The Knights Dawning (The Crusades Series)

by James Batchelor

  The four knights secured the chest to the back of a sumpter horse and mounted one at a time. They then took positions on every side of it, openly armed to the teeth as a message to any would-be thieves to think twice.

  “I still say it would have made more sense to hide the silver,” Henry grumbled to Mary. “Why make it a target like this?”

  “Did you tell them that?”

  Henry nodded. “We discussed it. Thomas and William felt that since nobody locally knows what we’re about and they are certainly not going to attack an armed cavalcade of knights on a moment’s notice, the only real fear we have is treachery from the Moors who are expecting it. If that is their intention, they will attack us regardless of whether they see it or not. In that event, how much better to have it properly defended than to have it stowed in our saddle bags? I still don't like it.”

  Mary looked at him seriously.

  “Henry, who is in command of these men?”

  Henry furrowed his brow in confusion. “I am not clear—”

  “Who is leading these men?” Mary said more firmly.

  “I—that is to say, we don’t—we haven’t—”

  “Who, Henry? Your drunken brother? Your disavowed brother? One of your men?” she demanded. “Henry, you are in command! You must take charge where you have heretofore failed.”

  “Failed? I—” She nodded in the direction of William, who was pulling his horse around to the front of the men who were just now starting to settle down and look for direction.

  William stood in his stirrups and shouted, “Thank you all for being here today. Your loyalty is much appreciate—”

  “Are we going to let the Moors do this to us?” Henry called from where he had just leapt into his own saddle. Every head immediately turned from William to Henry. “Are we going to let them take a son of England and extort payment for his safe return? Payment which they will then use to kill more of our people and arm against our knights?” Henry was speaking very loudly. As the eastern horizon began to glow behind him, he looked every inch the holy warrior. “I cannot speak for you, but as for me, this will not stand. And with Heaven’s armies by my side, I will right this wrong that has been perpetrated on our people and on our family. And we will show the next would-be extortionist the fire of the wrath of God! Now who is with me?”

  A great cheer rose from the courtyard, and the men fell into line behind Henry as he galloped out of the courtyard. Their destination was weeks away, rendering any gallop ultimately pointless as a time-saving device, but he knew it was important to go with the excitement of the moment. He let the men charge for a league before slowing to a trot.

  William caught up to Henry when they had slowed down. “Thanks for warning me back there,” he said, obviously irritated.

  “About what?” Henry asked without looking at him.

  “About your speech. You could have just told me rather than making me look like a fool.”

  “I took your advice,” he said simply. “About getting the men charged up and showing them who is in charge.” He looked directly at William. “And I am in charge.”

  “You want to be in charge?” William grinned wickedly. “You are welcome. I want to command about as much as I want to be drawn and quartered. Besides, it always entertains me to watch the heights a man’s vanity can take him to before dropping him off the edge. And who is better at vanity than the chivalry?”

  “Your jealousy again reveals you,” Henry said. “I would have you remember that it was your actions alone that exempted you from the honors of knighthood.”

  “Is that what it is, jealousy?” William was still grinning. “I had not realized it, being masked so well in disdain as it is.” Henry’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, and William dropped back.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  “Your father would like to speak with you,” Martha said to John when she walked into the room where he was sitting.

  John was instantly on his feet. “Me?” he asked nervously. “I—”

  “John,” Martha smiled her understanding at her son through her fatigue. The long weeks at the bedside of her husband were for naught. His condition was not improving despite her best efforts, and the strain was beginning to show on her. “I know you are worried, John.” She approached him as he stood agitatedly, wiping his palms nervously.

  “What does he want?”

  “I am not sure what he wants, John, but I have an idea.” Seeing that John was not satisfied with that, she explained further. “You will be leaving for the Holy Land soon, and he may be afraid that he will not get to see you again. I would expect that he wants to resolve some things with you. John,” she said, taking her son’s shoulders firmly and looking into his eyes. “You are a noble warrior. It does not suit you to always be doubting yourself. You will soon travel to a foreign land and fight for the Church as is expected of you. You have been knighted for your willingness to serve, and you deserve it. I know your character, John, and I promise you that when it really matters, when you are called upon, you will perform admirably.”

  John dropped his eyes as his mother spoke, not wanting her to see that he was doubting her words even as she told him not to. He only nodded in response. “Now go, go to your father.”

  John walked nervously from the room. His father had taken ill a few months ago, and John had not seen him since he became bedridden. He felt guilty about not making more of an effort but feared his own awkwardness in that situation. He had an abiding need to address the wrongs Braden had done him over the years but was terrified to do so. He was spared this, however, by the physician’s forbidding any presence in Braden's room that was not required to be there.

  John's tension grew as he walked the halls and mounted the stairs to his father's bedchamber. Why would Braden request his presence now? Was his mother correct? Would his father apologize? He had never heard his father apologize to anyone for anything. But now, as his health declined, did he recognize the damage he had done to his little son? John could remember every epithet, every insult his father had flung at him; but more than that, John could remember the beatings, the pain, the fear, trying vainly to fight off his much larger father when it seemed a sort of madness was upon him. John would try to get away, to cry, to fight, but nothing placated Braden in this state until exhaustion took his rage from him.

