guard it. With the meanest knight in England watching the door, everyone else spread out, leaving Christopher facing the king and his son.
Peter, seeing his father, twitched his surprise.
“Papa?” he said, incredulous. “What are you doing here?”
Christopher wasn’t looking at his son. He was looking at the king, who was equally shocked. In fact, he was out of his seat, walking in Christopher’s direction as if he had absolutely no fear of the man.
“Hereford?” he gasped in delight. “My old and dear friend. What a surprise to see you here.”
Christopher stared at John a moment before shaking his head. “I wish that was true,” he said. “I wish we were old and dear friends. We are definitely old friends, but I use that term in the same vein as adversary. We are old adversaries and continue to be, John. Some things never change.”
He used John’s Christian name, something he’d done since he first knew the prince all those years ago as Richard’s younger brother. Richard and Christ
opher had been friends before Richard was even king, and Christopher had known John since he’d been an obnoxious child and to Christopher, he was still obnoxious.
Deadly, too.
But John grinned.
“That is true,” he said. “But we want the same thing. A safe and strong England.”
“But we want it in different ways.”
John snorted. “I was just speaking to your son about that,” he said. “I was explaining to Peter our fundamental differences, one being that I rule this country and you do not, yet you try to control it.”
Christopher had a smile on his face, but it wasn’t one of humor. It was one of irony. He looked at his son, who seemed rather edgy to see him.
“Liora and her father are safe,” he said. “I came make sure you are safe as well.”
“He is quite safe.” John answered for him. “I will take good care of him.”
Christopher resisted the urge to retort. He didn’t want this to become a big battle, at least not yet. Not if he could help it. He had something to say and he wanted John in a congenial mood. Or, as much as he could be.
His focus returned to the king.
“Let us forego the pleasantries and cut to the purpose of my visit,” he said. “You have my son. I want him back. I will make you an offer that you cannot refuse.”
William, who had been standing at the edge of the room between Christopher and John, looked at Christopher sharply. Even David and Marcus looked at Christopher, concerned with what was about to come forth.
But John found it wholly interesting.
“Is that so?” he said. “I am intrigued. Go on.”
Christopher paused, perhaps reconsidering what he was about to say, but he thought better of it. Peter had sacrificed something for Liora.
He was about to sacrifice something for Peter.
“My armies are quite large, as you are well aware,” he said. “When you look at your opposition, I am at the forefront. Is that a fair statement?”
John nodded. “You always have been,” he said. “As far back as the days of Ralph Fitz Walter, the Sheriff of Nottingham. It all seems like so long ago.”
“It was,” Christopher said. “We were adversaries when Richard was alive and even before. I loved your brother, as you are well aware.”
John’s gleeful expression faded somewhat. “I know,” he said. “I had always wished you would love me the way you loved him.”
“You never gave me a reason to.”
John stiffened, gravely insulted by a man he’d known most of his life. It wasn’t just insult – deep down, it hurt, too. But he would never admit it.
“Then say what you came here to say,” he snapped.
The mood was shifting from one that was almost pleasant to one that was becoming unstable. Christopher fixed on John, pondering how he was going to phrase his offer.
“You are facing mayhap some of the greatest battles you have ever faced,” he said. “More warlords are against you than are for you. It is going to be a difficult fight.”
John’s smile returned, though it was humorless. “I believe I shall triumph.”
“Your chances will be better if I lay down my sword.”
Everyone in the chamber gasped, including The Marshal. John’s eyes were wide as he moved towards Christopher.
“What’s this you say?” he demanded. “Lay down your sword?”
Christopher’s eyes narrowed, conveying his sincerity. “I will not fight in these upcoming battles if you return my son to me,” he said. “I am England, John. I have been fighting in battles as long as you have been alive, but I will not lift my sword against you from this day forward if you return my son to me. But only if you return him to me now.”
Peter, unable to keep silent, moved in his father’s direction. “Papa… nay!”
Christopher held out a hand to his son, a gesture of silence. His focus remained on John. “Well?” he said. “What say you?”
John’s face was wrought with astonishment. “I cannot believe my ears,” he finally said. “You would not fight against me?”
“I will not fight for you, either,” Christopher clarified. “I will recuse myself. Now, you have to decide what is more valuable – having Peter by your side or having me step down.”
John stared at him. He was clearly trying to decide if Christopher was serious but quickly realized that he was. Part of the lure of keeping Peter at his side was the fact that it would hurt Christopher, but if Christopher was willing to lay down his sword and not participate in one of the many battles that were looming in the immediate future, then that was perhaps the greatest victory of all.
Removing the Lion’s Claw from battle.
