Fathers and Sons: A Collection of Medieval Romances

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Father Matthias broke away from his anxious companions and made his way towards the lady. The physic, a younger man with a bald head, sat on the ground several feet away in his attempt to communicate with her. Father Matthias moved past the physic but didn’t get too close; he’d seen what happened if the lady felt threatened. He moved to the stone wall, so cold and moist, and leaned against it as he focused on her terrified and huddled form.

  “My lady?” he said gently. “I am Father Matthias. My lady, I realize you are frightened but I do not know why. Will you please tell me what has happened?”

  Adalind was in a haze of terror and grief. She heard the man speak but started to press her hands over her ears again until she heard him introduce himself as a priest. Then, her head came up from the protective embrace of her arms and her big green eyes were abnormally bright within her pale face. She wiped unsteadily at the mucus and tears smeared over her face.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Help me.”

  “What help do you need, my lady?”

  Adalind couldn’t even bring herself to look at Brighton but she knew he was standing nearby. She could feel it.

  “The knight,” she murmured. “He has killed my husband and has abducted me. Please… give me sanctuary. I beg of you.”

  Father Matthias frowned as he dared to move closer to the lady. He crouched down beside her, putting himself more on her level as he spoke calmly and quietly.

  “Who are you?”

  Adalind swallowed. “The Lady Adalind de Lohr de Aston,” she said. “My grandfather is the Earl of Canterbury. Please give me sanctuary and send word to my grandfather and tell him I am here. He must know.”

  The priest was rather shocked to hear the woman’s name. He looked up at Brighton, still standing like a great stone sentinel several feet away.

  “Is this true?” he asked. “She is Canterbury?”

  “She is.”

  “Did you kill her husband and abduct her?”

  Brighton sighed heavily. “I did not kill her husband,” he said, trying not to sound as if he were defending himself. “He was her betrothed. I challenged him and I won. She is rightfully mine and I will marry her today.”

  Adalind began sobbing pitifully at the mention of Maddoc. “You murdered Maddoc, you contemptible bastard,” she cried. “I will kill myself before I will marry you, do you hear me? I hate you and I hope you die a horrible, painful death and then I hope you spend eternity in Damnation’s fiery pits. I hope you burn!”

  She was off crying again and the priest hastened to reassure her. “My lady, please,” he said, daring to put a hand on her head to soothe her. “Do not upset yourself so. I will help you, I swear it.”

  Brighton unsheathed a long, wicked-looking dirk that had been in the folds of his armor. “You will marry us now.”

  Father Matthias looked up from Adalind’s lowered head, unimpressed by the weapon as it flickered in the weak light. “Are you to kill me, too, if I do not? There will be no hope for your soul then.”

  “Marry us now.”

  “No.”

  “Do it or I will kill all of you and burn this place over your heads.”

  Father Matthias didn’t doubt him for a moment. The knight had an edgy look about him. Moreover, Matthias was unarmed and in no position to enter into a physical altercation with the knight. At least not at the moment. He would have to be more clever than that to gain control over the situation.

  “Perhaps some food and rest will make you both feel better,” he said. “I have no desire to lose my church or die in the process, so let us make the lady a priority between us. The physic will tend her wound while you and I discuss your immortal soul and the fact that you are so close to losing it.”

  Adalind looked at the priest fearfully. “But… please… I must…”

  Father Matthias patted her hand, cutting her off as he stood up. “Allow the physic to tend your wound, my lady,” he said evenly. “I will speak with your suitor until you are satisfactorily rested and fed. Do not worry.”

  Adalind didn’t want anyone touching her. In fact, she started to panic. Bolting to her feet, she ran away, darting around the sanctuary as the physic and Father Matthias attempted to calm her. Brighton kept his eyes on her as he backed up to be near the door so she couldn’t slip past him. When Adalind dodged between a pair of pillars and realized her exit was blocked, she went even further into madness.

