Christopher stared thoughtfully at the floor for several long, pregnant minutes. Neither man spoke, the severity of the situation sinking in and a great cloud of doom settling.
“Does John know yet?” he asked.
“When I sought you, he had yet to be informed,” William replied. “But that may have changed since then.”
Christopher sat still a moment longer before pushing himself off the table and crossing his arms. “It would seem to me that if Richard is missing, then someone should go looking for him. As his champion, it must be me.”
“Nay, lad, not you,” William said firmly. “As his champion, it is important you stay here and control the crown’s troops so that John cannot use them. If you leave, there will be no one to stop him. You cannot appoint your own replacement – only Richard can do that.”
“We cannot simply sit here while Richard may be in grave danger,” Christopher said passionately in the first real display of emotion. “He very well may require assistance.”
“There is nothing you can do,” William said. “Even if you were to find him, ’twould be you and he against the whole of the continent. You said yourself that Leopold and Henry and Philip were out to get him. You alone could not defend him against every troop on the continent, formidable as you are. And most certainly if he is traveling in disguise, do not you think that Richard’s champion riding into France and Germany would attract attention?”
Christopher looked at him a moment, hard, before turning away in frustration. He kicked at the floor, scuffing his boots. “So what do we do, my lord?”
“At the moment, nothing,” William replied. “The justices will be meeting on the morrow regarding this crisis, I am sure. I go now to deliver the message personally to all of them.”
Christopher turned to him. “’Twill take you all night. Allow me to assist you in this so that we may both be in bed before the sun breaks the horizon.”
“I would be grateful,” William admitted, rising. “I am not as young as I used to be, not as young as you.”
Christopher snorted. “At thirty-five years, I am hardly young. Richard is a mere three years older than myself.”
“You are young,” the earl insisted with a weary smile. “When you reach my age, you will know what old is. By the way, Chris, I have not had the chance to congratulate you on your marriage to Lord Barringdon’s daughter. A fine match.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Christopher mumbled.
William moved for the door, eyeing Christopher. “You know, if I were you, I would return her to Lioncross. ’Tis not safe for such a beautiful woman here in John’s court. The prince will set his sights on her, if he hasn’t already.”
Christopher’s jaw ticked. “I am well aware of the prince’s lust,” he replied. “As for returning her to Lioncross, I feel better able to protect her here. My knights are with me and she is never alone, whereas at Lioncross, there is less protection.”
William’s hand rested on the door latch and Christopher stopped, facing him in the dim room. “Chris, before John makes his move to seize Richard’s holdings, you must leave Windsor and return to your keep if you expect to preserve your life. He shall go after everyone loyal to his brother, especially ranking officials such as you and myself.”
“I can handle John’s mercenaries,” Christopher said confidently. “Yet in faith, the only thing that concerns me is if John does indeed ascend the throne. My only hope is that he will allow me to live out my life in England in peace, although I have grave doubts that that will be the case. I fear I may find myself fleeing to Ireland or Scotland.”
“All of us, lad,” William smiled wryly and opened the door. “’Twould make a fine commune living amongst Richard’s ousted loyalists. Now, I shall deliver the messages to the clergy justices. That leaves you with the nobles.”
Christopher nodded curtly. “Most of which are at Windsor, except for a very few. I should be done by midnight at the latest.”
“Waste no time,” William said. “I will see you on the morrow.”
Christopher left the marshal and made his way back to the fragrant and stuffy dining hall. His great sense of foreboding was overshadowed by the urgency he felt. The feast had finished and the orchestra was filling the hall with a lively tune, and realizing that John had already left the hall caused his sense of urgency to multiply.
Later that night, the attacks against Richard’s supporters began.
Hell began.
PART ONE
AND SO, IT BEGINS….
“There to perish by judgment meet,
Dying a villainous death of shame.”
~ Song of Roland c. 1040 A.D.
