“He's where?” Henry demanded.
“William has left Dawning Court again,” Martha announced sadly to Thomas, Richard, and Henry, who were all assembled in the library. It was not uncommon for them to meet like this since Richard's return. They were all trying to re-establish a relationship as brothers, but it was proving to be a slow process.
“I am to be married in two days. He could not even wait around for that before running off?” Henry said in disgust.
“This was not his first choice either,” Martha explained. “But he thought you would not want your wedding interrupted by a joust with Daniel Braddock.”
“Braddock, right,” he said unconvinced.
“Doesn’t he know we could help him with Braddock if he would let us?” Richard suggested.
“Remember,” Martha answered, “when William left the first time, it was a very different world. Thomas was still in the Holy Land, you were—” she said to Richard, “who knows where, Henry was still an untried young man, and John was not even in a position to help himself. To whom could he turn for help? Why would he expect anything different now?”
The brothers did not speak immediately. “Should we go after him?” Richard suggested.
“Go after him?” Henry asked.
“You know,” Richard said, “the three of us find him and work out a plan to bring him back and deal with Braddock.”
“Nice idea,” Thomas said, “but remember that the challenge issued to William is between Braddock and him. Honor demands that we not interfere with that.”
“William is not a knight, though,” Richard pointed out hopefully. “He is not bound by our code.”
“True, but all of us are,” Henry pointed out. “There is nothing we can do to interfere with that.”
“This is ridiculous that we are all here and we cannot bring our youngest brother back home,” Richard lamented in frustration.
“He could fight Braddock,” Thomas suggested. “If he survives, honor is satisfied and William could get his life back. Can he beat Baron Braddock?” He looked at his brothers.
“Braddock is a fierce warrior,” Richard said dubiously. “He is much stronger than William and much more experienced.”
“That's true,” Thomas replied, “but Braddock is getting old, and you are remembering William the boy. What do we know about the skills of William the man?” They both looked at Henry.
Henry shrugged. “We really only had one battle together, and I had my hands pretty full. I did not have much chance to observe my brother. There were others tasked with that responsibility.”
“You must have seen something,” Thomas pressed. “How did he handle himself? How did he conduct himself on the field?”
“Well, he was not scared, but that could have been because he thinks more of himself than he should. Really everything happened so fast that I lost track of him, and the next time I was aware of him… he was kneeling next to David's body… William made it through okay, but he was unable to protect his friend.”
“Or maybe…” Thomas said slowly, “maybe David died protecting William…” There was a moment of silence.
“Perhaps William knows that he cannot beat Braddock. What choice would he have but to run?” A long silence followed that was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Yes?” Martha said, and Sebastian let himself in.
“Forgive the interruption, Lady Dawning, but I thought you should be aware that Lord William is back and occupying one set of the guest chambers.”
She stared at him for a moment before saying simply, “Thank you, Sebastian.” He nodded and quietly left the room, leaving the Dawnings as he had found them, thoughtful and silent.
CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT
William walked into the blacksmith pavilion near the Dawning stables carrying his suit of armor. “Well met, Burt,” he hailed the aging but still powerful smith.
Burt looked up from where he was pounding a strip of steel held between tongs with a heavy mallet. “William,” he smiled. “I heard a rumor you were back. But I hear lots of rumors about you; never know what you can believe.” He set his work on the anvil and went to greet his young patron.
“Well, do not believe everything you hear,” William told him. “William Dawning would not return to Dawning Court under any circumstances. He is a wanted man, after all.”
Burt smiled knowingly. “Of course. And what can I do for you, young master?”
William laid the shirt out on a table in front of him. “What would it take to repair this?”
“I remember admiring this when you first got it from Jurou. Never seen anything of the sort,” he said. “Never seen anything like it. Each tiny plate is made up of a very thin diamond-shaped piece of steel wrapped in white leather. The pieces are then connected with a series of rivets that allow them to move with the wearer. Brilliant piece of craftsmanship.”
“I have come to depend on that craftsmanship to keep me alive and thought I would avail myself of the opportunity of having it restored.”
Burt only grunted. He was inspecting the hundreds of abrasions, dents, and bends closely with his expert eye. “Do you want it restored or simply repaired?”
“What’s the difference?”
“About three months.” He said without looking up.
“Three months?” William asked in surprise. “Burt, for reasons of which you are well aware, I cannot tarry long. I am here for my brother’s wedding and must depart soon after.”
Burt shrugged. “I am not a miracle worker,” he said. “Each of these pieces is wrapped completely and the leather sealed on the back. I will have to dismantle much of the suit to re-wrap the leather and replace some of the plates.”
“I do not have three months. What about just repairing it?”
“I suppose I could hammer out a few of the more damaged plates and patch the leather. Won’t be able to preserve the color though.”
“The color? Why?”
“Thought you noticed,” he said. “Your white armor has turned grey already. The leather patches and hammer work will make it look even worse, and it will be impossible to hide the repairs if we leave it white. But if I stain the leather, I can hide it so no one will ever know.”
