Love and Honor

by Alexa Aston

  She placed her palm against his cheek. Only yesterday she’d held him to her breast and nursed him. Now, he rode off to war.

  “I know that. I’m not only uneasy about you and your brothers, though.”

  “You’re worried about Father,” Edward said. “About his age.”

  Merryn nodded. “He thinks he’s a score and five, not double that.”

  Edward’s hand covered hers. “Just as Father will look after me, I will watch over him. Hal and I both. We will constantly be at his side, whether it’s when he meets with the king’s military advisers or we take to the field. We will come home to you, Mother, I swear it. All of us. You and Father will live to a very old age. Together.”

  Merryn wrapped her arms around him. “When did you change from a boy into a man?” she asked softly.

  Edward chuckled. “You’ve always told me I’ve been an old soul from the time I was born.”

  She kissed his cheek. “Get some rest.”

  “I will.”

  He took her hands and kissed them and then left. Warmth flooded her. She had been blessed with the most wonderful children. They had been raised well. She must trust in their training and judgment—though she would pray daily for their safe return.

  Edward left and Merryn composed herself. Tonight would be her last with Geoffrey for some time.

  She planned to make the most of it.

  Chapter 2

  Scotland

  Edward bit his tongue to keep from speaking out as he and Hal stood back from the table King Richard’s council surrounded, viewing maps of the local area. He glanced at his brother. Hal rolled his eyes and looked away, disinterested in the proceedings before them. Hal was all about the fight and not the politics or strategy behind it.

  He listened as his father made a suggestion, one of many Geoffrey had offered since the English army rode out from London in August. Again, Geoffrey de Montfort’s idea was pushed aside, as other noblemen who had military experience discovered during this campaign. The king seemed only to have ears for what came from the lips of his favorite courtiers, many barely older than the king himself, and none with the background necessary to offer advice in this situation.

  His father had told him he would learn much. All Edward had discovered was that sycophants surrounded the king, telling Richard only what he wanted to hear. Edward thought most of them were idiots. So far, the king’s army of fourteen thousand men, a quarter provided by his uncle, the Duke of Lancaster, had done very little fighting, experiencing only a few encounters with pockets of Scottish troops. Spies and scouts had revealed that the French leaders could not settle their differences with their Scots’ brothers and many had already left for the continent. With not enough men to match England in a fight, the Scots refused to be drawn into battle and kept retreating.

  Time also was running out. The king’s call to arms under the feudal levy only required soldiers and knights provided by medieval noblemen to fight for a limited period. His father had told Edward usually the time span amounted to forty days, though under certain circumstances it could be increased to ninety. Edward and Hal counted as men under his father’s provision and Geoffrey had been required to provide trained men, including the soldiers’ weapons and clothing. With the deadline fast approaching, the troops present would return to their liege lords’ estates to ensure that the land would not suffer from neglect or attack.

  The strategy session ended. Edward and Hal allowed the council members to withdraw from the tent before following them outside. Hal immediately took off, probably to throw dice or swap tales with fellow soldiers. Edward decided to eat something and made his way to a line of men who awaited stew and a bit of bread. Once he had his food, he settled on the ground and observed those around him.

  “Mind if I join you?” his father asked, dropping to the ground with a bowl in hand.

  They ate in companionable silence. When finished, Geoffrey asked, “So what do you make of the council and this campaign?”

  Edward glanced around. Keeping his voice low, he said, “Saying I am bitterly disappointed in the advice the king accepts would be putting it mildly. In truth, I am horrified at how the king handles his council, much less the men who sit upon it. I know you have chosen not to be a permanent council member, Father, but you have military experience—which most of the others sorely lack. I cannot understand why the king seems to ignore what you have to say.”

  “Richard is not the man his grandfather, your namesake, was. I fear our young king let his success in the peasants’ rebellion four years ago go to his head. Ever since then, Richard has become arrogant and insensitive.”

