The Agents of William Marshal Volume II: A Medieval Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  She made it through her request without weeping, but as she came to the end, the tears started again. As she wiped at them quickly, Lady de Wrenville put a hand on her arm.

  “I did not know your father was here,” she said quietly. “Of course I shall discover what has become of him.”

  Emelisse forced a smile. “Thank you,” she said. “If he is not dead, he was badly injured and needed tending. They would not let me do it. But if he is dead…”

  “I will discover where they have taken him.”

  Emelisse blinked and tears spattered on her cheek. “If they have thrown him in that terrible moat, do not tell me. I do not want to know.”

  Lady de Wrenville simply nodded. She turned to one of her servants, the one named Matilde, and whispered something in the woman’s ear. As the woman slipped from the chamber, Emelisse permitted Lady de Wrenville and her army of well-meaning maids to strip her down, clean her up, feed her, and put her to bed.

  Try as she might not to fall asleep awaiting word about her father, her exhaustion claimed her nonetheless.

  Her dreams were filled with her father’s smashed face and his teeth on the ground.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The snows of winter had finally come.

  After unseasonably good traveling weather all the way from London, the weather finally turned as the turrets of Winterhold Castle came into view.

  It was just a light dusting of snow, but it was sticking on the ground, indicative of the dropping temperatures. Under pewter-colored skies, the army from Warstone Castle closed the distance to Winterhold’s gatehouse very quickly. Night was approaching and no one wanted to be caught out in the snow. In fact, they wanted to get their encampment set up as quickly as possible.

  Given the fact that Winterhold wasn’t expecting them, there was a good deal of activity on the battlements as they traveled the last quarter of a mile. Edward was flying the de Wolfe and Pembroke standards so there was no mistaking who was approaching, but Winterhold still dropped the portcullis as the army came within range in a decidedly unfriendly move.

  The army approached from the south, up and over a strategically built rampart, and the road led right to the first gatehouse built within the outer wall. The castle itself was built out of gray granite, the pale stone that often turned dark with age. Surrounding the outer wall was a massive moat that reeked of rot and sewage and filth. There were dead animals in it, and certainly nothing living, and it completely encircled the outer wall.

  Edward, displeased that the portcullis was in place as they approached, turned to Morgan and Kevin, ordering them to find suitable ground for the army to begin pitching their tents before the snow grew too heavy. The knights took off with young William following his cousin, heading straight for a cleared field to the west. Peter and Gareth soon followed, moving the army off the road, leaving Caius, Edward, Maxton, and about ten of Edward’s private guard to face de Wrenville.

  The massive gatehouse loomed before them as they continued onward, but Caius could see the bulk of the castle within the outer walls. It was set upon a raised position and he could see the tall, pale walls of the inner bailey encompassing quite a few buildings. He could see multiple roofs. As the snow began to come down a little heavier, Edward rode up to the portcullis and addressed the men gathered behind it.

  “I am Edward de Wolfe, Earl of Wolverhampton,” he said, sounding angry. “Open this portcullis at once. Surely you could see my standards as we rode in. How dare you insult me by raising your defenses.”

  Realizing they’d made a very bad move, the men at the gate began to scramble and the chains on the portcullis went taut.

  “Forgive me, m’lord,” a grizzled, old sergeant said. “We’re at a state of war. We couldn’t be sure you weren’t here to attack us.”

  Edward’s eyebrows few up. “Attack you?” he repeated, outraged. “Why would Wolverhampton attack you? And who on earth are you at war with?”

  “Hawkstone, m’lord.”

  That gave Edward pause. “You are at war with Hawkstone Castle?” he said. “I am aware there have been hostilities for the past few years, but do you mean to tell me that you are actually at war with them?”

  “Aye, m’lord.”

  “As in waging a war?”

  “Aye, m’lord.”

  Edward’s jaw began to tick. “How long has this been going on?”