  And now, as he prepared to depart as part of a campaign to Damascus that would take him away from his home, his family, and Lindsay for several years, John wanted his father to approve of him more than anything in the world. All his life he had dreamed of faithfully serving under his father. He imagined how much Braden would come to rely on him and how much he would value him. That was all John had ever wanted. And maybe now, if his mother was right, all would be well. Maybe Braden believed in him after all. Perhaps, at long last, Braden would tell his son how much he loved him and how proud he was of him.

  John gently knocked on the thick oak door of his father's bedchamber. He heard nothing from inside. He took a deep breath to steel himself and pushed the door open. The room was dimly lit, the only light peeking in from around the shuttered window. There was a large four-poster bed along one wall that was made of a dark cherry wood. The bedclothes were drawn back from the side facing the door of the room. Braden's tall form stretched across the full length of the mattress, but he had lost a great deal of weight, and he was very thin now. His breathing was labored and audible as soon as John entered the room.

  John slowly approached the bed, his heart thundering in his chest. He was shocked to see the drawn and withered countenance of his only very recently vigorous and strong father. “You wanted to see me, father?” His voice trembled as he spoke.

  Braden Dawning's voice croaked from his throat. He had to stop for breath after every couple of words. This made his speech halting and slow. “You are… departing... Crusades.”

  “Yes, shortly, Father.”

  “You... will be general? Lead... own crusade?”

 
“I am not certain, Father. I do not know how I may fare over there.”

  There was a long silence before Braden spoke again.

  “You lost… tournament… to Collin Braddock?”

  John dropped his head. “Yes, Father. I lost this year by one point. I was wearing this new armor, and it—”

  “You... courting a peasant?”

  “Courting? Lindsay? No, of course not. We are just friends.”

  “You... marry her.” There was an accusation in his weak voice, and it trembled with emotion.

  “No, Father, no,” John hastened to reassure him.

  “You are...”

  “What is it, Father?” John knelt beside his bed.

  “John, you are… a disgrace... to Dawning name.” John was stunned. ”Never be baron.”

  The tears stood in John's eyes as he struggled for a response. When the words finally came to John, they poured out very rapidly.

  “Father, I will make you proud. I will show you that I can do it. I will serve the Church honorably. I am a knight now. Father, all these things I do, I do for you. I am not as good as you, but I will make you proud. Please, Father, please, tell me you approve of me.”

  “Richard is... my first... best son... He will... make me proud... he will be baron.”

  “Oh, Father,” John hung his head as Braden waved him away. “Father, I do not care about being baron, but surely this cannot be your only message to me.” Braden fumbled for the bell on his end table and rang it as violently as he could manage with his feeble strength. The servants shortly appeared and stood hesitatingly as they saw what was happening.

  “Please, Father,” John was pleading desperately. “I beg you to spare some kind word for me. I am your son, I have always done the best I could. I am sorry if it was not good enough; but I tried, and I will try harder.”

  Braden gesticulated violently with one weak arm until the servants dragged John from Braden's bedside and out of the room.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  John fled. The hot tears were streaming down his face, and he was humiliated. He ran from the castle and into the fields surrounding Dawning Court. He ran blindly for a while before finding his way inevitably to Lindsay. “John, what is the matter?” He hugged her closely to him, wanting to hide his tears from her but unable to do so as they poured anew at her compassion.

  When he was able to calm down, he told her as candidly as he could about his interview with his father. “Well, that is nonsense,” Lindsay replied. “You have not even had a chance to prove yourself.”

  “Maybe he is right,” John said from where he sat, shoulders slumped, utterly defeated. “For the last few years, it is all I can do to keep up with Richard in the training yard. He seems to grow stronger by the day, and I have to train harder and longer to try to keep up. Maybe Richard would be the better leader.”

  “What does that have to do with it?” Lindsay protested. “You are the eldest Dawning; the birthright belongs to you.”

  “Don’t you understand, Lindsay? The Dawnings are first and foremost warriors. Everything else—the barony, the wealth, all came as a result of being powerful warriors. If Richard is better than me, then he is a more deserving heir than I am…” John trailed off, a thoughtful expression in his eyes.

  “But he is not a nicer person than you,” she said, failing to comprehend the problem.

  John could not help chortling. “And why does that matter?”

  Lindsay pouted. “It matters to me.”

  “You know, maybe it is not all bad,” John said, reaching out and touching her smooth skin. “If I am not baron, we could be together.”

  Lindsay lit up as she always did at the mention of this. She was younger than John, and in moments like this when she got the girlish glee in her eyes at the thought of being married, John was reminded that she was not, in fact, very far removed from girlhood. “Oh, John, wouldn’t that be wonderful?” she said. “We would have a house together and little sons and daughters.” Lindsay twirled in place as she thought of it.

