“Great,” Thomas grunted, feeling even worse about himself. “Anything else?”
“Richard’s band of mercenaries came up against a frightful horde of Saracens and were defeated.”
“Is that so?” Thomas lifted his head, suddenly interested. “And Richard?”
Martha shrugged, trying to look disinterested, but was unable to hide her apprehension for her son’s well-being. “No word, as yet, on his fate.” She changed the subject. “Please don't get mud on the furniture, dear.”
”That is not mud, it is the battle scars of parenthood, thank you very much.”
“And how did these particular scars come to be marring my furniture?” Martha Dawning asked, with no particular interest.
“Rescuing my children out of the mire,” Thomas explained.
“Again?” Martha was still looking over the sheaves of paper before her. “Perhaps you should just relocate the nursery to the wallow and be done with it.”
“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” Thomas said, annoyed. “My wife seems unable or unwilling to keep them from playing in there.”
“You chose her for your wife,” Martha said absently.
“I am aware of that, Mother, but who else would have had me?”
She looked up at Thomas, who immediately realized he had revealed far more than he intended, blushed furiously, and looked away.
“Why would you say such a thing?” she asked simply.
“Oh, Mother,” Thomas began with emotion that he had not realized was so close to the surface. “I hate my life. I never intended it to become a long series of tradeoffs between monotony and misery. I blame my wife and station and house, but mostly I just wish I were doing something to improve it, something to increase my standing.”
“And why would you say such a thing?” Martha asked him again. “You have served your God and your country. Your obligation is finished. You married and settled down. What is so dishonorable in that that requires increasing your standing?”
“I am miserable. Surely I must do something to affect a change in that condition.”
“And increasing your wealth is the answer to your misery, is it?”
“Are you suggesting it is not?”
Martha shrugged. “I have seen many things in this world, but I am not sure I have ever seen anyone find lasting happiness in wealth.”
“Well, perhaps my mind is so occupied with that which I do not have that I am unable to focus on those things that truly need addressing in my life,” Thomas suggested only half-ironically. Martha stared at him expectantly. “You know I wouldn't be covered in mud if you would do your job as a parent.” He meant this last statement to be light but it came out as accusing.
She sat back in her chair. “I fail to see how the mud on your clothes is any reflection on me as a parent, other than the fact that I obviously failed to instill proper manners in you—bringing your muddy clothes into my library.”
“There is no one to keep them out of the mud—the children, I mean—so I have to chase them all over.” Thomas ignored her comment.
“No one? What about their mother?”
“Do you listen to anything I say? She does not do it. She allows the kids to run free. Her time is consumed by sleeping or socializing,” Thomas said in an elevated tone that was very nearly a yell.
“I am still failing to see how this is my fault,” his mother said calmly. She was very used to Thomas’s manipulations by now and did not get worked up over them very easily.
“If you would house us in the style befitting the sons of the most powerful baron in England then this would not be a problem.”
“House you? I see. So your lamentations over you station in life were not born out of a desire to improve your situation but to have your situation improved for you? So far as I am aware, you are not exactly starving.”
Thomas crimsoned, taking this as a reference to his rotund figure. “I am an heir of Dawning Court, and I should think you would be interested in my presentation around the area, particularly given how few heirs remain in good standing. One lousy house servant is all I have. One! While you sit here in this house that is practically empty save the butlers and cooks and stable boys and ladies in waiting. I have my wife and children to think of ; you have only yourself.”
“So tell me again why it is that you think you are owed something. You have life better than most people in the world.” Martha's disgust was plain, and her anger was causing her not to guard her words as she ordinarily would have done. “And how do you want me to pay for it? Dawning Court is nearly broke. Many hard years of rebellions, crop failures, and let us not forget Edward's ill-judged ‘holiday’ have left us with very little in reserve.”
“The measure of my status is not relative to every peasant and serf that ekes out his existence from the land but measured among my own kind. And against such, I may as well be counted among the serfs, for that is how I would be perceived.” He was on his feet now in his passion. “I am entitled to better!” he shouted and slammed a meaty fist on a nearby table for effect.