  Because Edward was becoming angry, the sergeant was becoming nervous. “Weeks, m’lord,” he said. “We breached the gatehouse of Hawkstone today and captured de Thorington himself and his daughter.”

  By now, the portcullis was nearly up and Edward charged underneath it, followed by Caius and Maxton and his mounted guard. As soon as Edward came underneath, he leaned over and grabbed the sergeant by the front of his tunic.

  “Where is your liege?” he demanded.

  The sergeant’s eyes widened at the sight of an angry earl with a big army. He pointed towards the inner bailey.

  “Inside the hall the last I saw, m’lord,” he said. “I will escort you.”

  Edward let go of the man, eyeing Caius and Maxton as they began to follow the sergeant through the gatehouse and into the outer ward, which contained troop houses and trades and the stables. It was large area surrounded by walls and moats on all sides. They proceeded across a massive bridge that spanned an inner moat, which was nearly as large as the outer moat, and smelled just as awful. Caius found himself looking down into it, seeing all manner of rotting carcasses floating in it, including what looked to be a fresh human body. As Edward stayed close to the sergeant, who was running at this point, Caius reined his steed back by Maxton.

  “God’s Bones,” he muttered. “Have you ever seen anything like this in your life?”

  Maxton’s eyes were on the enormous inner bailey walls in front of him and the big gatehouse. “I’d heard Winterhold was big,” he said quietly. “I simply didn’t realize how big. This place could give Lioncross Abbey grand competition on the Marches. It’s positively enormous.”

  Caius shook his head in amazement. “This has to be one of the largest castles on the Marches,” he said. “No wonder John has declared Marius de Wrenville to be his new favorite. He wants control of Winterhold.”

  Maxton cast him a long look. They both knew what that would mean. With de Lohr, de Wolfe, and the Marcher lords of de Lara nearby as powerful allies securing the Welsh Marches, that meant that John had very little control. De Lohr, de Wolfe, and de Lara were loyal to the king because they had to be, but they were not at his mercy nor did they obey his whims. Their loyalty was more to each other, making them a large and unmovable faction that John had no real power over. But controlling a castle like Winterhold would change that because the king would have the loyalty of a big Marcher castle and the big army that went with it.

  The situation was beginning to take on some added dimension.

  Once through the secondary gatehouse, the surprisingly crowded inner ward of Winterhold unfurled before them. There was a great hall immediately to their left, but in front of them lay not only a big, square tower, but also a keep that was quite sizable. There were outbuildings and a walled garden, and in all, the place was quite a jewel in the crown of the Marches and Caius had to admit that he was impressed.

  It was a hell of a place.

  They reined their horses to a halt in front of the great hall as the sergeant ran inside. The hall itself was built, strangely enough, from wattle and daub, and was separated from the rest of the buildings by its steeply pitched roof. As Caius and the others dismounted their weary horses, the sergeant reemerged from the hall with a man in tow.

  “My Lord Wolverhampton,” the man said, a cup with some kind of drink in his left hand. “You honor me with your surprising visit. Why did you not send word ahead? You frightened my gatehouse sentries.”

  Edward turned to the man, clear disgust and unfriendliness on his face. “De Wrenville,” he greeted. “We must speak. Take me someplace private.”
r />   Covington de Wrenville’s face fell at the decidedly terse words. This was no social call. In fact, he looked rather confused. He looked around to the men with Edward, his gaze falling on Maxton and then Caius. He stared at Caius a moment, possibly because he was such an enormous man with a myriad of sharp weapons on his body. Men of Caius’ size often spurred fear, something that registered on Covington’s face. His gaze finally moved back to Edward.

  “Of course, my lord,” he said. “Do you not wish to come into the hall on this snowy night and warm yourself with drink and genteel conversation first? The fire is most comforting.”

  Edward was cold and angry. He shook his head. “Private, I said. Now.”

  Covington nodded unsteadily, looking at his sergeant as if the man could give him some hint as to why the Earl of Wolverhampton was here and angry on top of that. But the sergeant looked back at him helplessly.