  “He acts as if he knows everything, when he is only eight and ten. That is a year younger than I am.”

  His father chuckled. “Ah, but you were born an old soul, Edward. At least that is what your mother has always said about you.” Geoffrey surveyed the army camp. “Richard will cut his losses here by week’s end. He’ll burn the border abbeys and depart with little gain.”

  “So what was the point of this campaign?” Edward asked.

  Geoffrey sighed. “I wish I knew. Only that between the two of us, the king and I have spoken of making peace with France.”

  Shock ran through Edward. “What? The old king is probably turning in his grave at such blasphemy.”

  “I agree. But Richard isn’t interested in war because his group of friends isn’t.” Geoffrey’s expression grew grim. “I think this is the last time I will be advising our king, much less pursuing men in battle. I envision the next few years to be ones where our monarch completely believes everything those gathered around him say. He won’t want an old man such as me around.

  “And because of the change in the wind, Edward, I hope you will stay far from court. Hal, too. I plan to speak to your brother about this, as well. Richard’s vanity only seems to grow. His hubris could bring a swift downfall and I wouldn’t want you or Hal to be caught up in that. I am only grateful that Ancel has left the royal guard.”

  Edward hesitated and then asked, “You think rebellion might occur, Father?”

  Geoffrey chose his words carefully. “Not outright rebellion, as when the peasants rose up. But I see the older nobles uniting, much as they did in King John’s day, and confronting the king. ’Twould be best if the de Montforts avoid court—now and in the future.”

  Disappointment filled Edward but he would heed his father’s warning. “You don’t have to worry about me, Father. I am content to stay and serve you at Kinwick. Hal, on the other hand, has looked forward to the possibility of going to London. He longs to serve in the royal guard as Ancel did. He will be disappointed if you forbid him from doing so.”

  “Hal can learn to live with slight disappointment,” his father said, his eyes bleak. “Better that than lose his head.”

  The sentiment shocked Edward. He didn’t understand all the machinations of the court, but if his father believed an uprising would take place, Hal should accept that advice. England had been stable for the fifty years the old king sat on the throne but cracks had appeared during these early years of his grandson’s reign. The fact that Geoffrey de Montfort had decided to no longer go to court spoke loudly. Unfortunately, ’twas a warning the young king would more than likely neglect.

  His father excused himself. Edward wandered the camp for an hour, walking off nervous energy. Tomorrow, if the Scots refused to be engaged again, the burnings would begin. He dreaded it would come to that. Already, in the few clashes between the two armies, Edward had hated running his sword through men wearing little to no armor and possessing few weapons. He had envisioned war to be glorious and grand. What little he’d seen during this campaign left him disillusioned and ready to return to a quiet life in the country. The dawn would tell if a decisive battle would occur or if the fight would be brought to the border towns themselves, with innocent people losing their homes—if not their lives. The king would burn everything in sight, including the abbeys, to send Scotland and i
ts people a message before he returned to London.

  Edward knew he would get no sleep tonight.

  *

  Anticipation crackled in the early morning air as men readied themselves for battle, putting armor into place and gathering weapons and horses.

  Edward finished assisting Hal don his armor and his brother returned the favor afterward since no squires had accompanied them from Kinwick. Geoffrey de Montfort did not like to bring children near battle, even if they saw no action. Though he had a reputation as a great warrior, Edward knew how much his father truly despised war. He glanced around and saw other soldiers who’d come from Kinwick also aiding one another as they prepared to make war on the Scots and French bastards today.

  His father had shared with the members of his family that today’s fight in the northwest of England would most likely be the last stand de Vienne and his French contingent would make in Scotland on behalf of the Auld Alliance in the foreseeable future. According to reliable spies, de Vienne would lead his men in an assault on Carlisle, a town directly on the Anglo-Scottish border. If the attack proved unsuccessful, as both sides expected, de Vienne would cut his losses and fall back into Scotland before making his way east with his men to his ships and returning the fleet to Flanders.