CHAPTER ONE
It was as dark as sin in the corridor, that sooty blackness of night that not even the torches, burning low and heavy in their iron sconces, could erase. In the corridor of this black and inky building, a sea of darkness in the dead of night, he knew that they were up here. The anticipation in the air was palpable.
He could feel it.
Sir David de Lohr stood at the top of the stairs, his sky-blue eyes gazing off into the darkness beyond. Just within the past several hours, news had reached London that Richard, King of England, had been declared missing on his journey home from the Levant, and that information seemed to spur his jealous brother, John Lackland, into a series of actions against Richard’s loyalists. With Richard gone, there was nothing between John and the throne of England. Nothing but the House of de Lohr, and even in that, John was determined to remove that very large obstacle.
In this past hour, he’d gone after David’s brother, Richard’s champion and a man known throughout England as the Defender of the Realm. They even called him the Lion’s Claw, for a lion’s deadliest weapons were his claws, and Christopher de Lohr was quite deadly. He was a great man, no doubt, and a worthy target for John’s hatred. In fact, there was probably no one in England more worthy of being John’s target.
But, like the poor marksman he was, John had missed the mark. The man had struck Christopher’s wife in an ambush meant for the husband and had injured the woman. David had been present at the ambush and he’d fought off a horde of John’s personal guard who had been trying to wipe out anything with the name de Lohr attached to. A young knight, who was the cousin of Christopher’s best friend, Marcus Burton, had fallen beneath the steely blades of John’s assassins. Christopher’s wife had also been injured. In truth, it had been a bloodbath begging for vengeance.
And David would answer the call. As Christopher had gone to check on his wounded wife, David had left the apartments in search of the lowly scum who had committed the atrocity. Not the prince, of course, but his personal guard, a group comprised of the lowliest scum and assassins England had to offer. That was the putridity that John surrounded himself with. David’s offensive was completely without Christopher’s knowledge, of course, for Christopher was preoccupied with his wife and not with vengeance at the moment. Christopher tended to plan more appropriately for things like this, a time and a place for his revenge, but not David. His reaction was instantaneous. Therefore, David and several of Christopher’s soldiers had gone on the hunt.
It was time for John to pay.
Back-tracking from the section of corridor where the ambush had occurred, David and his men had followed footprints, tracks of several men running off from the residential block where Christopher was staying and heading towards the south end of Windsor where there were some old timber outbuildings that served as knight housing, now serving as housing for the collection of barons that were in attendance for John’s coming tournament and feast. Wherever the pack of jackals had been heading, it was in that direction.
As David and his men had crossed the dark middle ward of Windsor, heading to the lower ward, they came across two knights that David recognized as allies – Sir Stephen Marion, a bachelor knight of great skill and wealth, and a knight who served the Earl of Derby by the name of Brentford le Bec. David knew the men, and they kne
w him, and when they saw David crossing a darkened bailey armed to the teeth, they didn’t hesitate to join him when David explained what had happened to Christopher’s wife. Soon, David had two skilled knights at his disposal and the odds against John’s guard were mounting.
David and his men then ran all the way to the old building that had been constructed by the Duke of Normandy over one hundred years before, a two-storied wooden structure with about twelve rooms total. The lower ward of Windsor was dark for the most part, with weak light emitting from the old wooden structure, enough light to cast upon a party of riders outside of the building and what seemed, the closer they came, to be a struggle going on. David and his men could hear the clash of swords as they approached.
They could also hear the frightened yelp of women. Sounds like that always spurred men onward and as David and his men rushed up to the skirmish, he could see that some of the combatants were wearing the dark green and black tunic that John’s guard so proudly donned. The connection was unmistakable and David even recognized one of the men as having been part of the earlier ambush against Christopher’s wife. Realizing they had come into yet another fight perpetrated by the very men they sought, David’s sword was unsheathed in the blink of an eye and, feet first, he plunged into the melee. He didn’t even care who John’s men were fighting; even if it was an enemy of the House of de Lohr, the greater enemy was the prince’s personal guard. Like the praetorian guard of old, fearsome men who used to the bidding of the great leaders of Rome, John’s guard had the power of fear and pain.
