The Splendid Hour: The Executioner Knights Book 7

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Peter watched his father as the man said his farewells to his friend, tears rolling down his cheeks, but fortified with that prayer that had meant so much to them. When his father finally looked at him, he smiled at the man, putting his arm around his neck and hugging him. Christopher smiled weakly, patting his son on the arm, appreciating the moment they were sharing. A moment between warriors, rejoicing in the life of one of their own.

  One who was now gone.

  But there was a reason why they had all come, more than simply to tell Peter that Jax had fallen in battle. He could see that simply by the expressions on their faces.

  There was a purpose.

  “Now,” Peter said after a moment. “Let us focus on the reason you are here at Ludlow. Although I am greatly saddened at de Velt’s passing, I know that is not the reason you have come and it occurs to me that I have been called home for a purpose. Am I right, Papa?”

  Christopher nodded slowly. “You are.”

  “You want something of me, I assume?”

  The Marshal held up a hand. “Aye,” he said wearily. “The Executioner Knights are to attend to their most important mission yet and you are to be part of it.”

  “I am listening,” Peter said.

  William collected his thoughts before continuing. “Sherry is due to arrive here very soon, as I said, because I recalled him for a special purpose,” he said. “You will notice that I have only called upon Maxton, Kress, Achilles, you, and Sherry for this particular mission because this is a job for my very best.”

  Peter nodded seriously. “Go on.”

  The Marshal glanced at Christopher before answering. “I needed your father’s approval before I could do this, Peter,” he said. “I must use you. I believe you are the only one who can help us accomplish this task as I told your father once before. You are going to be our Trojan horse in the court of John.”

  Peter’s brow furrowed. “Trojan horse?” he repeated, thinking on the term that he’d heard before, something he remembered from his past education. “You mean the horse that the Greeks built? The one that held an army that deceived Troy?”

  “Exactly.”

  He still wasn’t clear on how that related to him. “What will you have me do, my lord?

  “Kill the king.”

  The statement came from Christopher, not The Marshal. Peter looked at his father in shock.

  “Kill John?” he repeated to make sure he had heard correctly. “What do you mean? How?”

  The Marshal poured himself more wine into a cup he’d already drained once. “You will remember last year when John wanted you as his new Lord of the Shadows.”

  “Of course I do.”

  The Marshal looked at him. “You are now going to assume that post,” he said. “You are going to go to John and tell him that your father humiliated you into going back on a bargain. Remember that I was there, Peter. I saw everything. I was there when your father offered to lay down his sword in exchange for your freedom. That was not what I wanted at the time, but none of that matters now. You are going to return to John and tell him that your father made you do it and you feel strongly that you must keep your word. Get close to the man. We need you there for what we are about to do.”

  Peter was quite perplexed. “But… in all of my years as an Executioner Knight, it was our mission to keep the king alive,” he said. “We fought, we killed, we lied and cheated and bargained to keep him alive and now we must eliminate him?”

  As The Marshal nodded, Christopher turned to his son. “We have come to the unalterable conclusion that England will never know peace as long as John is alive,” he said. “We made a deal with the French king to aid us in our fight against John, but that has only brought French soldiers and mercenaries to overrun our lands. We know now that Louis is not the answer, but John’s son is.”

  Peter’s eyes widened. “Henry? But he is only nine years of age!”

  “And I shall be his regent,” The Marshal said steadily. “I have positioned myself with the king that he has appointed me his son’s regent in the event of his death. John and I enjoy a good relationship these days. In fact, right now he believes I am at Pembroke, recruiting more men from the Welsh to fight for him, but instead I am with you and your father, plotting his end. I have served four kings, Peter, if you include Henry the Young King. I have seen John grow into the man he is today and it is true that I have fought to keep him on the throne, but the past year has seen my support drastically reduced. A nine-year-old king would be far better than what we have now. At least we would have a chance to survive.”

