by Mary Yarde
Philippe had feared that the presence of Alden and Merton would complicate his plans, but he was assured that their return would work in his favour. If he could divide the brothers — if he could turn them against Budic, then everything would fall into place.
“Sire, my Lord,” Philippe bowed respectfully and then straightened and smiled a welcome as if he were the king here and not Budic. “It is truly a sad day. I have spent the entire night on my knees praying for the Queen’s immortal soul.” He spoke solemnly, but his eyes did not look sorrowful, and he didn’t look particularly tired either.
“I hope everything is to your satisfaction?” Philippe asked, smiling at Alden before turning his attention to Merton, Yrre he ignored completely for the Saxon warrior was not worthy of his attention.
“I can not fault it,” Alden said, rising briefly to clasp Philippe’s hand warmly in his. “You have served your King well during this difficult time.”
Philippe’s smile fell from his lips and was replaced with a very concerned, and practised frown. “Budic is not well,” he whispered in an undertone that Merton could only just make out. “I advised him the importance of at least making an appearance tonight, but he is obstinate in his grief.”
“He has just lost his wife and his son,” Merton stated. “I think he has every excuse not to be here.”
“You have been away a long time, my Lord, and you have forgotten what it is to be noble. We cannot allow our emotions to rule.” There was censor in Philippe’s voice and an air of superiority. He spoke to Merton as if he were talking to a child. “One’s personal feelings do not count when there is a kingdom to protect, every good king knows this. The kingdom must come first — always — despite the situation.”
“If Budic were to hear you say that, I am sure he would whip you for your insolence,” Merton returned coldly. “And mind your manners when you speak to me, I am not a peasant.”
“Stand down, we are not at war now,” Alden said between his teeth in Cerniw, placing his hand on Merton’s arm as if to restrain him. “I am sure it came out wrong,” Alden said, switching to Breton so Philippe could understand what he said. “Philippe didn’t mean anything by it. Did you?” Alden asked as he looked up at Philippe, but the tone of his voice and the gleam in his eyes were as cold as Merton’s.
“I certainly did not mean to offend,” Philippe continued, although the look in his eyes told otherwise. “And I apologise profusely if I did…” he reached out and touched Merton’s arm.
Merton flinched away from the touch. He would not allow this man to paw him as the rest of Budic’s subjects did.
“…it was not my intention,” Philippe said, scowling slightly as he lowered his hand back down to his side. “It is just that…” He sighed dramatically. “The Queen’s death is…” he shook his head and frowned, as if he was searching for the right word, “strange,” he finally said. He looked at Alden as he spoke. “Do you not think so, Sire?”
“Strange? How so?” Alden asked.
“I would not — don’t get me wrong — I am Budic’s most loyal subject,” he sighed dramatically yet again. “Anna and Budic were very unhappy — Budic has many mistresses, and he often spoke of…” Philippe lowered his voice to almost a whisper, “replacing her with someone more fertile.”
“Considering she had just given him a son I find that very hard to believe–”
“They say the child wasn’t his,” Philippe interrupted Alden. “It is rumoured that she had an affair with…” he pulled up a chair, and without asking for permission, sat down as close to Budic’s brothers as he could.
The stench of perfume, coming off Philippe’s body, was overwhelming, and Merton leant back away from the smell. God in heaven, the smell was so potent that his eyes began to water.
“…Elouan,” Philippe said the name with disgust and performed the Christian sign of the cross as if that would protect him from such a slanderous remark.
“Elouan?” Merton interrupted. He would have laughed if the idea was not so preposterous. “Budic’s groom? Have you been drinking?”
“I never drink. I do not have time to drink. I serve Budic and God. My time is taken up with them. I have no time to socialise. I am just repeating what is being said,” Philippe stated, rumours blazing in his eyes as he spoke.
“You have no time to socialise, but you are gifted in the art of gossip?” Alden said, slightly perplexed.