  Off to her left were dozens of candles against a small statue of the Virgin Mary. Some were lit, some were not. She raced at the candles and began throwing them at Brighton, making contact with him more than she missed. Brighton found himself fending off a barrage of heavy tallow candles, at times being sprayed with hot wax across his mail. As Father Matthias pleaded for calm, Adalind hurled insults and declarations of her hatred for Brighton along with the candles. Her screaming lifted to the rafters.

  When her supply of candles ran out, Adalind looked around for other things to throw, but the sanctuary with its cold dirt floor and beamed ceiling was scantily furnished. It was then that she noted that the sanctuary was lined with thin lancet windows and she realized that a couple of them were low enough to the ground that she could possibly escape through them.

  Gathering her skirts, she raced across the sanctuary and threw herself at one of the windows, realizing too late that it was a tighter fit than she thought. Struggling through the window gave Brighton time to come up behind her and pull her, kicking and screaming, out of the window.

  Adalind fought him for everything she was worth. Feet and fists were flying, smacking him as her body twisted violently, but Brighton held fast. She was surprisingly strong for a woman and twice he lost his grip as she twisted, but he managed to regain her again. At one point, she hit him in the nose and blood trickled, but he remained relatively calm. He never tried to hit her back or otherwise hurt her. He only attempted to restrain her. But when she started biting, he snaked his hand into her blond hair and held her head still so she couldn’t snap at him. Then, he sought out the priest.

  “You will marry us now,” he commanded.

  Father Matthias, standing a few feet away, shook his head. “I will not.”

  Brighton’s ire began to rise. “Do it or you all die.”

  “You cannot kill us and hold her at the same time.”

  He had a point, although Brighton wouldn’t admit it. Not now; he’d come this far and his entire mission was beginning to smack of pride more than passion. He could not, and would not, surrender. Being a clever man who achieved his means through any way possible, he was not at an end. He had a plan. Using the butt-end of the dirk he was carrying, he balled his fist around it and hit Adalind in the head fairly hard. She yelped and went limp but was not fully unconscious, so he hit her again and knocked her out completely. Lowering her carefully to the ground, he turned on the priests.

  Father Matthias, startled but not surprised at what the knight had done, took off at a dead run. There were weapons in his chamber if he could only get to them. Being a former knight, he felt naked without some manner of weapons and kept them safely hidden. Brighton bolted after him and they raced through the sanctuary and into an alcove that had a small door used only by the priests. The door led to a courtyard outside and Father Matthias ran to another section of the complex, a low-ceilinged structure that housed the priests. But the door latch jammed as he tried to open it, allowing Brighton to catch up with him.

  When Brighton grabbed him, Father Matthias balled a fist and slugged Brighton in the face. The knight stumbled back but still managed to grab the rather muscular priest, and the two of them went blow for blow across the cloisters. It was a dirty fight, and brutal, but Father Matthias held his own for several minutes before finally succumbing to Brighton’s stronger fists. The priest hadn’t been in a fight in years and was, therefore, not particularly prepared for this one. One last hard blow from Brighton eventually knocked him out completely.

  With Father Matthias out of the wa
y, Brighton staggered back into the sanctuary where Adalind was just starting to come around. Gathering her into his arms as she tried to slap him, he ordered one of the subordinate priests to perform the marriage mass but the brother wasn’t fully ordained yet and could not complete the task. Frustrated, Brighton could see that his visit to St. Barnabas was at an end and carried Adalind out into the late afternoon, mounted his charger, and continued on his quest to find a priest who would marry them.

  After his experience at St. Barnabas, he wasn’t so sure he was going to find the task particularly simple. In fact, he was starting to doubt all of it.

  Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Two weeks later

  David could hear the sentries shouting.

  Sitting in his solar on a lazy afternoon, he could hear the excitement and he rose from his chair before the fire, shoving the dog aside as he made his way to the keep entry. He took the stairs slowly, as he was moving slow in general these days, listening to the shouts going on around him. By the time he hit the bottom of the stairs, he could see the guards scrambling at the gatehouse and the old iron portcullis straining against its chains as it was slowly lifted. Gerid, who had been at the gatehouse with the commotion going on, went to meet him.

