“Mayhap, sire,” he replied. “I suppose we will find out in due time. Was that all you wished to speak with us about?”
John stared back at William, mulling over the question, before letting out an ironic snort. “I should think it would be enough, yet you do not seem overly concerned. It is possible you care not what happens to your king or that you have become accustomed to running the country in his absence?”
William smiled wryly. “I both care what happens to our king and look forward to his return, sire. As do you.”
They all knew the final three words to be a flat-out lie. John merely turned away, this meeting had not gone favorably in the least and he was eager to be done with it. He had expected outrage, pleading and cursing at the very least, but the seams of Richard’s governing body were strong and showed no signs of deficiency. Informed of their lord’s fate, they were now sure of his whereabouts and grimly determined to resolve it. John was not at all pleased with the show of strength, yet it did not mar his plans. He had an army waiting for him in Nottingham. He had hoped Richard’s captivity would allow him a fairly bloodless route to the throne, but he could see that it was not going to happen.
So be it, then. He would take what was rightfully his by force. There would be no better opportunity.
He rose, signaling dismissal to the vassals. Christopher stood back and allowed the justices to file from the room, almost as if protecting their retreat from John’s horde. Marshal was the last man from the room, and Christopher fell in behind him as a broad human shield. He wanted no surprises from the rear, and as unpredictable as John was, that was always a possibility.
“De Lohr!” came a heavily-accented call.
Christopher instantly knew who hailed him, turning with a stone stare to Sir Dennis. The man smiled amiably, but there was no mistaking the deadly glitter to his eyes.
“Your wife…is she well?” he asked, laced with venom.
Christopher felt his control slipping. “She is none of your concern, le Londe.”
“Of course not, but my concern is genuine after her most unfortunate accident,” the Frenchman said.
Christopher could not help the look of contempt that crossed his face. Without answering, he turned for the door once again and attempted to leave, but Sir Dennis was on his heels.
“What will happen to her, I wonder, if you take an army to rescue Richard?” he pondered thoughtfully. “If you were not to survive, I mean. She is most beautiful and….”
Christopher whirled around and grabbed Sir Dennis by the neck, slamming him with all of his power into the nearest wall. A framed tapestry crashed to the floor as William and a few other justices raced back into the room to control the Defender.
But Christopher was out of control; le Londe was a big man, but he was no match for the provoked husband. Christopher’s face was red and his veins bulged as he held Sir Dennis like a cornered mouse.
“Wipe my wife from your mind, le Londe,” he seethed, hearing William begging him to back off. “You will not look at her, nor speak of her, nor even think of her or so help me, by all that is holy, I will gut you like a pig to the spit.”
Sir Dennis actually had the stupidity to smile. “Mon frère, your passion for your wife is touching, but misplaced in this case. I was simply voicing my concerns for her safety, nothing more.”
Christopher went for his sword, halfway unsheathing it until William and the others grabbed hold of his arm and wouldn’t allow him to remove it any further. His eyes were boring death into le Londe, and he was forced to release the hilt as Marshal and Longchamp pleaded urgently beside him; beseeching him to control himself. In a flash of sanity, Christopher reluctantly obeyed and let le Londe slip from his grip, although he knew not why he should release the man.
Sir Dennis adjusted his armor, not the least bit disturbed by Christopher’s display and now quite confident that the way to destroy de Lohr had just been confirmed. With a sharp salute and an equally taunting smile, he disappeared through the door behind John’s throne.
Richard’s faithful watched him go, realizing they had a problem on their hands in the form of Lady Dustin de Lohr. If the woman could incite such behavior in her husband to the point of irrationality, then John could use that against them. De Lohr out of control was a terrifying sight to behold, and it had taken five of them to restrain him. And even that would not have been enough if he hadn’t cooperated.
“Come on, Chris,” William said, grabbing him around the neck and pulling him toward the door.