  “Find Hallam,” Covington muttered. “Send him to my solar.”

  The sergeant dashed off, gladly so. Motioning to Edward and the men with him, Covington led his liege across the wet inner bailey as the snow continued to fall. Wispy flakes gently tumbled through their air, but it was falling even more heavily now than it had been earlier. It was beginning to fill up the night sky.

  Covington took them into the keep, which was warm and smelled of fresh rushes. It was neat and clean, well-managed from what they could see, and they followed Covington into a large solar off the entry. Maxton was the last knight in, motioning to Edward’s guard to wait outside. As he shut the door, Edward was already beginning the conversation.

  “Am I to understand that you are waging war against Hawkstone Castle?” he said.

  The expression on Covington’s face suggested that he now realized why Wolverhampton was so angry. He still had the cup of alcohol in his hand and he set it down on the nearest table, taking a step away from Edward, who was quite close to him. Being that Edward was a large man, he was intimidating.

  Covington backed away.

  “They have been our enemies these past three years, my lord,” Covington said.

  Edward’s golden eyes were glittering. “I know you believe they are your enemy,” he said. “I also know you have led attacks against them and I have told you in the past to cease. Am I to understand that you have disobeyed me – again?”

  Covington was trying very hard to stand against Edward. “It is my duty,” he said with a surprising show of courage. “Rupert de Thorington is loyal to Philip, yet you have done nothing about it. It is my duty to…”

  Edward cut him off. “Rupert de Thorington is not loyal to Philip,” he said. “I want to know who has told you such lies.”

  “My son,” Covington countered indignantly. “My son has brought that information straight from the king himself. John believes they are disloyal to him. So in service to the king, it is my duty to confiscate Hawkstone.”

  Edward eyed him. He was a diplomat, and a fine one, but at the moment, all he felt like doing was punching Covington in his lying mouth. Still, he kept his calm.

  “The trouble with Hawkstone began three years ago when Rupert rejected your marital proposal between his daughter and your son,” he pointed out. “Your son has only been a favorite of John’s for a year, two at the most. Nay, de Wrenville, do not tell me that the information of disloyalty comes from the king or that you are doing the king’s work. You are doing your own work because you want Hawkstone and what you perceive to be her rich lands. It would be better for all of us if you just admit that.”

  By the time he was finished, Covington was red in the face. Jaw ticking, he turned away from Edward and claimed his cup of drink again, draining it. He was prevented from responding immediately when a knight bearing the tunic of Winterhold entered the chamber. Maxton immediately confronted the man and almost chased him out, but Covington stopped him.

  “He may remain. This is Sir Hallam Chadlington, the captain of my armies.” As Maxton backed off and Hallam settled in by the door, eyeing the shaggy bear of a warrior, Covington refocused on Edward. “My lord, let us be plain. You spend your time at Warstone Castle, or at Pembroke, or Lioncross Abbey, or even London. I have not seen you in over a year. You have given little concern to Winterhold or Hawkstone, or any of your vassals along the Marches other than de Lara, yet you show up suddenly with a massive army, big knights, and verbally lash me on something you know nothing about. My life and how I conduct it should not concern you.”

  It was the wrong thing to say to Edward. It was outright disrespect. But instead of becoming angry about it, Edward seemed to calm dramatically. In fact, a twinkle came to his eyes. Then, he started to chuckle, but it was without humor.

  It was the calm before the storm.

  “De Wrenville, until this moment, I had held out hope that you were a sane and reasonable man,” he said. “But you have just proven to me that you live in a world of delusions. You do realize that I can declare you an enemy of the king and take this property from you.”

  “With my son as John’s confidante, you would not be believed,” Covington countered, brave when it came to throwing around the king’s name. “Moreover, I married The Marshal’s niece two months ago. I am now related to William Marshal. If I call upon him to defend me, you would be in a bind.”