  Peter’s gaze moved to his father, staring into his cup of wine. “Papa?” he said. “What say you about this?”

  Christopher’s head came up. “I have hated John since I first met him when I was nearly twenty years of age and he was barely ten,” he said. “I have hated him every moment of every day since. I was content to fight against him and defeat him honorably on the field of battle, but hearing of Jax’s death has brought me back to a promise I made to him back at Lonsdale. I swore to avenge his death and avenge I shall, but the most painful realization of that vow is that in order to do that, I must place my own flesh and blood in danger to accomplish it. You, Peter. If you agree to assume the post of Lord of the Shadows in Sean’s place, I will not stop you.”

  Peter was listening to his father carefully. “Are you asking me to do it?”

  Christopher shook his head. “Nay,” he said quietly. “You are my son and if I had to choose between your life and vengeance for Jax, I would choose you. But if you wish to accept The Marshal’s directive, I will not stop you.”

  Peter could see how badly his father was hurting, how much he was torn. He didn’t like seeing his father so hurt. He didn’t like the thought of leaving his wife and heading, literally, into purgatory. He didn’t like the thought of any of those things, but he liked even less that if he did nothing, John would continue his reign of terror and his own son would be born into such a world.

  He was going to be a father.

  For a moment, he pondered a boy with his blond hair and his mother’s magnificent eyes. A brilliant lad that he would protect to the death. Avenging Jax was important; there was no doubt about it. His death seemed to be a catalyst for something greater than all of them, the realization that their country needed peaceful rule and thoughtful direction if it was going to survive. And Peter needed to be able to raise his son in peace, not spending weeks or months on the field of battle against a king intent on tearing his own country apart.

  Perhaps Peter couldn’t do real damage to John on the battlefield.

  But he could do it where it counted, as Sean de Lara had.

  By John’s side.

  “I’ll do it,” he finally said, looking at The Marshal. “Tell me what you want me to do and I shall do it.”

  A sigh of relief seemed to go up from everyone. They looked at each other, nodding, showing hope in what was coming and what needed to be done.

  Their mission was coming together admirably.

  “We’ll be with you every step of the way, Peter,” Kress said. Much like Alexander, he was a leader of men with a natural air of command, and his words brought courage. “Achilles and Maxton and I will defect to John’s guard. We were part of his guard once before and we saved his life from assassins years ago, so he will remember that. For all he knows, we’ve been out of touch with The Marshal. He has no reason to believe differently.”

  Peter listened carefully. Maxton, Kress, and Achilles were some of the best spies in the business and he trusted them implicitly. “Then you will be close to me,” he said.

  “Exactly,” Maxton said. “Even now, Cullen de Nerra and Bric MacRohan are infiltrating John’s inner circle as gifts from their respective lords. You know that Bric is a legacy knight with de Winter and even though de Winter has sided with the king in this matter, secretly, he supports the rebellion, so he has gifted the king with Bric. For an Irishman who hates the monarchy, I can
only imagine how Bric is handling this.”

  That brought some smiles at the thought of Bric, a man who was utterly terrifying with his pale blond hair and blue-silver eyes. He looked like a warrior-god from Irish mythology and he hated John with a passion. But they needed him, and Cullen, as part of their spy ring close to the king. All of them forming a support system for Peter, who would be the closest.

  Peter understood that clearly.

  “So this plan has been in the works for some time?” he asked.

  The Marshal nodded. “Since late last year,” he said. “But after what happened to de Velt, we decided to rush forward with our schedule. I’ll not let John kill one more man valuable to England. Jax was too much of a sacrifice in my opinion, but his death will not be in vain, I swear it.”

  Surprisingly passionate words from a man who was usually steady and even in temperament. But it was clear that Jax’s death had done something to him.

  It had done something to them all.

  “Then what is the plan, my lord?” Peter said. “Surely you have something in mind?”

