The corners of William’s mouth tilted up, but he did his best to suppress them. “Actually, my brother, I have changed least of all. You might say I died the day I left and have not changed a bit since then.”
“You know, I have had communications with Edward over the years,” Henry blurted out suddenly, looking down at the stone beneath his feet and deliberately not responding to William’s last comment.
“Whipping Boy,” William corrected him.
Henry forced himself not to be baited by his brother. “I looked up to him more than any of my brothers. When he did what he did, it broke my heart. I had to know why, so I began corresponding with him.” He looked up again at William for a reaction to this revelation, but William was only on his back again staring up at the sky, so he plunged on. “He said that he had never been prepared to go to battle and that the family had pushed him into it. You remember he was always much more fond of books and romancing the girls of the court? Even his sword skills were with the rapier, a weapon far more suited to gentlemen dueling than real combat. Anyway, he said everything just got out of hand until he knew it was too late, and he knew he couldn't go back home and face everyone in disgrace. He would be—was branded a coward for what he did, so he used what funds had been sent with him to start a new life.”
“Well, if he had only told us so,” William said with mock sympathy. “We would have gladly rewarded his cowardice with the money meant to support our knights, God's knights. He did not have to take it and reserve himself a special seat in Hell for his treason.”
Henry diverted his gaze from William. “He was excommunicated for what he did. But that is what made it impossible for him to ever return and put things right. Edward's not a bad person, he just did some dumb things.”
“What makes a person bad if not his actions?” William laughed, still gazing up at the sky and swinging his legs carelessly over the edge of the parapet. “Make no mistake about it; Edward is a bad person.”
“How can you, of all people, say such a thing?” Henry demanded indignantly.
William raised his head to observe Henry’s agitation. “And you just assume that I do not consider myself of dubious character? Oh, I have no illusions about my own standing in the hereafter. And by the way, The Whipping Boy did not just defy the family or the Church; he rebelled against everyone! His decisions were tantamount to betrayal of his church and his God. He stole from us, and he brought shame on the family.”
“Betrayal?” Henry objected.
“He cut off the supplies to our own soldiers!” William interrupted his protest. “That is something the enemy does,” William reminded him, as if Henry were a slow child.
“He was pushed into something he wasn't ready for,” Henry said, starting to get very agitated himself. “His own mother was not even sensitive to his plight. She of all people should have understood that he was not like his brothers. She never asked what he wanted or if he was ready for that. She just expected he would do exactly as John and Richard had done.”
“You’re actually ascribing the blame for his actions to our mother?” William seemed genuinely amused. “She was alone, doing the best she could, with sons who were only interested in exploiting her for personal gain. It was a miracle that she even managed to fund his crusade, let alone outfit him as well as she did. And then she had to contrive to replace the money the Church was counting on that he had deprived them of. And apparently you do not recall that we did not have it. Whatever happened to personal responsibility? Wouldn't the time for Edward to step up have been before she spent all the remaining silver believing she could trust in her son? Before the family sacrificed so much?”
“Who are you to judge him?” The anger was showing clearly in Henry's voice now. “He was doing the best he could with a family who did not understand him and Church leaders he believes are nothing but a bunch of greedy old men who use guilt to keep everyone in line. Therefore, in his mind he was not betraying the Lord but doing the best he could despite knowing the family would never understand.”
“Ah yes, I am sure the Whipping Boy’s actions were predicated on the corruption of the Church and not the lusts of his own heart. It is exceedingly fortuitous for him that everyone is responsible for the Whipping Boy’s actions except the Whipping Boy.”
“Stop calling him that!”
“But Henry, have you forgotten that you were the one who assigned him his flattering nomenclature?”
“I'm not saying he doesn't have responsibility for this!” Henry's voice was still raised. “I'm just saying there are mitigating circumstances that no one ever considers, and I think he came off looking far worse in this than he had to.”
“That is probably true,” William conceded sarcastically. “I suppose we overlooked it amid all his attempts to return the money, attain forgiveness, and make amends for what he had done. Silly us.” His tone changed abruptly. “Edward knew exactly what he was doing when he rode out of here.”
“See,” Henry was stabbing a finger at William, “that's the kind of attitude that makes it impossible for him to ever set things right, and everyone around here has it. It is no surprise he fled!” Henry turned away angrily and looked out over the yellow fields of Dawning Court, fuming.
“Are you saying Edward has intimated some desire to make amends?” William's voice was softer now, as he sat up on the stone. Henry did not respond. “Of course he hasn't,” William answered for him. “So why are you trying so diligently to offer a defense for him that he has not even bothered to offer for himself?”
Henry did not respond for a long time. He just stood staring into the distance, the autumn breeze washing over him. “I think I understand him,” he breathed at last.
“There is a big difference between understanding him and agreeing with him.”
“I didn't say I agreed with him,” Henry spat angrily and did not speak more.