“You can hardly avoid gossip in a Hall this size,” Philippe said, leaning in closer. “But gossip is an abomination.”
“I have a cure for gossip,” Merton said helpfully. “I have always found it very effective.”
“Then pray tell me what the cure is, for I will willingly make sure those in court are given a healthy dose of it.”
“It involves cutting out the offenders tongue. I am more than happy to remove yours free of charge.”
“My Lord, I am just telling you-”
“You are telling me that your Queen was a whore and my brother orchestrated her death. I believe that is treason, my Lord. Unless, of course, things have changed since I was last in civilised society?” Merton said.
“That is not what I am saying,” Philippe said quickly, his face heating with embarrassment. This conversation was not going the way he had planned. “I am the most loyal servant of the King. Budic knows that. I am just telling you what people are saying. We need to find a way to dispel these rumours. And the best thing Budic could do is to be seen. He needs to put aside his personal feelings and start acting like the king we know and love. He must rule this kingdom…” He glanced about him as if fearful they were being watched. Which was the most ridiculous thing, for all eyes were upon them, and all were wishing that they were flies upon the table, so they could listen to what was being said, “…or someone else will do it for him.”
“And by someone else you mean you?” Merton queried.
“Budic is many things, but he would not have harmed a hair on Anna’s head. He married her for love. But you were just a boy then, you probably cannot remember. And as for the baby…Budic would not murder his only heir,” Alden said, his tone of voice daring Philippe to contradict him.
“Sire, I…I…you misunderstand me…all I am saying is that I would put the kingdom first–”
“If you were King,” Merton finished Philippe’s sentence for him.
“I never said that,” Philippe stated, his voice hard. “I merely wanted you to be aware of the situation. Maybe you can talk to him, Sire, make him see sense.”
“You know as well as I that no one can tell Budic what to do,” Alden said. “And he would rather take advice from the devil, than from me. I would have thought you would have learnt that by now.”
“I want to protect his crown. That is my only concern,” Philippe stated with feeling, his eyes resting on Merton as he spoke. “Your father, may God rest his soul, battled for this kingdom. He made it great. Are you willing to let Budic ruin all of that? All he needs to do is to show his face and then he can go and sulk for the rest of the evening.”
“You call grief sulking?” Merton asked.
“When it comes to Budic, yes,” Philippe replied. “Anna is the centre of attention; he isn’t. I know your brother well.”
The brothers could not argue with that, for Philippe had the right of it. Everything was always about Budic; it always had been. However even narcissistic men had been known to grieve, and Budic and Anna had always been close — they always used to be close, but then a great deal can happen in five years.
“We find ourselves in unprecedented times. Wessex is growing stronger by the day. If there is a hint of vulnerability in Budic’s reign, then I am sure Wessex will take the advantage. Brittany needs a strong king to see off Wessex’s advances.”
“And Budic taking a day to grieve will prompt Wessex into action…I don’t think so,” Merton said, shaking his head slightly as he did so.
“Wessex is not to be trusted,” Philippe stated.
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br /> “We will bear that in mind,” Merton answered, catching Alden’s eyes briefly as he spoke and tried not to smile. What did Philippe know of Wessex? The blundering fool.
“Brittany needs a strong king,” Philippe persisted.
“I don’t really understand what you want us to say, Philippe,” Alden said. “Benwick and Brittany are not our concern. She is Budic’s kingdom, and he can rule her how he sees fit. He does not interfere with Cerniw and in return, I do not interfere with Brittany.”
“I think you have forgotten that you are his subject,” Merton said, addressing Philippe. “If your King wants to mourn his wife, then who are you to judge him?”
“Says the man who has no king and no home. What do you know of courts and kings and kingdoms?” Philippe spat back.
“My father was Lancelot du Lac, and Alden is my King. I think I know more about court life than you could ever hope to. Who was your father again? I forget,” Merton asked.
“You know nothing of my father,” Philippe replied, anger blazing from his eyes.