  “My lord,” he greeted. “Your brother has been sighted.”

  David sighed with a huge amount of relief. “How far out is he?”

  “Not far,” Gerid replied as he turned to the gatehouse and pointed. “Perhaps a half-mile or so. It looks as if he is bringing half of the Welsh Marches with him.”

  David nodded as Gerid excused himself and ran back towards the gatehouse. David followed, thinking of the past two weeks and the anguish that had affected his family. He was too close to the situation, far too shaken to be of any real use, so he did what he’d done all his life when he was in trouble; he sent for his brother. He thought perhaps Christopher could help, at least with the mental health of his family if not the physical health. Seeing Uncle Christopher would do them all a world of good because the past fortnight had been very bad, indeed.

  So he made his way to the heavy, squat gatehouse just as his brother’s army appeared on a small rise in the road leading towards the castle. He stood there and watched the army come closer, grow bigger, until he could make out the knights and the infantry, and standard bearers hanging the blue and gold banners of the Earl of Hereford and Worcester. It was a truly awesome sight of one of the finest fighting forces in England. As the army began to pass beneath the portcullis, David could only feel relief. In fact, he was nearly weak with it.

  His relief grew when he spied his brother astride a big golden charger, heading in his direction. The horse was a young one, and hard to handle, but his brother was making a good show of it. For an elderly man, he was giving it all he had. David bit off a grin as the man came within range.

  “What are you doing with a horse like that?” he demanded. “This animal will put you in your grave if you are not careful. What does your wife say about it?”

  Christopher de Lohr, Earl of Hereford and Worcester, Baron Malvern and Leominster, First Guardian of the Welsh Marches, and Keeper of the Borders, flipped up his visor and gave his brother a scowl. But he couldn’t hold out long so he ended up laughing.

  “Dustin tells me that I am old and foolish,” he told him. “But it was a gift. My son, Douglas, gave me this animal for my birthday a few months ago and I will be damned if I will let anyone else ride the beast. Already, my grandsons are begging to have the animal but I will not surrender him. At least, not yet.”

  David smiled at his brother, reaching out to grab the enormous gloved hand that was extended to him. It was a reassuring moment, one of comfort and faith, of a human touch that David had sorely missed. He and his brother were closer than most, having fought together and suffered innumerable tragedies and triumphs. Christopher was the steady rock and David was the fire. When they were apart, he missed his brother deeply.

  “You should let them have it,” he said, shaking the hand gratefully. “You are too old to be riding him. In fact, I do not believe I have seen you dressed for battle in years. You usually ride to the rear in a less combative role.”

  Christopher let go of his brother’s hand and laboriously climbed off the charger. He was a very big man, at least a head taller than David, and older by three years. As he moved near the head of the horse, the animal turned on him and tried to bite him. He slugged the beast in the neck and handed him off to one of the weary foot soldiers as the army passed him by.

  “Damnable horse,” he muttered. “He has been trying to bite me nearly the entire journey. I almost lost a hand.”

  David shook his head. “Not a particularly illustrious way to receive an injury for a man of your stature.”

  Christopher conceded the point. “Definitely not,” he said, getting a good look at his younger brother. Usually handsome, spry and healthy for a man of sixty-four years, he seemed to have aged terribly. “God, you look old. What in the hell is going on around here?”

  David’s smile faded. “Did you read my missive?”

  “All of it. That is why I am here. But I want to hear exactly what is happening, not an ambiguously worded missive.”

  David gazed into the face, so very familiar, so very wise, and finally shrugged his shoulders.

  “I do not even know where to begin,” he said as they both turned for the keep, their pace slow. “It all started when Adalind returned from Winchester Castle a few weeks ago. Suitors followed her, fighting over her, making a nuisance of themselves. But you cannot blame them – Adalind has grown into the most beautiful woman you have ever seen.”