  “Ready?” Hal asked, his expression solemn. Though his brother seemed forever lighthearted in life, Hal could always be counted upon to rise to an important occasion.

  Edward nodded and retrieved his horse. He scratched Sirius between his ears and offered him an apple. Sirius quickly downed the fruit, spitting the core to the ground and looked to see if his master would offer him another treat.

  “’Tis all you get from me now, boy,” he told the horse. “I’ll see what I can do for you once this day is done and the bloodshed is over.”

  He turned Sirius in the direction where his father now mounted his own war horse. Looking around, Edward saw the men of Kinwick settling into their saddles, alert and ready to follow their liege lord into battle. To their right, he spied Raynor and the soldiers he had brought with him from Ashcroft. On the left of the de Montfort group, Lord Humphrey Gardyner climbed into the saddle.

  Gardyner had been designated to lead today’s charge. Edward liked the gruff nobleman, who had little time for nonsense. Twice while observing tactical sessions, Edward had to stifle his laughter when Lord Humphrey barked at different royal advisers regarding fighting strategies. The man’s shaggy eyebrows took on a life of their own as he dressed down courtiers half his age who sorely lacked military experience. Edward thought if Gardyner and Geoffrey de Montfort had been solely in charge of the king’s army and its battle plans, the fight would already be done, with the Scots crawling back to their Lowlands and Highlands and the French sailing home with their tails between their legs.

  That feeling of nervous energy soared through Edward again as it had each time he’d ridden toward the conflict over the last few weeks. He harnessed it and focused on the field ahead and the town of Carlisle to the north of it. Then the troops received the signal and he nudged Sirius into action. As the army galloped toward their enemies, Edward hoped this would be the final time the two sides would clash and that their enemies would have sense enough to lay down their arms and return home.

  Riding closer, he unsheathed his sword, gripping the hilt as he swung and made contact with the first opponent in his path. He pushed away any pity he felt at the poorly-equipped man as his blade tore through the foot soldier. The Scot collapsed with what Edward knew would be a mortal wound. He never looked back as he rode on.

  Minutes later, he’d made a dozen kills, mindless of whether they were Frenchmen or Scots that fell under his sword. He swung Sirius around for another charge in the opposite direction and saw Lord Humphrey’s horse stumble when an arrow struck just below the crinet that protected the horse’s neck and slightly above the peytral, which guarded the horse’s massive chest. The arrow had found the tiny gap between the protective armor, a lucky shot that a bowman might never make again in his lifetime. The nobleman slipped from the saddle and yanked himself partly up into it again as the war horse veered and then collapsed, pinning Gardyner to the ground. Immediately, two Scots ran in the lord commander’s direction, swinging their swords in glee as a war cry escaped their lips.

  Edward dug in his heels and raced across the field. Reaching the first threat, he arced his sword with a fluid motion and beheaded the man in a single blow. The head went sailing as the legs propelled the body another few steps before it crumpled to the ground. Edward whipped Sirius around again as the second attacker, who’d watched his comrade fall, now moved to strike a death blow against Lord Humphrey, who flailed helplessly, trapped by his horse’s great weight.

  The Scot sensed Edward coming and wheeled. Edward feared the man would thrust his sword into Sirius, so he leapt from the horse’s back as Sirius avoided injury by galloping away.

  Now his enemy raised his sword against Edward and the two men began their fight to the death. The sounds of the battle surrounding them faded as only the clang of their two swords reverberated in Edward’s ears. He blocked out the warm sunshine of the September day and the tinny smell of blood as he focused on his opponent and parried and sliced. Edward made contact twice, cutting into the man’s shoulder and ripping through his thigh. As blood loss weakened the Scot, Edward delivered a final blow. The soldier fell to the ground, hitting it hard as blood bubbled from his mouth. His lips moved silently and then stilled.

  Scanning the area, Edward saw the enemy retreating. He hurried to Lord Humphrey, who groaned softly under the immense weight of the now-dead horse.