“I know my father banished him. I know he was a disgrace.”
“You dare speak to me of disgrace–”
“I am warning you, Philippe, this one last time. If you persist in speaking to me in that tone of voice, you will find yourself closer to God than to the King of Brittany. Now, if you will excuse me, Sire,” Merton turned his attention back to Alden, “I have somewhere that I need to be.” He rose from his seat.
“Is it true you signed a pact with the devil?” Philippe raised his voice on purpose, and the Hall fell silent.
“You go too far,” Alden said, rising to his feet in defence of his brother.
Philippe stood also, his gaze never once wavering from Merton’s. “I am not afraid of you,” he stated arrogantly. “I am curious though as to why you came here. You are not welcome. Budic has all but disowned you.”
“I came here to burn and pillage,” Merton replied dryly, and there was a collective gasp at his words. “Why else?”
Philippe looked at Merton in fearful disbelief for a moment and then he laughed, loudly, and others, taking his lead, began to laugh as well, albeit nervously.
“I shouldn’t have asked,” Philippe said, wiping tears of amusement from his eyes. “You were always one for jokes, were you not? I am glad that has not changed. Although I hear the devil has a new apprentice.” His tone was one of jesting and his words brought more laughter from the Hall, but gone was the mirth in his face.
“If you say so.”
Philippe leant across the table and poured himself some wine, before sitting back down in the chair he had so recently vacated. “Tell me, for I am curious, what goes through your mind when you round up a village, lock them in a barn and set fire to it?” The Hall once again fell silent as they waited for Merton’s answer.
Merton shook his head in disgust, for he would not be baited. “Good day, my Lord. Sire,” Merton bowed towards his King. “Yrre. You are right. Keep your eyes open. That bastard is up to no good.” He spoke in Saxon.
“I have his measure, do not fear,” Yrre said as he stood and picked up his plate — he wasn’t going to let food like this go to waste — and followed Merton as they passed a sea of hostile, yet strangely curious faces.
“Philippe, a word to the wise-” Alden said, sitting down again.
“You do not have to warn me about Merton. I went too far. I shall watch what I say in future,” Philippe said, sighing softly. Estranging Merton was not what he had been advised to do. Damn his wayward tongue, but Merton was everything that he hated.
“I was going to warn you about Budic. If he knew that you were speaking to us of him, he would have your head.”
Philippe nodded his head in agreement. “I am concerned that is all.”
“And it is right that you should be,” Alden answered. “But nevertheless, Budic would still see it as treason, as I would, if you were my subject.”
“I know you are right. I just thought you had a right to know.” He lifted the goblet to his mouth, but he did not take a sip. Instead, he turned and watched as Merton and that Saxon piece of dirt Merton dared bring into Benwick, left the Hall. “Do you believe the stories that are said about him?” Philippe asked, as he put the goblet back down on the table and picked up some meat with his fingers. The stories were exaggerated, surely? There was no such thing as demons and devils. That was something invented by the Church to scare the masses into obedience.
“About Merton? Every word,” Alden stated sorrowfully. He knew the stories were true because he had witnessed his brother in battle and he knew what he was capable of. “Every single word.”
“Do you think I should apologise?” Philippe asked, the meat dropping from his fingers to fall back onto the plate untouched. He did not relish the prospect. “I find his way of life…distasteful. I am surprised you can stand being in his company. He stands for everything I hate. But…I was rude.”
“Merton does not accept apologies. I would advise you to stay away from him,” Alden said, rising to his feet as he spoke. “If I were you, I would contemplate spending another night on your knees, but this time, pray for your own immortal soul.” Alden tilted his head and followed in the footsteps of his brother.
15
“My Lord,” Amandine said, a soft smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. Her hair was windswept and had come loose from her braid, and her face had a rosy hue to it, brought on by the light wind.