William considered it and finally sighed. Not just any smith would be able to work on his armor, and he did not know when he might have another opportunity to repair his armor in a relatively safe place. If it started to fall apart in the field, he had a big problem. “Very well,” he assented. “What color would it be?”
“Have to be something dark,” Burt said, carrying the armor to his workbench. “Heavier than it looks,” he commented, hefting the armor. They discussed the color options and finally agreed on one.
“And you will have that ready by the wedding day?” William asked again. “Because I cannot wait longer.”
“Do my best, sir, cannot promise anything though.”
William smiled indulgently. “Very well, Burt. Do your best.” Burt was a brilliant smith, but one would never know it from his low-key, understated manner. Burt was another holdover from his father. When Braden was campaigning, he would not settle for the second best anything. He surrounded himself with the best craftsmen and horse trainers he could find. Many of those were gone now, but Burt remained, and William was very grateful for that. Of all the essential functions that were involved in supporting a knight, none was more important than that of blacksmith.
CHAPTER NINETY-NINE
“It has been confirmed, Father,” Hans told Baron Braddock quietly. “You were correct.” Hans always made his father believe all good ideas came from him. “William Dawning has returned for Henry Dawning’s wedding and is present at Dawning Court now.”
Braddock’s face went red with rage. “Then she did not disavow him after all!”
“That would appear to be correct, Father, else he would certainly not be welcome at Dawning Court.”
“After what her cowardly son did to my boy! Never was t
here a more blatant affront to chivalry, courage, and honor than her son, and she has the audacity to welcome that treacherous snake back to her bosom!” He was on his feet now, his eyes alive with an unwholesome light. “Very well. If Martha Dawning believes she can cross the Braddocks without repercussions—Braden Dawning himself would not dare such an affront!” he roared.
Hans was instantly standing at attention. “What orders, Father?” he asked excitedly.
“Milord,” Rafiq interjected. “Are you quite sure of this information?” He could not keep the nervousness out of his voice. The two plots he and his cohorts had so long been cultivating to work in tandem, or at least as a backup if the other failed, were about to collide. “It will do little to garner sympathy for your cause among the other barons if you are to attack a wedding party.”
“We ride!” Braddock said, ignoring Rafiq. “We ride with the army! Either she will surrender William Dawning and I will kill him with my own sword, or I will dismantle Dawning castle.” He walked off the dais toward his armory as Rafiq stood in his way, only moving when it was clear the baron was not going to break stride. Hans ran from the room to assemble the men.
“What is the plan, to ride to the gates of Dawning Court and call William Dawning out?”
“That is exactly my plan!” he said. “I know you have always thought me a coward, Rafiq,” Braddock said to his advisor. “Well, today you will see what the hand of Daniel Braddock is capable of.”
“Your mind is quite made up about this then?” Rafiq was desperate. All that they had worked for could be seized by Braddock’s forces in the very moment of triumph. “I certainly never considered you foolhardy before now.”
He stopped and looked at Rafiq. “What is this you say?” he demanded. “You have been urging me to war with the Dawnings for years in order to satisfy some private agenda of your own. Do not think I do not know that you have your own designs. And now that I intend to do just that, you are the lone voice trying to hold me back. Why?”
“Are you quite well enough?”
“Speak your peace or leave me this instant!”
Ragiq sighed before speaking, and when he did it was in a dispassionate voice, a calm assessment of the facts rather than an emotional response. “William Dawning is going to kill you, and there is nothing you can do to prevent that unless you desist from your present course this instant.”
“Wha—how dare yo—”
Rafiq cut him off. “This is not personal, milord,” he told him in the same unemotional voice. “I am merely making you aware of the facts. You cannot withstand the younger, faster warrior. He is a legend.”
”Well so am I!”
”No,” Rafiq shook his head. “You were a legend. Now you are… nothing.” Even as he said these last words, Rafiq regretted it. He knew he had just struck a terrible blow to the Baron’s pride and guaranteed he would do exactly what Rafiq did not want at that moment.
”Be gone from my sight! If I see you again too soon, perhaps I will quench my bloodlust on you instead of the Dawnings!” Rafiq bowed and quickly retreated to send word to Amir. He prayed it was not too late.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED
“Amir, do you know why I specifically recruited you?” Imam Hassan Ibn Sabbah asked casually, inspecting the blossoms in his lush garden as Amir dutifully followed him around the garden in the fortress of Mount Alamut.
Amir suspected it was because of his great size and strength but did not presume to say as much. “No, Imam,” was all the reply he made. One did not take too many liberties with the self-proclaimed mouthpiece of Allah that had thousands of assassins at his beck and call.
“Amir, what is your greatest desire in this life?” the cleric said, leaning over to deeply inhale a particularly fragrant blossom.
“To see the heathen scum crushed and driven from our lands forevermore,” Amir declared vehemently without hesitation.
“Ah, and you yourself have led many men to their doom toward that end. And yet failure is all you have to show for it.”
“Those men are safe in the bosom of Allah.” Amir was unable to keep the resentment entirely out of his words.