  The Marshal nodded. “Indeed,” he said. “As we speak, John is heading from St. Albans to Windsor Castle, which is being besieged by the French. You and I will join him at Windsor where you will join his ranks with my recommendation. He is possibly going to Cambridge and Lincolnshire after that, but it’s equally possible he will be moving to his allies at Newark because he has spoken of going there and replenishing his armies. He cannot go to London, as it is currently being held by the French king, so it’s my personal belief he will go to Newark instead of Lincolnshire.”

  “And I will go with him.”

  “Aye,” The Marshal said. “You will be his right hand, Peter, just as Sean was. His wish is your command. Now, John’s death must be made to look like an accident, so your fellow Executioner Knights will poison the man’s wine. Not his food, but his wine. John is always fearful that his food will be tampered with, but he never makes mention of his wine. You will ensure the wine brought to him is switched out with the wine Maxton or the others will bring you. Do you want to know why I recalled Sherry? Because he is tasked with finding the right poison. He has been in Bath, collecting a terrible toxin made from the smelting of copper and lead. This poison will build in John’s system until it finally kills him. Nothing sudden, nothing rushed. One day, the king will simply turn up… dead.”

  Peter understood. It was subversion of the greatest magnitude and instead of being hesitant or discouraged, he was honored to be part of it.

  “Very well,” he said. “When do we move?”

  “As soon as Sherry arrives,” The Marshal said. “In the meantime, we will wait and we will feast and we will plan. But as soon as Sherry arrives, we will head to Windsor.”

  So that was it. A terrible plan was in the works, but it was a necessary one. Peter was thinking about what lay ahead as his wife entered the hall followed by several servants. They were heading to the table with bread and cheese and warmed-over beef from the night before, placing it on the table so the men could get to it. Peter reached out and grasped Liora’s hand, bringing it to his lips for a sweet kiss.

  “It would seem that my lady wife has run Ludlow in my absence better than any battle commander,” he said proudly, obviously changing the subject away from what they had been discussing. “My lady, you’ve not yet met some of the men at this table. You know Maxton and Pembroke, of course, but permit me to introduce you to two good friends of mine, Kress de Rhydian and Achilles de Dere. Good knights, my wife, Liora.”

  Oblivious to the subversion she had just interrupted, Liora smiled at the big, blond knight and the equally big bald knight who seemed rather young for such a bald head. “Welcome to Ludlow, my lords,” she said. “Will you be staying with us tonight?”

  Kress nodded. “Aye, Lady de Lohr,” he said. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  Liora smiled prettily. “Our pleasure, my lord,” she said. “You are always welcome here. Do you have a family?”

  “I do.”

  “They are welcome, also.”

  Kress smiled politely, accepting the cup of wine that came his way, as The Marshal spoke up simply to continue to keep the subject away from what had occupied their attention since they’d entered the hall. It wouldn’t do for Lady de Lohr to catch wind of it before Peter had a chance to tell her that he was leaving, off to do what he’d been trained to do.

  “I meant to tell you that I saw Saer de Quincy in London the last time I was there,” he said to Christopher. “He mentioned about Walter losing Astley Cross to Marcus Burton.”

  Christopher nodded. “It belongs to Marcus now,” he said without remorse. “I hope Winchester doesn’t hold a grudge against those who took his cousin’s property.”

  The Marshal snorted. “On the contrary,” he said. “He seemed rather grateful. I never did ask what happened to Walter. Not that I care, but after the mess he created, the man has all but disappeared.”

  Christopher shrugged. “Marcus took care of that problem,” he said. “He told me that he sent the man to Scotland under penalty of death should he return to England.”

  “Do you think he’ll remain there?”

  “If he values his life, he will.”

  “But what happened to Agnes?”

  Christopher’s eyes took on an amused twinkle. “Marcus found her a position.”

  The Marshal eyed him curiously. “A position? What kind of position?”