Christopher was shaken, tensed and angry that he flew at Sir Dennis so easily. He tried to tell himself that it would not happen again, but it was lie. The words of the mummer came floating back to him, their inane songs and dance making sense to his furious mind. Dustin was indeed his Achilles heel, and now everyone knew it. He should have been embarrassed, but he found he was not. She was his wife and he would let all know he would kill without hesitation where she was concerned.
The faithful of Richard marched down the darkened corridor with not a word spoken between them. At the end of the hall where it branched off, all of the men took their leave with the exception of Longchamp, Marshal, and Christopher. Marshal dismissed the others with a promised meeting to further discuss the subject come dawn, giving everyone time to mull over the situation in their own mind and come to grips with it. At the moment, he wished to discuss the predicament with Richard’s two most trusted men.
Longchamp’s apartments were the closest. The three men settled themselves in, with heavy doses of fine burgundy going around. By this time Christopher was in control again and waited patiently for William to speak.
“My gentle men,” he began softly. “ ’Twould seem that we have problem.”
Christopher thought he meant him until the chancellor piped up. “Richard was a fool to leave the safety of his ship and take to the continent,” Longchamp grumbled. “What on earth possessed the man?”
“Pirates, bad weather, who can say?” William replied. “Richard never was fond of the sea. But what is done is done, and we must think of a way to return our king to England.”
“Queen Eleanor would know of this, sire,” Christopher said, focusing on William. “Being French, she must carry some weight with Philip.”
William shook his head. “They despise her, too, Chris, you know that. She is nearly as powerful as the king with all of her holdings. Nay, we will notify Eleanor, but I am afraid she will be of no use in gaining her son’s release.”
The silence that filled the room was heavy and still. Christopher finished off his wine and poured him and Longchamp another goblet.
“Do you think John knows where they are holding him?” Christopher asked.
“I would tend to doubt it, considering the man never could keep a secret,” William replied. “If he knew, he would have told us.”
“The little bastard,” Longchamp growled. “He sees this as his golden opportunity to seize the throne. There’s no telling what he shall do now.”
“My informants tell me that he has moved his mercenary army north,” Christopher said. “Away from London and away from me.”
“North where?” Longchamp demanded. “York? Durham?”
Christopher shook his head. “Nay, not that far north. Besides, his brother, Geoffrey, is in York and they loathe the mere sight of each other. My guess is Nottingham, mayhap even planning to shield the troops in Sherwood Forrest.”
“Sherwood is haunted, everyone knows that,” Longchamp spat out, as if Christopher were a moron. “The men will not go near it no matter how much John pays them.”
“Nottingham Castle is large enough to conceal a mighty army,” Marshal murmured thoughtfully. “Besides, Fitz Walter’s uncle is lord of the keep.”
Christopher’s face went hard and both men immediately remembered the exchange earlier in the evening.
“Your wife is indeed Ralph’s cousin?” William asked softly.
“Aye,” Christopher nodded his head, r
unning his fingers though his hair with irritation. “ ’Tis all my fault, really. She told me her grandsire lived in Nottingham when we were first married but I never pursued the thought. I was too caught up with my own problems. Now I find out the hard way that my wife’s grandsire is Ralph’s uncle.”
“Has Lady Dustin ever met her grandfather?” Longchamp asked.
“Nay, never, and she never will,” Christopher said firmly. “Dustin told me of things that the man did to her mother… vile things. She’s never going near the place.”
William shook his head with regret after a moment. “How is it that all of the Fitz Walter men are so foul? Ralph’s father, ’tis said, had a taste for human flesh. Is there nothing more despicable than that? ’Tis no wonder why Ralph is as evil as he is.”
Christopher sat down, beginning to feel his fatigue. “And yet Lady Mary, Dustin’s mother, was the very epitome of feminine grace and manners, a true lady,” he said softly. “ ’Tis still hard to believe such a woman was bred of Lucifer’s loins.”