“I am assured of that,” Hassan said easily. “But what has come of it? Are the invaders routed? Has the tide of crusaders been stemmed, or is it greater than ever?” Amir was forced to acknowledge that there was no appreciable improvement.
“But how can that be?” Hassan asked, seeming perplexed. “Are the Muslim people inferior to the Christians?”
Amir stiffened at this. “Not one whit! The Christians are better trained and better equipped, yet our farmers still cut them down by the scores. Should the circumstances be reversed, not a true believer would fall to the sword of a Christian,” Amir declared.
“So if what you say is true, and I've no doubt that it is so,” Hassan continued in that same easy style, turning now to Amir, “how then is it that we cannot stop them?”
“We will wear them down. They are waves breaking upon the shore, but the tide cannot last forever and will recede.”
“Ah, but does not that same tide eventually reduce the mighty boulder to sand? Does the water not eventually carry away the pier with it?” Amir made no reply under the small intense circles of the Imam's eyes. His long grey beard over his plain grey robe made the darkness of his countenance seem even more pronounced.
The aging cleric abruptly turned and resumed his inspection of the florae around him. “Make no mistake about it,” he said. “Given the chance, the Christians will rob us of our lands just as Jacob cheated our father Esau out of his inheritance. I was thus in the attitude of pondering on this when the voice of Allah came to me and showed me why we fail to fend off the invaders. We are like a child that has inadvertently stirred up a hornets’ nest. We are swatting at the pests, but we shall never get them all. The only way to be rid of them is to destroy them at the nest. That is why I have recruited you, specifically, above all the able-bodied and willing men that would join our ranks given the chance. There can be no doubt of your devotion to the cause after what the crusaders did to your mother.” The long scar down Amir's left cheek stood out brightly as his face colored. “Your light skin and ability to speak their language make you the perfect candidate to attack them in their nests.”
A smile slowly crept across Amir's scarred visage as he considered this. “Yes,” he said, catching the vision of it. “We will stir up insurrections in their own lands. Turn their people on themselves, foment rebellions. Then the wicked will punish themselves, and what thought will they give to crusades when their own people are rising up against them?”
Hassan smiled, calmly satisfied that his young ward had grasped his divine purpose. “Retire and formulate a plan. Decide how you will begin, and return to me in a few days’ time.”
Amir shook his head, rubbing his scar thoughtfully with his left hand. “I do not need to think about it. There can be only one choice. I will start with the Dawnings.”
Hassan raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Yes, I suppose that is appropriate.” He considered for a moment. “Very well, make it so.” Amir bowed low. He would set out for England at once.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED ONE
“If you lose your weapon,” Jurou said, taking the practice sword from William's hand, “what other weapons are available to you?”
“My hands and elbows,” William uttered tritely, hoping Jurou would move on to some new material. Often William felt that Jurou did not appreciate the speed at which he retained information.
“And what else?” Jurou prodded.
“My feet, my knees, my head,” William finished, not trying to mask his boredom with the age-old lesson.
“And what else?”
William stared. “There is nothing else,” he said.
“You are not thinking obliquely,” Jurou told him. “If you confine yourself to the traditional ideas of combat, you will necessarily suffer from the traditional limitations of combat. Everything is a weapon.”
<
br /> “I understand that,” William said, impatient with Jurou’s indirect method of teaching. “My hands and feet, etc. etc.”
“No, everything,” Jurou repeated. “Defend!” he ordered and swung a roundhouse kick up at William's face. William instinctively threw both arms up to absorb the heavy blow on the thick muscles of his forearms.
He then kicked up at the side of Jurou’s head, which blow Jurou easily knocked aside. But William knew he would and instantly reversed directions, swinging his heel at the other side of Jurou’s head. Jurou fell back a pace to avoid it, and William rained a flurry of strikes down on Jurou’s defenses. The trick in mounting a successful attack was in a continuous barrage of attacks. Even an untrained fighter could fend off one or two strikes, but eight or ten strikes was something else entirely.
Jurou continued to fall back faster and faster against the onslaught. He was headed rapidly for the wall, where he would be cornered. William was well aware that Jurou was not countering his attacks as he normally would have; but William also knew that he would have no recourse once his back was to the wall. He pressed him harder, jab, jab, right cross, left cross, uppercut, roundhouse, side kick. All of which Jurou deftly blocked or dodged as he fell back further still in the process.
William knew Jurou well enough to know he was planning something, but he could not figure out what. Perhaps he really was completely occupied defending against William’s attack. Perhaps this was a coming of age test, and William was proving himself. Front kick, back hand, left hook. They were only a few paces from the wall when, to William’s surprise, Jurou turned and ran to the wall.
William was not going to give up his advantage and sprang after him. By the time Jurou was brought up short by the wall, William expected that he would already be in the middle of an attack before his teacher had a chance to collect himself. Jurou crossed the three steps to the wall with William right behind, but Jurou did not stop at the wall. Rather he took two steps up the wall, pushed off and launched a vicious spinning roundhouse kick at William’s head. William's momentum carried him directly into the path of the kick. He was too shocked to execute anything but the crudest of blocks.
The Knights Dawning (The Crusades Series) Page 50