But, then again, so did David.
The addition of David, two knights, and eleven de Lohr soldiers turned what had been a grunting, clanging fight into a maelstrom of blades and blood. Because it was so dark, it made the situation all the more dangerous because of the limited visibility. Men ended up fighting their allies before they realized it and as David, fast as lightning, narrowly missed cutting down one of his own men in the darkness. Still, he managed to regroup and cut down two of John’s men in quick succession. He could see Marion and le Bec fending off multiple enemy guard but over to his left, in the lightless haze, he could hear another female yelp. Instinctively, he moved in that direction.
As he passed around the side of the carriage, sword wielded defensively, he was set up on by another sword. Leaping back to give himself room in preparation for a battle, he brought his sword around and caught a glimpse of an older man in the weak light. It was only a brief glimpse but in that flash, he thought he recognized the man. He avoided striking a heavy blow against the man as he stood back, out of range, and tried to get a good look at him.
“My lord?” he said, squinting in the darkness. “Lord Hampton?”
Lyle Hampton, Earl of Canterbury, was in the fight for his life and the somewhat friendly voice in the midst of the battle threw him off. But not too far off; he managed to stop his sword and peered at David in the darkness. When recognition dawned, his eyes widened in relief.
“De Lohr!” he gasped. “David?”
David nodded. “It is I,” he said, gesturing to the carriage. “What are you doing, my lord? I thought you only arrived this morning?”
Lyle nodded. “We did,” he said, grasping David by the arm with fear in his expression. “I brought my daughters with me to Windsor but when I heard the news of Richard’s disappearance, I thought to remove them immediately and take them to my sister’s home closer to London but it seems I was not soon enough. John’s men have found me as they have found so many others this night. Have they set upon you as well?”
David nodded. “They have,” he said. “They injured Chris’ wife. You say they have hit upon more of Richard’s supporters?”
Lyle nodded. “I was told by a harried servant that the Earl of Bath has taken a blow,” he said. “That was when I decided to take my daughters and leave. Now I hear they have struck de Lohr, whom no one in their right mind would strike out. John is out for blood.”
David sighed with disgust. “He is feeling empowered with news of his brother’s disappearance,” he said. “I was tracking the men that struck at my brother when I came upon your party. Did you see Fitz Walter with these men who attacked you?”
Lyle shook his head. “I have not seen the Sheriff of Nottingham,” he said. “But the truth is that I do not expect to. He would not dirty his hands with something as mundane as this.”
David wasn’t hard pressed to agree; Ralph Fitz Walter, the prince’s second in command who bore the title Sheriff of Nottingham, was usually the one who planned dirty events such as this but he did not participate usually. He was a coward that way. David peered a bit more closely at Lyle, seeing that the man was greatly troubled.
“Have you suffered great damage, then?” he asked.
Lyle nodded, his features strained. “Emilie,” he said. “They took Emilie. I was just going after her when you came around the side of the carriage.”
David frowned. “Your wife?” he said, looking around swiftly. “Which direction did they take her?”
Lyle shook his head. “Not my wife; my eldest daughter,” he said hurried. “You’ve not met her yet. They took her back into the residence and, I fear, that mayhap they intend to take her to the prince. You know of his savagery for female flesh. David, please help her – John must not have her!”
David was already flying into the two-storied structure, dark and cold inside as he paused, listening for any sound that would point the way to an abducted daughter. He thought he heard something up the stairs but when he started to move, he realized that Lyle was right with him. David threw out an arm to prevent the man from following.
“Nay, my lord,” he said quietly. “You have other womenfolk to protect, do you not?”