“All of the Fitz Walter men are Lucifer in the flesh,” Longchamp said with a sneer. “Yet your wife must take after her mother – a lovely and refined lady she is.”
Christopher smiled for the first time. “Lovely, yes, but she is certainly not the gentle soul her mother was,” he said. “She takes after Arthur and his family, I think, though at times I have wondered if she is not the devil’s spawn.”
“Arthur descended from King Harold, didn’t he?” William rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “A punchy man, but hardly the devil. Now William the Bastard; now, there was a devil.”
“My ancestor came over the channel with Duke William, his top general, I might add,” Christopher said softly. “But my family’s roots are German and French, from the continent, although my mother was from the house of du Reims. My uncle, her brother, was the Earl of East Anglia.”
William’s eyes suddenly grew soft, catching Christopher’s attention. He thought he caught a flash of emotion in the faded depths, but it was quickly gone. “What?” he demanded softly of the marshal.
William glanced at Christopher, a bit embarrassed at his display of feeling. “ ’Tis nothing, really,” he said, shrugging. “You did know that I knew your mother, didn’t you?”
“Aye,” Christopher said evenly. “Uncle Philip told me you were in love with my mother, once.”
William grinned. “Once, many years ago,” he said. “I was newly knighted at the time and your mother, God rest her soul, was part of a fighting force I was attached to. Never did I see a lovelier woman, Christopher. Skin as pure as cream, hair like a golden fire. Aye, Val du Reims was indeed a beauty.” He finally drew up a chair. “But she did not even know I existed, especially after dashing Myles de Lohr came on the scene. Lord, your father was an imposing sight.”
Christopher gazed at William steadily, impassively listening to the man reflect. “I lost both of my parents when I was fourteen years old, and David was ten,” he said softly. “I was squiring at Derby, as was my brother. I had been a page there since I was six, so I remember very little of my mother. But I remember her giddy laugh and her endless affection towards David and me. We were the only survivors of five births, you know, with Deborah being the last.”
William reflected on Val de Lohr, the woman who had been allowed to fight like a knight, and was a very good one, until she married Myles de Lohr. De Lohr had put an end to his fighting wife rather quickly.
“Your mother passed away when Deborah was very young, as I recall,” William said quietly.
Christopher nodded. “My parents were quite old when I was born, and older still when David and Deborah were born,” he said, thinking back. “My mother passed away when Deborah was less than a year old and my father passed away shortly after her. A fatal disease, the physic told us. ’Twas a malady of the lungs that took them both. Fortunately, the physic spirited Deborah away before she could catch it. She was raised in Bath.”
“I remember hearing of the tragic circumstances,” William replied quietly, his eyes warm with remembrance. “Aye, Val de Lohr will always remain the most beautiful woman I ever had the fortune to gaze upon. You remind me a great deal of her, actually. Sometimes when you smile, I see her. David is a duplicate of your father, I think.”
Christopher shrugged, sitting back in his chair. “I would hope so. My father was a great knight.”
“He was indeed, Chris, he was indeed,” William agreed passionately. “You must forgive me for wandering. We are far from the subject at hand.”
“Indeed we are,” Longchamp interjected with a bit of sarcasm. “Let’s return to Richard, shall we?”
Christopher glanced at the taciturn man. Longchamp was bitter, stubborn and aggressive and Christopher held little like for the man other than he was able to deal with John on the prince’s own level.
“My apologies, my lord,” he said, not meaning it. “As for Richard, mayhap it would be best to wait until we receive word from Leopold as to his demands. Truthfully, there is nothing more we can do until we have more information.”
“Chris is right,” William agreed, yawning. “We must play the waiting game and send word to Eleanor in the interim.”
Longchamp drained his glass and set it down heavily. “I must say, you are all being rather calm about the whole thing,” he said.
“Richard is being held captive and neither of you barely raise your voice. Are you truly unconcerned or is it a grand act for John’s sake? Well?”
