Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1

by Kathryn Le Veque

  The sun was just beginning to rise but the day was swamped in a horrible thunderstorm. The storm had rolled in the day before at dawn and the entire battle had been conducted in a downpour. Even now, Davyss stood outside his tent, watching the remaining royalist army attempt to cook a well-deserved meal and trying to remember what it felt like to be dry again. It had been a very long three months since his departure from Norwich, having entrenched himself in Prince Edward’s release from captivity and the battle preparation for Evesham. It had been Davyss who had provided the horse for the prince’s escape and Davyss who had rode interference when the prince’s jailers tried to follow. Once they had Edward free, it was only a matter of time before they would also have Henry.

  And now they did. Henry was king once more and the winds of fortune had once again shifted. Davyss glanced up at the storm clouds, raining buckets on the already-saturated ground, his mind whirling with a million different thoughts and emotions as he tried to reconcile himself to the change in political tides. Hugh suddenly appeared through the sheets of rain, water dripping off his face as he pushed past his brother on his way into the moderately dry tent. Philip, Nik, Andrew and Edmund followed, all looking sloppy, muddy and soaked. They had been up all night and were showing their exhaustion.

  Davyss moved aside as his grumpy, weary men piled past him. He turned to watch them throw their gear on the ground, trying to stay out of the damp grass and pulling out bedrugs in preparation for sleep. Their mail was already rusting and each man struggled to pull his free, knowing it was going to be a massive job for the squires to remove all of the rust that had accumulated over the past few days. The mail coats went into piles in the corner.

  “God’s Blood,” Hugh sighed, pulling off his wet tunic and throwing it into the same pile as the mail. “I could sleep for a week.”

  “You only have the morning,” Davyss told him. “We meet with Henry and Edward at noon.”

  Hugh groaned, flopping down onto his bedroll. “Are you not going to sleep, brother?”

  Davyss’ hazel gaze returned to the storm outside. “In time,” he muttered.

  Hugh twisted his head so he could look at him. “What is troubling you?

  Davyss shook his head. “Nothing.”

  By this time, Andrew was watching Davyss from the other side of the tent. Being closer to Davyss than the others, Hugh included, he could fairly read the man’s thoughts.

  “There was nothing you could have done, Davyss,” he told him quietly. “Simon was in pieces before you realized what they had done. You cannot blame yourself.”

  Davyss’ head snapped to him, the hazel eyes blazing a moment before quickly cooling. “I do not blame myself,” he replied. “Such are the perils of war. But….”

  Andrew lifted an eyebrow. “But… what?”

  Davyss shook his head. Then he answered. “I was simply wondering what my father would have said to all of this.”

  Andrew walked up beside him, also gazing out at the downpour. “He would have said the same thing you did,” he replied. “Such are the perils of war. Simon knew that the moment he took up arms, it might end this way. Do not pity the man.”

  “I do not,” Davyss assured him. “But I would be lying if I said that his death has not saddened me. He was the last link, other than my mother, that I had to my father. I miss him already.”

  “Would you have stopped his slaughter if you could have?”

  Davyss drew in a long, heavy breath. “I do not know for certain,” he said honestly. “More than likely, I would have tried.”

  Andrew clapped a hand on his shoulder, not knowing what else to say to that. He decided it was best to shift the subject. “Have we heard anything from Norwich?”

  Davyss shook his head, turning to watch Andrew regain his bed roll. “Not since the last missive, almost four weeks ago,” he said. “Lollardly says that the child is massive and that all my wife does is cry and sleep. He curses me for having left in the first place.” His smile suddenly faded and he turned to the rain outside once more. “God, I would give my right arm to be with her. Surely the child has been born by now.”

  Hugh lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling of the tent as he listened to his brother’s lament. “Have you sent word to Mother yet?” he wanted to know, completely off the subject. “She is no longer a prisoner of Uncle Simon.”