“We were just leaving,” Merton explained. God, she was so beautiful. He felt the tug of desire and realised he had never wanted to kiss anyone as much as he wanted to kiss her at this moment. “But if you are looking for someone to escort you into the Hall, then I will happily oblige.” He sounded like a young boy coming in from his lessons, and he thanked God that Yrre could not speak Breton.
‘No,” Amandine shook her head. “I have no interest to dine.” She saw a strange look of disappointment in Merton’s eyes, and she wished she had not been so hasty to decline his invitation. She wanted to spend time with him. “Are you going to introduce us?” She was more in want of something to say than her desire to be polite. Merton was looking at her in such a way that it was making her nervous, and he had never made her nervous before. She smiled at Yrre and looked back to Merton.
“Of course, I am sorry…I…”
Was the great Merton du Lac, stammering? Merton never stammered. And he looked flustered. Merton was never flustered. Amandine narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Her presence could not be having that much of an effect upon him. She gave herself a firm mental shake. She was reading too much into it.
“Lady Amandine Bretagne may I introduce one of my demons,” he raised his eyes brows at her, as if to say, hey, what can you do? “I promise you, he has no tail. We call him Yrre to his face, what we call him behind his back is…um…something else entirely. He was originally from Saxony but pledged his loyalty to Alden many years ago. He is fluent in Cerniw but cannot speak a word of Breton.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Amandine said the words slowly in Breton and then she realised the stupidity of her actions — as if speaking slower would make his understanding of a foreign tongue easier. Ducking her head to hide her embarrassment she curtsied in respect.
Merton grinned as if he was reading her mind, but he translated her words for her nonetheless.
“By the gods, no wonder you wanted Wann to watch her…” Yrre said in reply. “She is exquisite and far too beautiful for the likes of Wann. You were right; she will never let him into her bed — he was dreaming, but I think I might be in with a chance,” Yrre replied in Saxon.
Merton’s smile remained fixed on his face as Amandine looked at him for the translation of Yrre’s words. “He says it’s a pleasure to meet you too.”
“That was a lot of words for such a simple sentence,” Amandine pointed out.
“I have found the Saxon race like the sound of their own voice. I just picked out the words tha
t are relevant. The rest is mere gibberish, not worth paying attention to.”
She tilted her head to one side in query, her face one of complete disbelief at his words and he remembered how difficult he had always found it to lie to her. She could always see right through him, and it felt good that she still could.
“He said you are beautiful, and he thinks that you would consent to share his...bed.”
“Oh,” Amandine blushed and chewed on her lip. She had not expected that answer, and she didn’t know how to reply.
“I find it is easier just to go along with him, so if you keep smiling at him like that, maybe flash him an ankle or something…I don’t know. What do you think you should do?” He watched as her cheeks burnt as bright as the sun when it rises in the morning. He so loved to tease her, he always had. “You so much as touch her and I swear I will break your arm,” Merton added under his breath to Yrre. “She is mine.” He did not know what possessed him to say such a thing. She wasn’t his. She had never been his. But he knew now, without a shadow of a doubt, that he wanted her to be.
Yrre did not seem in the least disturbed or surprised, by such a threat. “I guess I had better leave you to it then. Although I have heard that three isn’t always necessarily a crowd.”
Merton almost growled at Yrre’s words and his hands fisted as he watched Yrre take Amandine’s hand and place the briefest of kisses on the back of it. He then bowed his head in respect at Amandine, and headed along the corridor, towards the courtyard, taking his plate of food with him.
“He is nice,” Amandine said as she turned and watched Yrre leave.
“Nice?” Merton quizzed. It had been a long time since he had heard anyone call Yrre nice. Although he was, despite everything and despite the way he teased. Merton knew that Yrre had not looked twice at Amandine because the only woman he ever looked at was his wife. He would never do anything to betray her love.
“He is fine on the eye,” Amandine stated, she giggled when she saw the look of disbelief on Merton’s face. “Don’t you think?”