Henry had more contact with Edward than he had let on, and he no longer shared in the repugnance for Edward's actions that everyone else seemed to. He had hoped the outcast William of all people would see his side, but he either did not care to see another side or was simply having too much fun antagonizing Henry to have a serious discussion on the subject. William was only playing him, Henry knew that. He was saying whatever he had to to get a rise out of his older brother. And just as when they were kids, Henry could not help reacting to it, which only set William off that much more. He stood in silence for a long time. Finally he turned to find William walking one foot in front of the other on the very edge of the parapet, arms extended for balance.
Henry shook his head. “Have you completely taken leave of your senses?”
William shook his head, not taking his eyes off what he was doing. “No, but for a moment I thought you might have lost your wits and we might be here for a while, so I thought I’d better entertain myself.” Henry knew it was pointless to argue with him, so he began walking for the far staircase to descend the wall.
“How did you meet Mary?” William asked without preamble, jumping down beside him.
“Just like she said,” Henry said tersely.
“Well that's exciting. I am sorry to see you fall, though." William tried to return to normal conversation. “I suppose I will be the only one left.”
“Well you won't be standing much longer, either,” Henry said without thinking.
“Me?” William asked surprised. “What did I do?”
Henry forced his voice to sound normal and even careless, but he could not hide the catch in it when he said, “Leah? Where is that going?”
It startled William to hear that spoken aloud. “How did we go from being friends to getting married, just like that? Besides, I have barely had a chance to speak to Leah since getting home. Do you know something I don't?”
“Oh, come on,” Henry pushed, “you know everyone has been thinking this way since you were fourteen! Are you trying to tell me you have never thought about it?”
“And what, pra
y tell, makes you believe a maid as eminently good and respectable would even consider the suit of an outcast?” William protested.
“Hmmm, you’re right,” Henry folded his arms and tapped his chin in mock concentration. “How would one tell such a thing? A beautiful, charming girl that could have had just about any man in the kingdom is still not married when all of her peers are already having children. I would say she is waiting for something, wouldn't you?” Henry gave William a sidelong glance and was surprised to see his brow furrowed and a scowl on his face. He pretended not to notice. “What do you suppose that something could be?”
“I don't know,” William grumped. “I have only just returned. Must I be pressed with this before I have even had a chance to collect myself? Wait a moment. Leah is not married?”
“What do you think we have been talking about?”
“I don’t know, weren’t you listening either?”
“You really didn’t know?” Henry asked seriously.
“I—I just assumed…” he stuttered.
Henry sighed. “No, William, Leah is not married, and I can assure you it is not for a lack of suitors.”
“I… didn’t know,” William said in an unusually thick voice.
“Well, I wouldn't wait too long to move if I were you,” Henry warned. “A woman like that, I might snatch her up myself.” It was painful and even slightly embarrassing for Henry to speak of Leah in this way to the very man that prevented him from having her. It hurt him deeply that all his accomplishments and accolades were not enough to outshine the memory of his wayward brother. They ought to have been. She should have seen! But alas, she did not, and he was doing the only logical thing: he was moving on.
“My thanks for that,” William replied sarcastically. “I really needed that.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
William entered the library through the dark oak double doors to find his mother in front of a map laid out on a large table. “Planning a trip?” he asked lightly. He came over to see the map of mainland Europe. William turned to Sebastian, who had dutifully followed him into the library. “Go find Henry immediately and get him over here. It is urgent.”
“Yes, sir, and where might I find Sir Henry?” He asked.
“I don’t kno—He mentioned meeting up with Mary this afternoon; they are probably on the grounds, perhaps out by the gate.”
“Very good, sir,” and Sebastian withdrew.
“He is wasting time with Mary when we have so much to do?” Martha asked, surprised.
“Now now, Mother,” William chided her lightly with his eyes on the map. “Young love must not be suppressed. It is such a delicate thing.”
“Is it?” she asked, looking at him meaningfully. William pretended not to catch the meaning.
“I have no reason to think otherwise. All the bards say so, and if I cannot trust the tale of a beggar with a lute then who can I trust?”
Martha watched her youngest son measuring distances and considering routes for a time before speaking again. “You know, I am so proud of you,” she said with emotion in her voice. “I know why you did what you did. I know that you have spent the last four years serving God, and now you are here to help a fallen brother.” William looked up, surprised at the comment. “I worried so much about you when you were younger. You had so much anger in you, I prayed continually that you would not go down some dark road and be lost to us forever.”
William was uncomfortable with her openness and at again being reminded of his many mistakes. He tried to subtly but quickly put an end to this discussion. “Well, thank you for not giving up on me. It looks like your prayers worked, because I am okay.” He then added, “What is more powerful than the prayer of a mother?”
“Apparently the vices of my other sons are more powerful than that,” she said, the disgust returning to her voice. “I am so grateful I have you. At least one of my sons is striving toward becoming a true man.”