  “As a serving wench at The Pox,” Christopher replied. “I heard she married a de la Londe, in fact. They are the dregs of polite society, but I have little sympathy for her. Given her history, she’ll be right at home amongst that scheming French family.”

  “You had trouble with them back in the days of Richard, did you not?” Peter asked him, taking a bite of bread.

  Christopher nodded. “A rotten barrel of apples, that bunch.”

  “Poor Agnes,” Liora said.

  Peter and Christopher looked at her in surprise. “Why would you say that?” Peter asked. “After everything she did, you still feel pity for her?”

  Liora shrugged, watching men shovel food into their mouths. “She tried so hard to keep hold on something that was never hers to begin with,” she said. “I find that kind of desperation sad.”

  Christopher, chewing, patted her on the arm. “You are a saint, Lee-Lee,” he said. “Now, where is that wonderful cake you make? Do you have some?”

  She grinned, putting a hand on his shoulder. “For you, I always have some,” she said. “I will return.”

  She dashed off, heading for the kitchens where she always kept apple cake because she loved it so much. Christopher, in his many stays at Ludlow, had come to love it, too, so much so that Liora taught Dustin how to make it. Apples chopped fine with cinnamon, eggs, flour, and honey created a fabulous cake. It was made without milk or butter, meaning it could be eaten at the table with meat in adherence to Jewish dietary laws. That was the one thing Liora had never strayed from. She still ate in accordance to Jewish dietary laws because she always had and it was a difficult habit to break. Peter never pushed her, of course, and he’d been privy to some wonderful dishes she had made for him because of it. In fact, the entire de Lohr family had been.

  As Peter watched her scurry away, his heart grew heavier and heavier. He’d only just come home and now he was going to have to leave her again. He had a myriad of conflicting feelings as he watched her but, in the end, he knew this was something he had to do. There was no question in his mind and putting off telling her wasn’t going to help.

  She had to know.

  Excusing himself from the table, he followed her trail to the kitchens.

  He found her in the kitchens that smelled heavily of yeast. The ovens were in full use as the cooks baked bread for the day and he spied her bent over an earthenware bowl. As he watched, she put something from the bowl in her mouth and he grinned.

  “Are you going to eat all of the ca
ke and then tell my father there is none left?” he teased.

  Startled by his appearance, Liora quickly relaxed, laughing because he was. “I will bring him some,” she said. “But it smells so good I wanted a taste for myself.”

  Peter bent over the bowl, smelling the cinnamon. “It does smell good,” he said. “Mayhap I will eat it all myself.”

  “I think your father would be very disappointed.”

  He shrugged. “He’ll live,” he said, his smile fading. “I wanted to speak to you before you go back into the hall, sweetheart. Can you spare me a moment?”

  Liora gazed up at him with those beautiful eyes. “I can spare you all the time that you need,” she said. “But I have something to tell you.”

  “What?”

  “You’re leaving again.”

  His eyes took on a glimmer. “I am?”

  “You are.”

  “Where am I going?”

  “I do not know yet,” she said. “But when William Marshal shows his face, it is not simply to visit. He came here for a reason.”

  It was very astute of her. She had only really come to know The Marshal through Peter and through her father-in-law, but she knew enough to know that the powerful earl didn’t simply show up randomly. Every action had a purpose.

  She was smart enough to know that.

  “He did,” Peter said quietly. “He has asked an important task of me and I must comply. I cannot tell you more than that, but I can tell you that I am not going into battle. It is something different.”

  She nodded, accepting what he was telling her without angst or upset. “How long will you be gone?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Will you return for the birth of your son?”

  He stared at her for a moment before pulling her into his arms, holding her tightly. “I hope so,” he murmured into the top of her hair. “God, I hope so. But I cannot promise that I will until this task is completed. It is very important, Lee-Lee. It is so important that I must be part of it. But I swear to you that I will return as soon as I can. My thoughts, my hopes, and my dreams will be only of you, every day, until we see each other again.”