  John smiled indulgently. There was something about her simple innocence that he found irresistible. He had spent so much time with the people at court that were constantly scheming and plotting that it was truly refreshing to be with a woman that was so guileless. “Lady Lindsay Dawning, the wife of Sir John Dawning, the great knight.” Lindsay tried the title out, and John sank back into his melancholy.

  “Things are not working out the way I had imagined them.”

  Lindsay stopped twirling, and sat next to him. “What do you want with your life, John?”

  “I want to be a great warrior baron like my father,” John said to the ground. “But I am not him. Richard is more like my father than I am. He is strong and hard. I am soft and weak compared to him.”

  “Well, I think you are the mightiest warrior in the kingdom,” Lindsay said, leaning against his large arm. It was ludicrous to say that an untried eighteen-year-old was the mightiest warrior, John knew, but he appreciated the sentiment and wrapped his arm around her.

  “That’s it!” John snapped his fingers. “I can settle this once and for all.”

  Lindsay sat up. “What do you mean?”

  “All I have to do is prove that I am a superior warrior to Richard, and all this will be behind me. I will have proven to Richard and to my father that I deserve to be the heir of Dawning Court.”

  “But—” Lindsay started to protest. There was something about this idea that seemed wrong, but she could not seem to articulate it. “But what if—” she stopped again, frustrated that she could not think. But John did not seem to notice as he became more and more excited.

  “This is the answer! I will prove that I am the best Dawning and am rightfully the first son and therefore the first choice.”

  “But what if your father does not change his mind?”

  “He will have to. Don't you see?” John was on his feet in his excitement. “If I best his favorite son, I will be proving that I deserve to be the first heir of Dawning Court.”

  “But what if you lose to Richard?” At last Lindsay was able to lay hold on the thought that had been just out of reach, but John did not hear her. He was already sprinting for the castle to put his plan into action.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Thomas awoke in a haze with John nudging him roughly with his foot. “Come on, I want you to meet someone.” Thomas looked around to try to gain his bearings. They seemed to be in the guest house of his estate, but he could not remember how they had come to be there. He vaguely recalled arguing with Henry and William about something and getting drunk with John, but little else. Judging by the numerous empty wine bottles littering the wrecked room, they must have brought the binge here to the relative privacy of Thomas' guest house. It was probable that no one, including Thomas' wife, Annie, knew they were there.

  “Get up,” John said again.

  “What are you talking about?” Thomas asked annoyed. “Who do you want me to meet?”

  “You’ll see. Get up. We have to go.”

  “What? No, we’ll do it tomorrow. I need sleep.”

  “No, it has to be now. Let’s go.” John walked toward the door.

  “I will never forgive you for this,” Thomas said and dragged himself painfully to his feet. His head swam, and he felt nauseous. Thomas stood unsteadily in place for a moment. “I think I know why our father banned alcohol at Dawning Court,” he said, trying to get his eyes to focus clearly. “Anything that makes a man feel like this has to come straight from the devil himself.”

  “That’s true,” John said, throwing his cloak over his shoulders. “But you will forget this discomfort, and you will do it again,” he added mildly as he fastened the clasp. He had been drinking longer than Thomas and was more familiar with the after-effects of alcohol.

  “What are you saying?” Thomas protested. “I will never put myself—ahh, you’re right,” he conceded. He took a few shaky steps forward, and by the time they reached the do
or he was walking fairly steadily.

  “What is this? Where are you taking me?” Thomas complained as they stumbled through the woods in the darkness. At John’s insistence they had abandoned their horses a half-mile back, and he would only answer Thomas' protests with a terse “You'll see.”

  They entered a small clearing in the trees where Thomas bent over, bracing his hands on his knees to rest. He was still trying to shake off the after-effects of the night’s heavy drinking. “You know I am truly starting to believe you are taking me somewhere you can hide my body and no one will ever find it.”

  “Oh, quit your belly aching, we are almost there.” John dismissed his complaints.

  “Well, if whatever unholy tryst you have planned does not lead to my demise,” Thomas panted, doubled over, “this grim death march you have brought me on certainly will.”

  “We'll rest here,” John allowed in recognition of Thomas' abysmal condition. He seated himself on the soft turf and leaned back against a rock. He interlaced his fingers on top of his head. “Thomas, did you ever think there was more to life than this?”

  “What? What are you talking about?” Thomas asked, sprawling on the soft terrain. “I have really let myself go,” he exclaimed.

  “I mean,” John said, ignoring the comment, “did you ever feel like you were meant for greater things but you just did not have the tools to achieve your destiny? I often feel as though I were the hero from some epic tale, but somehow I have wandered into the wrong story. Have you ever felt as if you were lost in a pathetic farce of some sort?”

  “What? You mean, did I think my life would amount to more than a mediocre house, two children, and a nagging wife, only to die in a clearing in a forest that leads to the seventh circle of hell?” Thomas was now lying flat on his back on the ground, his rotund belly heaving up and down as he continued to struggle for breath. “I suppose that has occurred to me. Why?”