  Hal appeared, galloping toward them as he led Sirius by the reins. His brother dismounted. “What should we do?” he asked, assessing the situation.

  “We need to get the horse off him quickly,” Edward said. “Else he’ll be crushed to death.”

  He explained to Hal what they needed to do and quickly rigged rope that he always carried around the fallen horse, knotting it tightly and attaching it to their own beasts.

  “Come on, Sirius, pull!” shouted Edward, as he also yanked on the rope with all his strength.

  Hal did the same, tugging from the other side. With the strength of the two men and their huge war horses, they dragged the dead animal from the suffering nobleman.

  “Care for the horses,” Edward instructed Hal. “I’ll see to the lord commander.”

  He knelt next to Lord Humphrey and removed the man’s helmet. The nobleman sweated profusely. Pain dulled his eyes as he inhaled in shallow breaths.

  “I need to remove your armor, my lord, so we can tend to any wounds or broken bones you might have suffered.”

  “What about the damned Scots? And their French comrades-in-arms?”

  “Both retreating as we speak. You led a successful charge, my lord commander.”

  Gardyner mumbled something Edward didn’t understand and then his eyelids fluttered and closed. Edward removed the unconscious man’s armor as gently as he could as men loyal to Lord Humphrey gathered around to assist him. Edward only wished his mother or Alys could be here. Both were renowned healers and would have known what to do to relieve the nobleman from his suffering and help set him on a swift road to recovery.

  With so many hands, they made quick time stripping the nobleman down. Edward felt along the man’s limbs, remembering this was something Alys used to do as she practiced the healing arts on her three brothers. Both arms and one leg seemed to be fine but the commander’s left leg and hip had borne the brunt of the weight of the horse when it collapsed. Deep bruising already occurred. From its awkward angle, he surmised the leg must be broken, if not the hip itself. Edward’s fingers continued their search, skirting the injured man’s ribs. He moaned, leading Edward to believe several had been broken.

  Suddenly, the soldiers around them parted and the king himself stood next to them.

  Edward rose from where he knelt and bowed low.

  “Rise,” the ki
ng commanded. He studied Edward a moment. “You’re one of de Montfort’s sons. I have seen you as we have planned our war against the enemy.”

  “Aye, your majesty. I am Edward de Montfort, the youngest boy.”

  “Hmm.” The king motioned and men flew into action. The monarch’s personal healer directed Lord Humphrey’s removal to a litter.

  As a group of the king’s guard lifted the nobleman from the ground, his eyes opened. He scanned the crowd gathered around him until his search proved fruitful.

  “You,” he said, pointing to Edward. “Come here.”

  Edward stepped to the litter. “Aye, my lord?”

  “You are one of de Montfort’s men?” asked Lord Humphrey.

  “Aye, my lord. I am his son, Edward.”

  “And the other who freed me?”

  “My brother, Hal.”

  “Bring him here.”

  Hal came to stand next to Edward as Lord Humphrey told the king, “Edward de Montfort saved my life, your highness. He struck down two Scots who would have murdered me as I lay trapped beneath my horse. Then he summoned his brother and they lifted the dead animal away before the beast could crush the life from me.

  “If they are not knights, they should be.”

  “I underwent my knighthood ceremony before this campaign began,” Hal said. “But Edward has yet to do so.”

  Lord Humphrey looked at Edward and said, “If a soldier fights with notable bravery, he can earn the right to knighthood on the battlefield. You deserve this honor for your actions today.” He looked to the king. “I am afraid, your majesty, that I haven’t the strength. Would you do the honors?”

  King Richard smiled. “Of course.” He pulled his sword from his side. “Kneel,” he ordered.

  Stunned, Edward did as told, his knees quaking.

  The king placed the flat of the sword against first one shoulder, then the other. “For the bold courage and daring fearlessness you showed this day against the enemies of Mother England, I dub thee Sir Edward de Montfort. Rise!”