”Why was he so angry?” David asked, looking after him.
”Who knows?” William dismissed it while wiping tears from his eyes. “He is probably just upset with the hand life has dealt him. You know, looking like an old French crone as he does. Who wouldn’t be upset about that?”
”But didn’t you notice how angry he seemed to be when we arrived?” David said thoughtfully. “And every comment he made was about nobles.”
”So what’s your point?” Neil asked, bringing his laughter under control again.
”I think there might be things transpiring in this town that we are not—and perhaps do not want to be—aware of.”
Just then William glanced up and noticed the sign for the tavern hanging above the door. “Well this is a lucky coincidence,” he said, dismounting.
”I don’t think we should stop here,” David said, looking around at the empty street nervously.
”What are you talking about, David?” William asked, exhausted from the long day of riding.
”There is a lot of civil unrest in some parts of our country, and I think we should move on to the next town.”
”Why? Because of one angry villager and his bad attitude? Look, I’m hungry and I’m tired and I’m going in here to get some food. If you want to wait with the horses, you are welcome to.” Neil also dismounted.
”But didn’t you notice? It was like that villager was standing guard. He might be fetching his friends as we speak. It’s not worth the risk. Let’s move on.” David was still in the saddle.
“We are nobles from Dawning Court and will not be discriminated against in some nothing town.” William began to lead his horse around the side. “Where is the stable boy? What kind of place is this?”
”It’s fine,” Neil assured David and followed William around the side. Reluctantly David followed suit.
They tied their horses up and walked into the tavern that was darkening as the sun descended behind the hills. There was already a roaring fire in the large hearth, and the tavern was surprisingly full. There were fifteen men gathered around, focused on a central orator who stood in front of the fire. They were all drinking and making a healthy racket. They did not seem to notice the three enter and approach the bar.
The tavern keeper was dropping off a round of drinks to the assembled crowd. “What’ll it be?” he asked, returning to the bar while wiping his hands on his apron. He glanced at the three and then did a double take, his jaw dropping slightly.
This was not a completely uncommon reaction for the three, however, as they had a habit of showing up in the smallest backwater dives in the region, places where no nobleman had previously set foot. “What is on the menu?” William asked, taking no notice of the tavern keeper’s reaction.
The tavern keeper leaned in. “Are the young lords quite sure they want to eat here?” The three looked at each other confused, while David’s apprehension grew.
”Food’s not very good, huh?” William asked knowingly, in the same confidential tone the tavern keeper was using.
“No, milord, the food is fine,” he fidgeted a moment and then said, “what’ll it be?”
William raised an eyebrow but ordered whatever they had available. The bartender produced a game hen, fully prepared, astonishingly quickly. The three tore into it and turned to observe the entertainment that had attracted the attention of the crowd.
They were casually leaning against the bar, eating, when David nudged William in the ribs meaningfully to draw his attention to the speaker at the hearth. “… they take enough of our crops that we can’t feed our families,” he was saying animatedly, sloshing ale over the side of his cup as he spoke. “And what do they offer in return? Protection from invaders that do not exist!” The group roared their support. “They are bleeding us for taxes to support their lavish, soft lives while we slave day and night. Our women and children get sick and die from not having enough food and warmth.” Another angry cheer rose from the assembly. “The nobles of this country are bleeding it to death, one peasant at a time!” William almost spit out his drink. “They take and take and give nothing back. We must do something about this!” There was another cheer.
David leaned over to the other two and whispered, “We need to leave now!”
“I will not!” William said. “I will defend the nobility against this unfounded slander even if no one else will!” He set his drink down purposefully and stood up.
David grabbed his sleeve, “William, no!” he whispered urgently. “They have been drinking, and they are working up to something.”
“This is nonsense,” William muttered angrily, shrugging off David’s restraining hand, “claiming we are just a waste.”
“The nobles don’t do anything with the tax money?” William raised his voice over the speaker. All attention immediately turned to him. “What about that wall you all live behind? Taxes paid for that,” William said, referring to a wall they had a passed a ways back. He hoped he was correct in assuming that it was similar to Dawning Court’s walls of defense that protected most of the locals of the area.
“You mean the wall you took our money for and then forced us to build, noble?” The orator by the hearth answered, uttering “noble” as an epithet. William's clothes and speech immediately identified him as a member of the ruling class to all present.
“And the houses many of you live in, those were built with your tax money.”
“You call those shanties houses? They don’t keep the rain off or the wind out, so what good are they?” The crowd murmured their agreement.
“Then why live in them if they are no better than sleeping outside?” William challenged.
“You come here from your palace and tell us to be grateful for our shacks?” the orator demanded.
“I come here to tell you there are more things afoot than you can imagine in your simple, safe lives. The nobles answer to the king, they keep the country safe, they keep the region safe from neighboring expansionists, and they train to fight to defend your security with their very lives.”