  Christopher was listening intently. “I do not doubt it,” he said. “But what is this about Maddoc? How is he involved?”

  David visibly sobered. “I betrothed him to Adalind,” he said. “Do you remember how she used to follow him around when she was a young girl? She was like a puppy, following him everywhere.”

  “I seem to remember something about that.”

  “Her persistence must have paid off. When she returned from Winchester, it took Maddoc three days to declare his interest in her. She was thrilled, of course, and when Maddoc was not beating off suitors, he and Addie spent a great deal of time together and eventually fell in love.”

  Christopher lifted his eyebrows. “I am happy for them, of course. But that does not explain the contents of your missive or why I am here.”

  David’s jaw began to tick. “A suitor, a knight by the name of de Royans who serves Norfolk, challenged Maddoc for Addie’s hand,” he said, feeling miserable even as he said it, as if he were living it all over again. “It was a brutal battle, like nothing you have ever witnessed before, and you and I have certainly seen our fair share of fights. It all happened so fast… Adalind tried to intervene and Maddoc was gored when he tried to protect her. At least, that’s what I think happened. As I said, it happened so fast that before I knew it, Maddoc had a broadsword through his chest and de Royans abducted Adalind.”

  Christopher’s bearded features were grim. “Is Maddoc dead?”

  David shook his head. “Nay,” he replied, “although God knows, he should be. The wound was bad. The physic said it punctured a lung and sliced other vital organs, but the wound did not kill him. However, he has been gravely ill from infection the past several days. He has a raging fever that is weakening him. The physic seems to think that if he continues along this path, he will not survive much longer.”

  They came to a halt in the middle of the bailey as the rest of Christopher’s army lumbered through the gatehouse. Christopher pulled off his helm and peeled back his hauberk, revealing a full head of hair that once blond, had now turned mostly gray. With his neatly trimmed beard that he had kept since he had been a young man, he presented a strong and stately appearance. But at the moment, he looked despondent and worn. The news was sad, indeed.

  “Did you send for
Rhys?” he asked quietly.

  David nodded. “The same day I sent for you,” he said. “He should be here at any time. If Maddoc passes, I want his father to be with him.”

  Christopher thought of Maddoc du Bois, the young and strong and extremely skilled warrior he had knighted himself when Maddoc had only been seventeen years of age. His father, Rhys, had served Christopher and when Maddoc grew into manhood, Christopher had seen his father’s strength and brilliance in the serious young knight. He was wise beyond his years and vastly trustworthy. Every good quality a knight should have, Maddoc possessed. To see such genius come to such a tragic end was sickening.

  “God,” he finally hissed. “I simply cannot believe any of this. Rhys will be beside himself with grief.”

  David nodded. “I know,” he said quietly. “You should also know that I have sent for Forbes.”

  Christopher looked at him, surprised. “Gart?” he repeated. “Why?”

  David sighed heavily. “Because I need help in recovering Adalind,” he said. “Rhys will be useless, as will Maddoc if the man survives, and I am not entirely sure I can be rational about regaining my granddaughter. All I want to do is kill de Royans and punish Norfolk for having the audacity to command such a man. If I am out of control, it will be up to you to keep me sane, and if you are occupied with my madness, the rescue of Adalind will fall to someone who is not so emotionally attached to the situation. That is why I need Gart. I need his wisdom and sense of control. There is no one finer.”

  Gart Forbes, the man Adalind had seen in Winchester those weeks ago, was a former vassal of the de Lohr war machine, a knight that the foot soldiers used to call “Sach”. It was a loose Gaelic term for madness, which adequately described Gart when the man was in the heat of battle. He had been David’s right hand those years ago, just as Rhys had been Christopher’s. Both of these exceptional and powerful knights had eventually left the House of de Lohr, establishing their own houses and their own individual reputations for greatness.