“Why are you entitled? The younger sons of noblemen always have to make their way in the world.”
“Perhaps, but I am a full knight. I could go anywhere and receive lands and wealth for my pledge of service, yet I am rejected by my own, who leave me floundering in indigence.”
“Pledges of fealty? You are a Dawning!” Martha exclaimed in exasperation.
“Furthermore, I am not just the younger son of a baron any longer. I am the heir to the birthright.” His passion gave voice to that which he had hitherto been afraid to say.
“Oh?” Martha asked, mildly amused. “And your brothers?”
“You have taken care of that for me, Mother,” Thomas sneered unabashedly, gaining confidence as he spoke. “You arrogantly presumed to judge John and cut him off because he married Lindsay.” Thomas held up his fingers, ticking them off as he listed each brother. “Richard has run off to strange lands, he is either dead or living a new life with the money that he absconded with, and will not return. Edward,” he dropped a third finger, “has disgraced the family and run off to live in the fleshpots of the mainland somewhere. That only leaves me. I have been true. I have married well. I have served the Church honorably. I am the rightful and remaining heir to the Dawning fortune and the vacant seat of the Barony.”
“Thomas, you must believe me when I tell you there is no fortune!” Martha insisted, trying to make Thomas see the facts. “It is gone, all gone.” Her amusement had darkened into anger at Thomas’ insinuation that she was responsible for her children's misdeeds. “But whether or not you accept that, the one thing you have overlooked in your impertinence is that none of your elder brothers are deceased. Therefore, their claims to the Dawning birthright cannot be discounted. You are correct, I do not know where Edward is and I sincerely hope the rumors about him are not true. But even if they are, Richard could return at any time and make a claim to the seat and, of course, anyone currently occupying the seat would be an impediment to such a claim. Is that a fight you want?” she asked, looking Thomas squarely in the eye. She knew she was challenging his pride, but she also knew that Thomas had always silently admired and feared Richard.
Thomas glared at her for a moment and dropped his eyes so as not to inadvertently reveal anything that he did not think his mother already knew. “And as far as John is concerned, do not speak of things you know nothing about! John made his decision and chose to shirk his responsibilities.”
“Why? Because he married a Saxon?” Thomas challenged, echoing the words that John himself had said a thousand times. “You are a Saxon, Mother! I cannot conceive of a greater hypocrite than you."
“You insolent fool!” she hissed at him. “Do you think I am so petty as to concern myself about the Norman-Saxon prejudices when all that my husband left for the support of my family is about to collapse into dust? That foolishness is for vain youth and old men trying to cling to antiquated traditions.”
She was saying more than she intended, but in her wrath she was slow to restrain herself. “If I cherished such prejudices, would I have married Braden Dawning, the epitome of proud Norman nobility? Yet his children are doing no justice to his legacy. His children are not nursing their aging mother, in fact. Each in his turn is a burden on me. John, Richard, Edward, all continue to disappoint me, and now you show up demanding concessions you think you are entitled to. Why do you think anybody owes you anything?”
Thomas could not meet her gaze. “You cannot lay all that at my feet!” His tone was one of shame mixed with anger. “You mean the way you laid it at mine only moments ago?” she demanded hotly.
“It is not my fault,” he objected weakly.
“No, your brothers’ actions are not your fault, but your own actions are certainly your responsibility.” Feeling that he was suitably humbled, his mother changed tones to one of reassurance. “You are building a good life for yourself; do not get discouraged now. Keep it up and you will come to the end of your life happy and fulfilled by all the good you have accomplished.”
Thomas stood in silence, looking at the floor. At last he decided to try a different tack. “Mother, aren't you the undisputed Baroness of Dawning Court? Can't you do as you please?” has asked seriously.
Martha looked at him, not comprehending his meaning. “Why not distribute the land now, so it is not an issue later?”
She snorted a mirthless laugh. “Because it would be an issue later. Primogeniture,” she said simply.
”I do not understand.”
