The Knights Dawning (The Crusades Series)

by James Batchelor

  “And if the snows come early this year?”

  “What do you want me to say, Thomas?” Henry asked. “Do you want a promise that all will go according to plan? Because I cannot give you that.”

  “This idea is looking worse and worse all the time,” Thomas grumbled, folding his arms and sitting back in his chair.

  Henry ignored him. “Now, let's consider the specific route we will take...”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Thomas returned home in the early evening with more reservations than ever about the journey they were to embark on the very next day. He retrieved his mace from where it lay forgotten in the training yard. He was half surprised his children had not found it and suspended it from the tallest branches of a tree somewhere as part of a game, as they did with everything else of his. He swung it and was unpleasantly surprised to feel how sore he had become just from the previous evening’s exertion. His hands were bruised and his back, arms, and chest were aching. He opened up another series of strikes on the training pole and found himself winded even more quickly than the previous night.

  “I’m going to die,” he declared aloud. How had he let himself slip so far? “I need a drink.” He again dropped the mace, and instead of going inside to spend the remainder of the evening with his family as he had anticipated, he climbed back in the saddle and made his way to the tavern he had come to know so well in recent times.

  He was hoping to find John there. John would be someone he could commiserate with. He was not disappointed. “What are you doing here?” he said to his half-inebriated brother.

  “I jussht shtopped in for a pint,” he said with a slur in his speech. “Have a drrink. H- He ish b-buying.” He indicated the tall Saracen merchant that had financed so many of their drinking binges before. He always seemed happy to do it, claiming that it was his privilege to attempt to win the favor of the family of benefactors. For the first time, there seemed something sinister about this merchant’s motives to Thomas. Perhaps it was all this talk about the Saracen capturing and ransoming of his brother, but he did not wholly trust this merchant.

  “Where have you been?” Thomas asked urgently, sitting across the table from John. “We have been looking everywhere for you.”

  “Who hash?” John tried to focus his blurry eyes on Thomas.

  “There is much afoot that we would have had your council on,” Thomas said cryptically as there were many people about.

  “Whatever it wash, mine wash more import-ant,” John grinned and leaned forward unsteadily in his chair. “I’ve had her! The most beaut- beautiful woman in the wor-ld.”

  Thomas sighed as he realized his brother’s company was going to be of little value to him tonight. He contemplated the drink of brown liquid that was placed in front of him. He really did want it. He wanted it to calm his nerves and comfort him that all would be well, when he was not at all sure that it would be. Thomas watched John guzzle down another mug and grin at him. He was carefree, and that is what Thomas needed at the moment. He drank down his own cup. The warming effects were slow to come, however, so despite his resolve to only have a drink or two, he had another, and another, and before long, his fears did dissipate. He spent the remainder of the night with his closest brother singing drinking songs and not bothered at all about the morning to come.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  David rode over to the old cottage road that his widowed mother occupied since his father's death and the loss of the family estate. Her little place was set back deep on his own land well away from the road. He found that he did not frequently visit his mother these days as her life was a reminder of all that had gone wrong in his own. There was a substantial gap between the life he had envisioned for himself and the life he was actually leading. Salena took Rachel and checked in on her each day, and he contented himself with that. It was sobering for him, but before each campaign he forced himself to visit her on the chance that he might not return.

  “How are you, Mother?” Bronia Abelin started almost imperceptibly at being suddenly interrupted. She was sitting by the fire, staring at a large book in her lap.

  She glared up at her son with a hand over her racing heart. “Have you no manners whatsoever?”

  David kissed her as he entered, “I am afraid I never did; is it only now that you are noticing that? Forgive me for startling you.”

  “I did not hear you come in,” she admitted.

  “I shouldn't wonder, you seem to be so deeply engrossed in that book it is a surprise I have even now been noticed. Good book?”

  “Hmm? Oh, I don't know,” she said, holding it up so he could see the title.

  “Historia Regum Britanniae, by Geoffrey Monmouth,” he read aloud. “Well that should keep you occupied for a while. It is a pity that Bishop Monmouth's flair for the fantastic was not matched by his attention to accuracy; that could have been a truly valuable work.”

  “I have been on the first page for two hours,” Bronia admitted.

  “I admire your diligence, but you would best leave off conversation with me if you maintain hope of finishing it before it decays,” he smiled.

  She grimaced. “I have had a lot on my mind of late, David. Very nice of you to pay your respects,” she added as an afterthought with only thinly veiled reproof in her voice.

  “Yes, well, I have been busy,” he said, sitting down on the edge of a chair as if he might flee at any moment. David never knew what mood he might find her in, and he was not yet certain if he would find it prudent to beat a hasty retreat. “Now tell me, what has occupied you so completely that even the fanciful tales of Geoffrey Monmouth cannot capture your attention?”

  She closed the book on her lap and looked at her son. “In earnest, David, it is you that has been occupying my thoughts of late.”