“What would you have us do, William?” Marshal asked. “Scream? Rage? Shout to the rooftops that Leopold and the Lion will suffer greatly for their acts? We knew Richard was in danger and have already had time to accept it; now we finally know the result of the danger. ’Tis not a matter of remaining calm, but of keeping a clear head to better deal with events. But you are correct in your assessment that we remain collected for John’s sake; unfortunately, the man is gaining advantage as we speak and I will allow him no opportunity to exploit our weaknesses. Whatever happens, we must remain strong and united or Richard’s throne is lost.”
Longchamp’s agitated gaze visibly relaxed. “You are right, of course,” he said with resignation, rising. “Then it would seem we should retreat for the remainder of the night and see what the morrow brings. I will call the justices together after the morning meal and we will continue this conversation to include them.”
Christopher was up, moving for the door, his mind rapidly moving from Richard to Dustin. “Then good sleep to you, my lords.”
“Sleep well, Chris,” Marshal said after him.
With the Defender gone, Longchamp faced Marshal.
“Will he survive this?” he asked softly.
William shrugged. “He’s the best knight who has ever lived, William, and we are mightily fortunate that he fights for Richard. But John will try to seize the throne by force, and Christopher will be compelled to defend his king’s holdings.” He sighed wearily, feeling older than his years. “I hope he survives whatever John is planning, for with Christopher gone we will be hard-pressed to defend ourselves.”
“Civil war is imminent, William, we both know that,” Longchamp said flatly.
“I know.” Marshal turned a distant gaze out of the grand windows in Longchamp’s antechamber, smelling the freshness that was his beloved England. He had served two kings, knowing his service had aged him beyond his years. Yet his duties had been administrative for the most part, not field oriented as Christopher’s were. As hard as the justices worked to maintain Richard’s throne, it was nothing compared to the physical toll the Defender was in for. The governing body would make the decisions from a comfortable chair, and Christopher would enforce them with a thirty pound blade in his massive hand.
William had lived a full life. He wondered if Christopher de Lohr would do the same.
CHAPTER THIRTY
When Christopher returned to his apartments, he was satisfied to see that the soldiers he had positioned in the hall w
ere making a good show of strength. When they heard Christopher’s bootfalls approach, without seeing his face first in the darkness, they made a calculating and intimidating show of force. But once they realized the intruder was their liege, they resumed their posts in the dimness of the corridor. Feeling confident in the protection he had lodged in the corridor, Christopher entered his apartments.
The antechamber was dark when he entered, smelling of smoke and rushes. Dud was sitting near the fire, half asleep, as Christopher shut the door and bolted it. Startled, Dud bolted to his feet with his hand on the hilt of his weapon.
“Easy,” Christopher admonished, holding up a quieting hand. “ ’Tis only me. But it could have been a swarm of cutthroats. You know better than to sleep on duty.”
Dud was embarrassed. “Too much wine this evening,” he offered weakly. “Truly, I was not asleep but I wish I were.”
Christopher fought off a grin, motioning to the door. “Go, then, you old woman,” he said. “I will… wait a moment; where is Marcus? I left him here with you.”
Dud was already heading to the door. “Aye, you did,” he said, “but he disappeared about an hour ago. I went to use the privy and when I returned, he was gone.”
Christopher’s brow furrowed. “Gone?” he repeated. “He left?”
“Aye, my lord.”
Christopher went from puzzled to annoyed. “He left Dustin alone?”
Dud didn’t want to incriminate Marcus and he shrugged weakly. “He must have had a very good reason, my lord,” he said. “He would not have simply left without one.”
Christopher was angry. He went to the bedchamber door, opening it quietly and peering in. It was so dark that he had to step into the chamber and lean over the bed in order to see his wife sleeping soundly. Satisfied she was whole, he went back out into the antechamber and quietly shut the door.
“Go and find Marcus,” he snapped softly. “Tell him that I want to see him.”
The de Lohr Dynasty: Medieval Legends: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 59