The fear on Lyle’s face was turning to panic. “Aye,” he said quickly. “My other daughters, Elise and Nathalie. But…”
David shook his head, pointing back out to the carriage. “Go to them,” he commanded softly. “If you see Marion or le Bec, send them to me. Go, now; I will find your daughter.”
Lyle was very reluctant to leave but the sounds of the skirmish in the darkness outside and the frightened cries of his two remaining daughters drew him back outside. David was right; he had to protect Nathalie and Elise and trust that David would find Emilie. Sweet, blond, and delicately fair Emilie was his heart. He was terrified for her. But he knew David de Lohr and knew the man’s reputation; he knew that if anyone could save her, David could.
As Lyle raced back to the carriage containing his remaining daughters, David bolted up the stairs. It was as dark as sin in the corridor, that sooty blackness of night that not even the torches, burning low and heavy in their iron sconces, could erase. In the corridor of this black and inky building, a sea of darkness in the dead of night, he knew that they were up here. The anticipation in the air was palpable.
He could feel it.
He stood there a moment, accessing the situation, before crouching low, listening for any sound from any direction. It wasn’t any time at all before he heard something heavy fall and scuffling, like running, off to his left. He took off at a dead run because that was what David did; the man charged full-on into situations, sometimes before thinking, and only his incredible speed and skill with a blade had prevented those rash decisions from costing him his life.
Even now, he ran off down the hall, sword in hand, heading for the direction of the sounds with his only thoughts being that of what needed to be done, not what could possibly happen to him. It was a bravery that few men possessed. When he heard another large thump behind a door at the end of the corridor, he charged towards the door and leapt up into the air, kicking the panel open with a flying leap.
Wood and pieces of old iron hardware exploded in all directions as David crashed through the door. The chamber was dark except for a slight glow given off by the dying hearth, but it was enough light for David to see at least two of John’s guards and one small woman. He only knew it was a woman because of the clot
hing; heavy skirts and a cloak, he thought, and she was trying desperately to climb a massive wardrobe as both men tried to yank her down. There were upturned chairs and a table on its side, and the room in general was in disarray. Knowing that the woman as in grave danger, David launched an offensive in the dark.
One man rushed him while the other continued to try and yank the woman off the wardrobe. David had to duck as the man charged him, narrowing avoiding being sliced in the neck, and came up under the man with his blade to catch the man in the soft belly. As the first guard grunted and fell away, David threw himself at the second guard trying to pull the woman down from the wardrobe.
Unfortunately, the woman had a good grip on the furniture and the guard had a good grip on her. When David charged the man, the guard refused to let go of the woman’s foot so David ended up yanking her, and the wardrobe, off of the wall and everything went crashing to the floor as David tried to avoid being smashed by the falling furniture. He managed to escape, with his arm around the neck of the guard wearing the black and green tunic, but the woman fell on top of both of them.
In the crash, David’s sword went flying. Now, he was in trouble. The woman’s torso had mostly fallen on him and she was shrieking, struggling to get away, but the guard still had her by the ankle. David was getting kicked in the head as the woman struggled and, at one point, she brought her knee up and kicked him straight in the nose.
Seeing stars, David could feel the blood start to pour and it was getting all over her skirts as she fumbled, still trapped by the guard. He knew he had to free the woman, and subdue the guard, because he was fearful of what would happen should the man have colleagues come to his aid. Whatever he was about to do, he had to do it quickly. There was no time to spare. With that thought, David began to squeeze the man’s neck as hard as he could.
David was strong; unusually so. He had big arms, fuzzy in the forearms with blond hair, that were significantly muscular. Therefore, the guard was in a very bad position when David began to squeeze. He used his other hand to brace up the arm that was doing the squeezing, grunting with exertion as the woman over his head struggled and fought. Sometimes her fists found David’s skull but he couldn’t pay any attention to that; he was more concerned with killing the man in his arms. It was either kill or be killed. Mercifully, the man in his grip quickly weakened.
The de Lohr Dynasty: Medieval Legends: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 108