  “Is that so?” He said without enthusiasm. He knew whenever she was having thoughts of him, it likely meant an ugly reproach was to follow.

  “The shade of Lyn has been to visit me,” she announced.

  “That's strange, Mother, he never visits me.” David replied flippantly.

  “Don't be impertinent,” she hissed. “He sits with me even now. He was a good boy. The boy that was going to restore this family to prominence.”

  “I am aware of that,” David sighed, tired of the same old litany of his long lost older brother. He had barely known him as Lyn had been some ten years his senior and had died as a young man early in his career. Their father had put all his time and attention into Lyn’s education and training and always overlooked David himself. After Lyn's death, his father filled the void left behind with outside interests such as drinking and gambling. It did not seem to occur to him that he had another son that may also benefit from his attention.

  “I cannot seem to make sense of fate’s capricious hand. Of the group Lyn was with, Richard and John Dawning and some of their friends, he had a better heart and more to lose than any of them. If any of the rest of them had been struck down, it would have been less of a loss for mankind than losing Lyn. The others did not have wives or children. There would have been fewer people hurt as a result of their loss than his.” Lyn had taken a wife very young, and she had been pregnant when he died. “Lyn was a good boy.”

  David flushed with anger. He had of course heard the theoretical comparisons many times before, but it was he that had been taking care of her all these years. Yet all she ever said was how he didn't measure up to the imagined man that his deceased older brother would have become. Though she had deliberately not used his name in the comparison, he understood that the implication was there. When David opened his mouth to respond, it all came out in a gush. “In a strict comparison of the worth of a soul, it seems you are overlooking a few things. I loved Lyn, too. He was a good boy and a good brother who was on his way to becoming a good man; however, he died before things got really bad. Before father died and the debt collectors came. It is I who have taken care of your person since that time. Doubtless, you believe Lyn would h
ave fulfilled that calling more ably, and perhaps so, but he is not here to do so. Yes, Lyn did leave more behind than the others, but it does not necessarily follow that he would have more in the end.”

  “It is in poor taste to speak ill of Lyn under the circumstances,” she protested. “Lyn was going to restore our family back to prominence.”

  “But he did not, did he?” David said, frustrated with her unwillingness to concede even the smallest point.

  “Why did he have to die at all? It just seems so senseless.“

  “It is senseless, Mother! Death is completely arbitrary. Where one stands on the battle lines, an argument with the wrong person, choosing one horse rather than another, death turns on the smallest things. So rather than lamenting the premature demise of your good son, perhaps your prayers would be better spent on the son you were left with.”

  “What can we do except be prepared for death?” she said as if he had not spoken. “We must live in such a manner that we needn't fear the great beyond. Are you prepared for death, David?” she asked suddenly, and David averted his eyes. “This is why you have been the subject of so much anxiety on my part. The reason you have not lived up to your brother's potential is because you have not lived up to your potential. The reason you have not restored this family to prominence is because you have not restored this family to prominence.” David furrowed his brow, his confusion overriding his defensive instinct for the moment. “David, you have contented yourself with 'good enough' in life. At some point you stopped striving for perfection. You no longer sought for greatness in this life and settled for merely good enough.” She held up a hand to stave off the inevitable objections from her son. “Oh, it was in keeping with your amiable nature, but it prevented you from truly excelling, from truly shining. You will not leave the mark that Lyn would have, that you could have, because you gave up on yourself. You settled. You settled for your wife, your service as a knight, your religion. Your devotion to anything has only been skin deep because you would not do what was necessary to earn the deeper convictions and corresponding strength of character that came with those trials.”

  David did not reply. He only kept his eyes downcast and said nothing.

  “David, what is the meaning of life; or rather, what is the meaning of your life?”

  “I know the gospel,” he grumbled into his chest.

  “It is not a question I am looking for you to answer for me, but answer within your own heart, David. What is the meaning of your life? What is the focus of your life that makes all the hardships worth enduring? When that is clear to you, your life will take on a meaning of its own.”

  David considered for a time and finally sighed. “I feel quite rudderless,” he confessed.

  “You cannot steer your life by your emotions alone. Emotions are far too fickle to steer you true. Rather, when you are strong, use your heart to guide your intellect. When you are weak, intellectually stay the course until your strength returns.” She stood up to indicate their interview was at an end. “I know you have come here because you are departing soon with the others.”

  David looked up, surprised. “But—How—”

  “Hold strong to what you have always known to be right,” she interrupted him, “and I have no doubt you will come through this with courage and nobility.”

  He forced a smile and gratefully stood to leave. “My thanks, Mother.”

  “My son, you must decide once and for all what you believe. Only then will you be free of the self-imposed shackles that bind you.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  “So, if you did have the chance to go back and make amends, what would you do differently?”

  “Everything,” Richard answered.

  “But those things that were so horrible before would still be there. Your family that was so intolerable would still be intolerable. Your mother that did not give you the respect you deserve would not have changed.”