“Well, I fear you do me too much credit, Mother. Besides, what of Henry? He fulfilled an honorable campaign. It looks as though he is about to be married to a good… political match,” he added the word ‘political’ to qualify the statement so full of misgivings for him. “And he is on his way here to help us finalize a course of action.”
“That’s true,” she agreed hesitantly.
“However?”
“I have worried about Henry for a long time. He seems to be staying on the very edge of the straight and narrow path of righteousness, but only barely. He does what is right, but I wonder if he is doing it for the wrong reasons. It is as if he is so filled with doubts and misgivings every step of the way that in an instant, he could be another Edward.”
William shrugged. He could not help but think of the undue amount of sympathy for Edward that Henry had expressed during their earlier conversation. It would seem there was more to his feelings after all. “You may be right, but what’s to be done? For the moment, he is holding true. Let us worry about those who are falling all around us rather than borrow worry from some future events that may never come to pass.”
“I know you’re right, but it is a Mother’s job to worry. And I am worried about him.”
They stopped as the door opened and in glided Henry. He was dressed in a fine silk doublet with the short cloak that had been made for his trip to London and his soft, upturned shoes instead of his utilitarian boots. “What are you wearing?” William grinned wickedly.
“I was with Mary,” Henry said primly, tossing his hat on a table. “I prefer not to look like I just wandered in off the front lines when I see her.”
“You didn’t mind looking like a worker this morning,” William commented dryly.
“Don’t be silly,” Henry said, disgusted. “I would not wear finely tailored clothes to make preparations to go to battle.”
“No,” William agreed. “You wouldn’t want to get dirt on them and hide how ugly they are.”
“I should be remiss indeed if I took fashion tips from someone who has been living in the squalor of a military camp for years.”
Just then, Thomas walked in. “What’s with the jester outfit?” he asked casually.
Henry colored. “I will have you know, this is what all the nobles in London are wearing now.”
“Hmm, well let’s hope it stays in London. All right, do we still think this is a good idea?” he queried.
“As good an idea as it ever was,” William replied.
“You do not sound too optimistic, little brother. Should it concern me that the author of this plan does not even have confidence in it?”
William held up his hands defensively. “I only said it was a better plan than the one that was under consideration—less risk. I never said it was a good plan.”
“Well, it is a little late to be hearing this,” Thomas said, surprisingly upset by William’s comment.
“Forgive me, I should have notified you last month that in a few weeks we are going to be made aware of a situation about which we would need to make a rapid series of determinations with insufficient information, and that I will not be confident in the recommendations I make under those circumstances.”
“Enough,” Henry interrupted. “Thomas, you are correct. It is not a good plan. It is too elaborate and there is too much that can go wrong. Nevertheless, William is also correct that it minimizes the risk to Dawning Court and gives us a counterattack in the event of a trap, which this almost certainly is. Now let us get down to it. William how many men were you able to recruit?”
“So that is it?” Thomas was incredulous. “Everyone acknowledges this is a plan fraught with problems and yet we are simply going to go through with it because we won’t lose that many men? What about us? We are Dawning Court! The three of us are the last worthy Dawning males, and we are going to sacrifice our lives for a very dangerous, very unworthy brother?”
“I thought we had been through all this,” Henry sighed. “Thomas, we simply do not have time to rehash it. Besides, you we
re certain enough last night about this.”
“I only said we should go after him; I never agreed to this plan.”
“Follow your conscience, Thomas,” Martha told him. “If you are willing to be here, then we need you to be here; if you are not, there is no time to convince you.”
“We have a few hours of daylight left,” Henry added, now over by the table with the map laid out on it. “We will likely be up most of the night preparing and have no more time to discuss this.”
Thomas dropped into his seat. “I thought we might at least determine we are making a wise decision before we worked out the logistics of it.”
“We are doing the best we can, Thomas,” Martha assured him. “That is all we can do.” Thomas did not respond.
“I received word from David that he had commitments from ten knights including himself,” William interjected.
“Very well. I have attained commitments from almost thirty others. Thomas, if you were able to get ten, then we should have the fifty we need… Thomas?”
Thomas was still staring thoughtfully into space. “Thomas?” Martha repeated.
“Hmm? Oh, yes I did find ten knights willing to do it, although it was not easy. There is much concern about leaving so late in the season.”
“Excellent,” Henry said, showing some excitement for the first time. “With the three of us, then we have the fifty we were hoping for. Now let us consider the route we might take.” He turned to the map laid out before them with Richard’s blood red crest acting as one of the paperweights. “Though it will cost us some time, I think we are better off staying on land as far as it were possible—”
“Time is the one thing we do not have,” Thomas interrupted. “We are leaving far too late in the year. We are going to get caught in the winter snows.”
“I don't think so,” Henry said, still looking at the map. “We will need to set a blistering pace just to reach the designated meeting spot. If we retrieve Richard quickly and return at the same pace, we should just beat the snows, if not some chilly nights.”
The Knights Dawning (The Crusades Series) Page 28