“To defend your easy life and your property, you mean. We are not property!” he roared back, and several of the crowd stood up.
“The nobles do God’s work.” This came from Neil, who was standing beside William to face the crowd. “This man,” he said, indicating William, "has trained his whole life and will shortly depart to fight in the Holy Land in order to return it to God’s chosen people. This edict comes from the Papacy and is God’s word. Who among you has made such a pledge or risked so much?”
“God’s war? What do we care about God’s war when we can’t feed our families? Wait a moment. You are not from around here, are you?” the orator said, squinting blurry eyes at the crest that affixed William’s cloak about his shoulders. “Who are you?” The crowd was on its feet now and turned to face the young nobles.
“We are servants of Dawning Court,” Neil said proudly, puffing out his chest and turning his nose up a bit.
“You insolent prigs are from the north and come here to try to tell us our business?” the orator roared, and as a group they began to advance on the young men. William glanced at Neil for direction, but Neil held his ground insolently as he stared down the rabble.
William turned to consult with David only to find an empty stool where he had been sitting. He quickly scanned the tavern. David was standing in the shadows by the door, silently watching.
The young men were shortly surrounded by the angry tavern clientele, who began jeering and shoving at them.
This was inconceivable that peasants would be laying hands on noblemen with impunity, but it was happening. William tried to call for David, but David quietly slipped out the door. William and Neil had no weapons on them and were afraid to act for fear of escalating the situation.
One of the group shoved William hard from behind. He stumbled forward and roughly fell into the arms of more drunken ruffians.
Neil stepped up to the brute that had shoved William and
struck him across the chin. “You have no right to touch a noble, especially a Dawning!” he declared.
The crowd fell all over both of them, holding fast their arms and legs. The orator stepped up and looked closely at William. “Well, I did not realize we had a Dawning on our hands.” He made a mock bow. “I am honored.”
William was furious. He wanted to fight, he was ready to fight, but he could not understand how the situation had turned so bad so quickly. It seemed like a dream to him that they could be at the mercy of these men that twenty minutes before were not even a part of their lives. Should he fight? He asked himself for the tenth time. Or would that only make things worse? How could they be worse? He glanced at Neil, whom William knew was waiting for his cue from William. But still William hesitated. Confusion and fear clouded his judgment. Were they going to die here? How bad would this really get? “What is this about?” he demanded.
“This is about spoiled, rich children putting their noses where they do not belong,” the orator patted both William and Neil down and relieved them of their purses. “We do appreciate you stopping by,” he said. “Thank you for donating to the cause." He was hefting the small leather pouches in his hand. “I bet this is more money than the group of us make in a year. Show these fine noblemen the door.”
Neil and William were roughly propelled to the door and tossed out into the street with more than a few punches and kicks leveled at their persons.
They landed roughly in the street. They regained their feet, humiliated and angry. Neil was sputtering with fury, “How dare they lay—Who do they think…” William silently dusted his clothes off and assessed the damage done to insure there were no serious physical injuries. He was embarrassed and ashamed that he had not acted when not only his life but that of his friend might have depended on it. And he felt betrayed by David, who had abandoned them altogether. There were so many emotions running through his head that the whole experience felt like a dream.
William silently led Neil, still sputtering angrily, around the side of the tavern to retrieve their horses. David was waiting on his horse when they came around the corner. “Where were you?” Neil demanded. “We needed you!”
“I told you not to go in there! I practically begged you not to,” David shot back.
“What difference does that make?” Neil yelled at him. “We are your friends, and we needed you.”
“I told you to leave that alone, but you were determined to pick a fight with that drunken rabble. If you want to put your neck on the line for nothing, that’s fine, but count me out. You have gotten me into enough scrapes in our time.” He directed this last at William, who said nothing. The fog of confusion in his mind was growing all the more thick as he tried to process the events of the last few minutes.
“You despicable coward!” Neil hurled the insult venomously at David. “We could have been killed!”
“Correct, because you repeatedly ignored me. If you had listened to me at any point, you would not have gotten into that situation. If that mob had decided they wanted your blood, what good would it have done for me to die, too?”
“It might have saved your soul,” Neil uttered in a deathly quiet voice, and then turned to William as William climbed on his horse. “We are marching straight to the local baron and demanding he burn this town to the ground. Then we are going to find each of them, especially that thief that robbed us, and we are going to have him drawn and quartered.”
“Why? Because you started a fight with them?” David chided.
“You shut your mouth!” Neil screamed, stabbing a finger at David. “You have no right to speak about this! Just shut your mouth! Now which way to the castle?” He was scanning the countryside in the fading light.
William settled into his saddle. “Let’s forget about it,” he said distractedly. “I just want to go home.”
“You're right, let’s bring back our own knights and do it ourselves,” Neil agreed, misinterpreting William’s intent. “That will be much more satisfying.”