I will not lift my sword against you from this day forward if you return my son to me.
Knowing Christopher as he did, the man’s word was solid.
It was too good of an opportunity to waste.
“I accept,” John said before he could think to negotiate the details of such a proposal. “Take your son but leave me your sword as your word of honor.”
Christopher had a magnificent broadsword, one that he’d used for over thirty years. It had the head of a lion on it with two ruby eyes and was truly a spectacular piece, one he was loath to part with because it was part of him. It represented him and everything he stood for, the power of the de Lohr name. But his son’s life was more important to him. He unsheathed it without hesitation and handed it to John, hilt-first.
“Take it,” he said, trying not to show how painful such an act was. “Peter, come with me.”
John took the sword with shock, perhaps not really believing Christopher would actually give it to him, as Peter went to stand with his father. With his son by his side, Christopher turned and headed out of the chamber, followed by David, Marcus, Caius, Alexander, and Maxton. He waited until they were out of the royal apartments and out in the vast bailey of Westminster before he came to a halt and turned to the group.
Everyone would swear, until they died, that there were tears in his eyes as he spoke.
“Before you all come down on me for doing what I did, know that I feel there was no other choice,” he said. “Regaining my son was the most important objective and laying down my sword is of little matter. I have Peter and Sherry and a host of other powerful knights to do the fighting, and I shall be as involved as I have ever been. Truly, this means nothing. But giving over my sword… let me just say that I hope to reclaim it someday.”
Peter was standing next to his father, heartsick. “Papa, I’m so sorry,” he said. “I never meant that you should sacrifice yourself so. I was prepared to stand beside my decision.”
Christopher looked at his son, feeling more relief than he could express that he had him back. “I know you were,” he said. “William tried to convince me that he needed you in that position, but I wasn’t going to let you do it. You are destined for greater things in life and becoming John’s henchman isn’t one of them.”
Peter shook his head sadly. “Oh, Papa…” he said softly. “But what you did…”
He couldn’t even bring himself to say it. Christopher put a hand on his shoulder. “It was nothing you would not have done for me,” he said, gentler. “It was the same thing you did to free Liora and her father. Sometimes, you must do something that is greater than yourself. But know that my pledge was very broad – I shall not take the field against John’s armies, but that does not mean I will not command my armies. I’ll be there, just as I always am, without engaging in active combat. When I said I would lay down my sword, I only meant me. I did not mean that my armies shall not fight. Nothing has changed in that regard, so do not fret. But that means that you, Sherry, will now be in charge of my armies when they take the field.”
Alexander suspected this would be the case since he heard Christopher utter that fateful offer. “I understand,” he said. “But what about Wigmore?”
“It shall remain yours,” Christopher said. “I will move Essi
en over to command it for now, but it shall be yours when the time comes and the battles are over. Peter, you will still take Ludlow and manage the garrisons. Sherry and Addax will be my field command.”
There was some relief to the knights, knowing that Christopher didn’t intend to back off altogether. But he wasn’t finished yet. He looked at Marcus.
“I need you to do something for me,” he said quietly.
Marcus nodded. “Anything, Chris.”
“I am finished with Walter de Quincy,” he said, his voice a threatening rumble. “He is here, somewhere in London, and you shall find him and make it clear to him that my wrath upon him has come. I do not ever want to see his face again. Then, you will go to his stronghold of Astley Cross and you will lay siege until you purge whatever army Walter keeps there. Clean it out of anything de Quincy and claim it for yourself. I’d rather have you as an ally on the Marches than that bastard. He has pushed me too far this time and he is going to pay.”
A flicker of a smile crossed Marcus’ lips. “With pleasure,” he said. “But Astley Cross is far away from my Yorkshire holdings. Are you sure you would not rather have it?”
Christopher shrugged. “I am occupied with a great many other things at the moment,” he said. “In any case, de Quincy has made his last move against me. Remove him, shatter him, but do not kill him. I want him to live in his own filth, knowing who it is who has beaten him. Humiliation like that will be worse than death, Marcus. Make it so.”
Marcus understood. He looked at Maxton. “You are heading back to Gloucester,” he said. “Care to lend a hand to remove de Quincy?”
Maxton cocked a dark eyebrow. “I thought you would never ask.”
With Walter de Quincy’s future settled, the group resumed their march towards the gatehouse. When the gate guards saw them coming, they didn’t have to be told to lift the portcullis this time. They simply lifted it so that by the time Christopher and the others arrived, they passed through without waiting. Perhaps there was something in those gatehouse guards that simply wanted Christopher de Lohr and his allies out of Westminster altogether.
The Splendid Hour: The Executioner Knights Book 7 Page 28