”The Law of Primogeniture says that a father’s wealth in its entirety will pass to the firstborn son upon his death. Therefore, even if I were to divide the land among you, John could claim the divisions were illegal and make a claim on any land I may give you. I cannot be responsible for the civil war that would inevitably ensue.”
“John would not do that,” Thomas protested.
“Thomas, you must understand that I have control of Dawning Court because my sons have not yet contested it. But at any time, John or Richard could rise up and make a claim on the seat, and I would have a fight on my hands. Do you think either of them would be disposed to allow you to keep a present of land that would have gone to them?”
“No, I suppose not.” Thomas dropped his eyes to the floor in disappointment.
“I will make sure you get something,” she assured him. “If it’s in my power,” she added, “you will get something.”
Thomas said nothing but did not leave.
Martha sighed, feeling guilty for having reacted to her son’s childishness with anger. “Tell you what, return home and I will have one of the kitchen staff report to your house going forward to help with some of your wife's domestic duties.”
Thomas smiled up at her, his darker emotions instantly replaced by excitement. “Thank you, Mother,” he said, taking her by the shoulders and kissing her cheek.
“Yes, yes,” she said dismissively, “I spoil you too much, and it will be your downfall.”
“I have no problem with that,” Thomas replied, grinning over his shoulder as he exited the library.
Martha watched him go and knew that all that she had said was lost on him. He had gotten some of what he wanted and would forget all that led up to it. She wondered from where he had inherited his sense of entitlement. Several of her sons felt the world owed them something. She wondered where that came from. Perhaps it was from never really having had to work for anything. All of them knew how to work hard, but they had never had to work such that their livelihood depended on it. That was a regret that this life of privilege had brought her. She could not impart the wisdom that growing up as the daughter of a humble woodsman had brought her. Her sons did not know what it was like to go without, to not have enough to eat. They always knew they would be provided for, no matter what. She idly wondered if Thomas would come to terms with that sense of entitlement before it led to his undoing.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Henry, help me,” Leah screamed at him through the clash of metal and the screams of men. How had she gotten here? He knocked down his opponent and raced toward her, but another enemy appeared in front and brought him up short. This enemy he knew very well.
“Patrick,” Henry demanded. “What are you doing? Move aside!” But Patrick only stood there, his sword held at the ready, his lifeless eyes showing no emotion. Leah screamed again and Henry disarmed his young lieutenant and attempted to push past him. But Patrick wrapped his arms around Henry and clung to him. Henry was shocked by the weight of this lithe young man. He could not seem to move at all. He tried to disentangle himself from him, but they only became more tied up as he struggled. Leah screamed again, and Henry watched as a man in white picked her up and spirited her into the crowds of dying men. Henry screamed in frustration but could not get past his lieutenant to reach her. He could not find her or see how to get to her; he was held in place. He looked down at his burden and was staring directly into Patrick’s dead eyes. Patrick stared silently back at him and he did not utter a word or make a sound.
Henry sat bolt upright in bed. He rushed to the window for reassurance that what he knew to be a dream was just that, a dream. He had dosed off on his bed while awaiting the start of the feast being held in his honor, and the dreams had returned here, too. He had not been able to stop these terrible dreams since that fateful battle, and he awoke each morning feeling more exhausted than when he had retired. The dreams he was used to, but Leah was a new addition. Returning home was stirring up many old emotions in him he had thought gone forever.
He draped his tunic over his bare shoulders, sat on the bed, and braced his hands on his knees. The last thing in the world he felt up to was entertaining. He had as little inclination to socialize as anything he could think of, but he knew it was expected. His mother was not doing this to inconvenience him; she was doing it to honor him, and he was obligated to play the gracious recipient.
But how could he go into a room full of people celebrating his return home when all those that rode with him, that depended on him, were left in the earth of a distant land? How could he look into the eyes of his family? How could he look into the eyes of his friends, into Leah’s eyes, and not see the reflection of his own guilt? Surely, they must all think him a coward that had only been cautious enough to ensure that he escaped with his own skin intact. Was that what they would see? Was that what he was?