William shook his head and pointed his horse's face down the road. “I just want to forget this whole thing ever happened,” he said.
“You cannot let this stand!” Neil insisted vehemently. “This sort of behavior leads to anarchy and revolution. We must respond.”
“I said I just want to forget it ever happened,” William repeated.
“Well, I will not forget this,” Neil rode out ahead of them in fury. “I will not forget. This cannot stand.” William followed him but did not catch up to him for a long while. He thought they both needed some time to think. He did, however, stay ahead of David as he could not face him right then. He was angry at David's betrayal. He had always felt David was his closer friend, but here, when it mattered the most, Neil had proved himself more valiant than David. William would have never imagined this turn of events, but here it was. It seemed so incongruous with the people he thought he knew. But he felt a new appreciation and respect for Neil that he had not previously known.
Eventually William caught up to Neil and awkwardly thanked him for coming to his defense. William was ashamed of himself for his failure to act and tried to explain away his hesitation as shock. He hoped it did not look as much like cowardice as he feared.
Neither of them spoke to David for the remainder of the trip. When they did resume interaction with him weeks later, this incident was never discussed. It was too sore a subject for the suddenly fragile friendship to weather.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
“Henry, help me!” Leah screamed at him through the clash of metal and the screams of men. How had she gotten here? Henry started to push through the crowded battlefield toward her when from the other direction he heard another scream. He turned to see Mary there, screaming for him to help her. He hesitated. Before him Richard lay prostrate. He knew he needed to get to him quickly or all would be lost, but how could he sacrifice the best person he had ever known? And what of Mary? Could he give up the only woman who had ever accepted him for one who had openly rejected him on two occasions?
The man in white returned. He saw now that it was white armor that shone in the sun like an aura of light. He swooped in and grabbed Leah around the waist and spirited her away. He still did not show his face, but Henry felt he knew better than ever who this man was.
The battle raged on, and Henry had to make his decision. He turned to chase after Leah as she reached her arms back toward him over the shoulders of her captor, who was still running. All at once a grey cast came over her form, cracks appeared on her vivid countenance, and she collapsed into dust.
Henry stopped and spun back to Mary to rescue her, but as he neared her young, voluptuous form, it turned dark and rotten. Her skin pulled tight like dried out leather, and her arms that were open in desperation seemed to now be determined to hold him and squeeze the life from him.
Henry remembered his duty now that these two were out of the way. Richard's form was still lying helmetless in his blood-red armor, clutching a sword at his chest as if he were on his funeral bier. He may no longer be alive, but this is what Henry was here for.
He fought his way through the melee to his brother’s body, but when he got there he looked down on the form only to see Patrick, his young lieutenant's body lying there, his eyes wide open and staring at Henry.
Henry sat bolt upright in cold sweat, his breathing very rapid. He looked around in the dark, and it took him several moments to realize where he was. He slowly lay back on his bed roll as his breathing slowed. He rubbed the back of one trembling hand over his eyes. The dreams were getting more vivid as they approached Damascus. Was he going mad, or did these dreams mean something? Leah turning to dust was easy: he had lost her. The man in white had to be William, but he could never see his face. What could that mean? Perhaps that reflected his understanding that he did not know William, or at least did not know what would make Leah willing to forgo every other opportunity at a good match for his sake.
What about Mary? Di
d her rotting visage represent some corruption deep down? Or did his turning toward Leah first make him too late to save her, and he lost both of them? And what of Richard's body? That could be only a representation of what he expected they would find on this quest, the dead body of his brother. Patrick's face, of course, could simply be his guilt over that boy's death. Patrick's mother, he realized, was still unaware of his demise. She could have guessed by now, but he had sworn to protect the boy. The spot Henry lay on at that moment was not half a day's ride from the small village where he had taken Patrick into his army. He could… Henry cringed at the thought. He shied away from having to dredge up that memory again–from having to face the grief-stricken mother. But perhaps this would put the shade of Patrick away, that it would no longer haunt his dreams.
Henry lay until just before dawn, turning these thoughts over in his mind, when at last he jumped up and went and shook William. William was half on his feet, reaching for his spear before his eyes were even fully open. “What is it? What's the problem?”
“Nothing, everything is fine,” Henry whispered quickly, trying to calm him down. “Only I need you to come with me. There is something I have to do.”
William looked around in confusion. “I know what you have to do: rescue Richard. We are already doing that.”
“No, something else. Look, I can't explain now, but it is not far from here. We will catch up to the others before nightfall if we hurry. Will you ride with me? I have already saddled your horse.”
William looked at his brother suspiciously for a moment, but deciding he looked more confused than sinister, he shrugged and began packing his bedroll in the dark.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
“This is something I have to do,” Henry said impatiently to William as he reined his horse in by the small cottage that was set by itself in the middle of a large track on overgrown fields.
The Knights Dawning (The Crusades Series) Page 35