  Richard remembered how it enraged him that his family did not hold him in awe. Everywhere he went he was treated with deference, if not reverence. Everyone either feared or respected him, but his brothers would still tease and argue with him, as if unaware that they were nothing compared to him. His mother would still make demands on him as if her agenda was more important than his. He could still feel the warm ire rising in him as he remembered the treatment he received at the hands of his family.

  “Here you are, lower and more debased than you ever imagined possible, and still your pride controls your emotions?”

  Richard started to lash out at the voice but stopped. He did not want it to go away again. He felt lower than ever and did not want to be alone right now. He also sensed that on this point the voice was right.

  Thinking further, he could remember fond times, training with John, or teaching his younger brothers tricks for the battlefield or giving them advice on their training routine to make them stronger or faster. Though that was often an inconvenience to him, he yearned to be back on the training grounds of Dawning Court, fencing with blunted swords or wrestling with William and Henry when they were little.

  He smiled to himself to remember the times he pitted Edward and Thomas against each other. He would have them face off, usually against their will, for his own amusement. He told himself at the time that it was for their own good. He was teaching them how to fight even when their heart was not in it, but he knew they held resentment toward him for that. Thomas seemed to have understood as he matured that it was just the kind of thing older brothers did to their younger siblings, but he remembered well the look that Edward gave him over his bloody nose and tear-filled eyes. Now it seemed there was a connection between that experience and the increasing distance Edward put between them as he matured. For the first time Richard began to feel guilty for those youthful indiscretions.

  “Perhaps you were not perfect, either,” the voice suggested calmly, continuing the thought he was having.

  “Perhaps not, but really now,” Richard protested, “we were kids, all of us. Anyway, Thomas seems to be okay with it.”

  “But Thomas is a pleaser by nature; it would not have served him to hold a grudge. Edward was more sensitive, like a soft piece of wood he bears the marks of every such encounter until his scarred surface barely resembles the original.”

  “You are blaming me for all Edward’s problems? That’s ridiculous. The disaster that Edward became was not because of some childhood games. And even if I was in the wrong, isn't Edward responsible for his own actions? We all experience hardships, but we get past it. We move on.”

  “You are missing the point. Your brothers lost their father when they were very young. So it fell to you and John to fill that role. What did you do to help them, to nurture them?”

  “Don’t put that on me. I am not their father, never claimed to be, never wanted to be. It’s not my fault our father died. Anyway, I was young, too.”

  “Of course you were, but was your sensitive younger brother better or worse off because of your influence?”

  Richard was surprised by the question. “I tried to make him stronger by pushing him,” Richard protested, his words sounding empty even to himself. “I tried to teach him how to stand up for himself. All he ever did was sit and read. He was never going to become great that way.”

  “Was he better or worse for your influence?” the voice repeated.

  “Worse,” Richard grudgingly admitted. “I never really liked him. It used to bother me how awkward he was and how long it took him to learn anything that required coordination. He seemed content to just spend his whole life wrapped up in books about other people doing great things while never doing anything himself.”

  “And how did that hurt you?”

  “Well… it didn’t. I was just embarrassed by it,” Richard admitted. “But certainly you cannot be implying that what he was doing was healthy, either.”

  “And whose choice was that to make?”

  Richard shrugged, feeling an overwhelming sense of re
morse to remember the awkward, withdrawn little boy that was afraid of the world and cowered from the sport they made of him. “I should have protected him. I should have encouraged him and then maybe he would have wanted to get outside of himself.” Tears were in his eyes as Richard began to cry for the many wounds he had inflicted on those he should have been watching over. “I was stronger, and they should have been able to look to me for protection as their elder brother rather than as their biggest antagonist.” He sobbed harder still as if saying the words were tearing the emotions from his body. “But I never did. All of my family is worse off because I have lived.” Richard sat in his dark, cold cell and sobbed the first tears he had shed since he was a little boy.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  “Edith, please see to the horses,” Leah said. “I fear we have ridden them beyond their strength in this heat.” Edith nodded and led the lathered animals away toward the stable.

  Leah turned the corner and there he was, loading a wagon hitched to a pack animal with heavy burlap bags of grain for transport into the yard. He had filled out since he had left; he was much broader and thicker now, his arms larger and his face more defined, stronger. He had become a man. Leah approached slowly, not wanting to interrupt but wanting his attention before Edith returned and they could no longer speak openly.

  William placed a sack on the back of the wagon and stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow. He pushed his bangs out of the way and noticed her standing there. A pained expression flashed across his countenance before being replaced by a forced smile. “Leah,” he said softly but made no move toward her. “I hope this day finds you well.”

  “Not so well as I could have wished,” she replied. “My oldest friend returns from a four-year absence and neglects to call on me.” She was trying to affect a playful tone, not wanting a repetition of their previous encounter, but it was strained even in her own ears.