His head was in his hands now when a knock came at the door. “Sir Henry?” It was Sebastian, the head servant’s voice. “The guests are all assembled. Have you made yourself ready?”
Henry suddenly realized that he was only half dressed. “I—uhh—I will be ready momentarily, Sebastian.”
“Very good, Sir Henry.”
Henry quickly laced up his silk tunic and pulled on the soft boots. He had his sword half-way buckled on when he remembered himself. The finery of court felt strange after three years of armor, but not half so strange as not having a weapon on him. That just seemed foolhardy. “I am never going to get used to this,” he said to himself. Another knock on the door roused him, and he followed the silver-haired Sebastian to the main dining hall that was set in formal regalia for this occasion. The hall was full, and everyone stopped and turned when he was announced. A thunderous applause went up from those assembled upon his entrance, and Henry crimsoned. All his life he had been imagining this moment, his triumphal return after his glorious crusade. Yet it all seemed hollow to him now. It was as if everyone was merely pretending he was a hero for his benefit.
Martha Dawning met him at the door wearing a slightly more formal gown than she customarily wore but still of black. Her widow’s cap still had a place on her head, only now it was set atop her hair that was pulled up in a tight knot. She seemed older than Henry remembered. She hunched slightly as if the weight on her shoulders was physically felt and had stooped her. The lines in her face had deepened and the skin seemed to hang more loosely from her aging face tha
n he remembered. For the first time, Henry found himself wondering if she had been beautiful as a younger woman. She had always just been his mother and she was what she was. She put her arm through his. “Smile, dear,” she muttered through lips that did not move. “You look like you are attending a funeral.”
Henry forced a smile onto his face. The assembled guests started to come forward to greet him. “I’m very proud of you,” his mother said quietly to him before they were surrounded and Henry pulled from her in a sea of well-wishers.
Roland was the first welcome face that Henry picked out among the many assembled. “Roland!” Henry called, and Roland came forward. “How are you, Henry?” he grinned somewhat foolishly. He was very skinny and tall and usually seemed awkward in his own skin. Henry embraced him, which was uncomfortable for both of them as neither cared for public displays of affection.
Thomas was the next significant face to appear in the crowd. “Welcome home, little brother,” Thomas said with a massive bear hug that squeezed the breath from his much thinner younger brother. All the bones in his back cracked in succession under the powerful grip. “There,” Thomas said, grinning, as he set him down. “I just put ya right.”
“I think that was the sound of my ribs cracking,” Henry said with forced good humor.
“It might have been.” Thomas laid a meaty hand on Henry’s arm. “You didn’t fatten up a bit over there.”
“I had one or two other items to occupy my time,” Henry told him.
“More important than food?” Thomas said in his customary loud voice. He was in entertainer mode in a room full of people, so he was always careful that everyone could hear what he had to say. He slapped his belly. “There is always time for food!” he laughed loudly at himself, and Henry could not help laughing at him also. His irreverent attitude was infectious.
Then she was there, breaking through the crowd. Henry could not keep from gawking. He remembered Leah being attractive, but if she was beautiful before, she was stunning now. Time had only served to turn the features of a pretty young girl into those of a beautiful woman. She wore a pink dress that had a series of ties running from the waist to just beneath her perfectly formed chest. Her brown hair was pulled back on the sides, cascading down past her shoulders with a strand of hair hanging carelessly in her hazel eyes as it always seemed to. Henry drank in her beauty, his resolutions of the last three years concerning Leah temporarily forgotten. All her features, even the ever so faint spray of freckles across her nose, seemed more vivid. Henry paused to compose himself. She was breathtaking. Leah stood still somewhat demurely, not wanting to intrude on his reunion with his family, and that made her seem even more irresistible. The intervening years since their last meeting had taken the edge off of the painful memory of their parting, but seeing her now only re-ignited some faint hope that perhaps she had reconsidered his offer. Perhaps the sting he had been carrying with him for all this time was for naught.
The Knights Dawning (The Crusades Series) Page 7