  It was a threat, perhaps suggesting it was Covington who held all of the power now. But Edward didn’t say a word. He looked to Caius, who realized it was his turn to speak up. He’d been watching the entire ridiculous exchange with an overinflated Covington de Wrenville, wondering when Edward was going to rip the man’s tongue from his mouth.

  But Edward was going to let Caius do the honors.

  Metaphorically, anyway.

  He was ready.

  “My name is Sir Caius d’Avignon,” he said as he stepped forward. “If you do not know that name, then allow me to introduce myself. I am the garrison commander for Richmond Castle and command more than two thousand men. I am one of William Marshal’s elite commanders. Part of my career was spent in The Levant with Richard doing things that I am going to have to do great atonement for in Purgatory when the time comes. Suffice it to say that I could butcher a man like you without effort, so do not test me. The Muslim armies had a name for me – The Britannia Viper. If you doubt my deadly strike, I can prove it to you. But you would not survive. Do you understand me so far?”

  Covington was back to his expression of confusion, but now it was filled with anger. “Did William Marshal send you here to threaten me?”

  “He did not,” Caius said. “I have come with the men you requested in your campaign against Hawkstone Castle, but it seems you have already gone forward with your plans to defeat the castle and de Thorington. I am also here to discover the truth of the situation, so do not lie to me. I do not do well with lies. I will ask questions and you will give me completely truthful answers. The use of the army is at my discretion and if I am not satisfied, you shall not have it.”

  Covington was beginning to burn. “Use of The Marshal’s army is not at your discretion,” he said. “I do not care who you are or how much you threaten me. I am married to William Marshal’s niece and unless you wish to create a rift in The Marshal’s family, you will turn that army over to me.”

  “You are mistaken in that assumption,” Caius said coolly. “Any military support will not happen unless my questions are satisfied. The army will follow me, not you, so do not think you can commandeer them. They would laugh at you.”

  “Then ask your damnable questions!”

  Caius was enjoying Covington’s agitation. “We were told you captured Rupert de Thorington and his daughter,” he said. “Where are they?”

  Angrily, Covington turned his back on him and marched over to a sideboard containing two pitchers, presumably both with wine. The sideboard was well-stocked with cups as a result. Covington picked up one of the pitchers and poured himself a sloppy cup.

  “Rupert did not survive,” he said, taking a long drink before ans
wering the second part of the question. “His daughter is in the vault.”

  Caius didn’t like the sound of that. “What happened to de Thorington?”

  Covington looked at him, pointedly. “A casualty of war.”

  The answer was almost mocking, which didn’t sit well with Caius or anyone else in the room.

  “By your hand?” Caius asked.

  Covington shook his head. “I do not fight with my army,” he said. “He was dead when they brought him here.”

  Edward could no longer remain silent. He sighed sharply. “Christ,” he muttered. “So Rupert is dead. What about his daughter?”

  Covington’s attention shifted to him. “I told you that she was in the vault.”

  Edward was starting to get angry all over again. “You would put a woman in the vault, you idiot?” he hissed. “De Wrenville, you will listen to me and listen well. You will release that woman from the vault and you will bring Rupert’s body to me, or that army I brought will be turned loose on you. And then I will send for more and I will raze Winterhold to the ground. Before you tell me that your son has the king’s ear and William Marshal would not be pleased by that, it is of little matter because you would be dead before they knew anything about it. You have provoked me for the last time. Is this in any way unclear?”

  Covington could tell he meant it. He’d pushed the earl about as far as he could, but he was a prideful man. Submission did not come easily for him, which is why he’d married Alice. He wanted the power that William Marshal could bring him.

  But he wasn’t stupid. He knew when it was time to capitulate.

  “Lady Emelisse de Thorington is my prisoner,” he said. “But if you wish her removed from the vault, I will honor that request.”

  “I want to talk to her,” Caius chimed in, his face taut with disgust for Covington’s behavior. “Have your man take me to the vault and I will retrieve her.”