  Davyss glanced over at his brother. “She has not been for several weeks.”

  Hugh looked up at him, a confused expression on his face. “What do you mean?”

  Davyss lifted an eyebrow. “Because I had Lollardly send a missive to Hollyhock addressed to Darien de Russe. He was mother’s primary jailer. You remember Darien, do you not?”

  As Hugh nodded, Davyss continued. “Since Lollardly is our priest as well as our surgeon, I had him send a missive on behalf of the Bishop of Norwich requesting that Lady Katharine de Winter be released to the custody of the church so that she could travel to Norwich and attend her son’s wife in childbirth. If all has gone as planned, Mother has been at Norwich for several weeks now. I have not yet heard from Lollardly to that regard but I am sure that de Russe would not go against a request from the Bishop of Norwich.”

  “Brilliant,” Hugh approved. “So Mother is now safe at Norwich.”

  “Presumably.”

  Davyss stepped away from the tent flap again, seriously considering getting some sleep before his meeting with Henry in a few hours. Reaching his bedroll, he sat heavily. He could already hear Philip snoring. With a weary sigh, he lay down and stretched out, the first time he had done so in two days. Exhaustion was finally catching up to him. Just as he was drifting off, there was a call from the tent flap.

  Andrew was up, moving for the entry. As he peeled back the cloth, he found himself looking at a soldier he recognized. The man was one of Davyss’ men, left behind at Norwich for Lady de Winter’s protection. Andrew’s face lit up with a smile.

  “Ah!” he said happily, turning to Davyss. “Look what we have, Davyss; news from Norwich.”

  Davyss was on his feet faster than lightning. He didn’t even remember getting up, but suddenly, he was up and at the tent entry. He, too, recognized the man, and all he could feel at the moment was terror and elation. He didn’t even give the man the chance to greet him before he was pounding into him with questions.

  “Well?” he demanded. “Where is my missive? Has my son arrived yet?”

  The soldier was exhausted. His face was pale and stubbled as he focused on his liege. Only Andrew seemed to sense that the man was hesitant to speak, which immediately put him on his guard.

  “I carry no missive, my lord,” the soldier said. “Your mother has sent me with a personal message for you.”

  Davyss’ brow furrowed slightly. “So my mother is at Norwich?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Excellent,” Davyss, either too exhausted to notice or too focused on the news the man carried, didn’t sense the soldier’s reluctance. He pushed him. “Well? How are my wife and son?”

  The soldier took a deep breath, water from the driving rain dripping off his helm and on to his face. “Your mother says to tell you that two male children were born to you as of three weeks ago,” he said. “She congratulates you on your healthy children. She also says to tell you that your lady wife did not fare well in the birth and that you should come home immediately.”

  All of the joy abruptly drained from Davyss’ face as the man’s words sank deep. The ground suddenly became unsteady and he began to grab for something to steady himself with, which happened to be Hugh and Andrew. As his joy turned to horror, he literally could not stand as his legs turned to water.

  “My wife?” he breathed. “My sweet God… is she dead?”

  “Nay, my lord.”

  “What happened?”

  The soldier shook his head. “I was not privy to such knowledge, my lord. There was not time for your mother to draft a missive so she bade me to ride hard for Evesham and deliver
the news to you personally.”

  Davyss thought he might become physically ill; in fact, it was some time before he realized that Hugh and Andrew had lowered him onto the ground. He sat there, his face a mirror of horror and shock, as Andrew and Edmund bolted from the tent and began calling for the chargers. Davyss heard them but he couldn’t think straight; all he could do was stare at the soldier who had delivered a message he had always known might be a possibility yet had not truly anticipated.

  “You do not know what happened to my wife?” he pleaded.

  By this time, Hugh had pulled the soldier into the tent and closed the flap so prying eyes from outside would not see Davyss in his weakened state. The soldier shook his head to Davyss’ question.

  “All I know is that your wife delivered twins in mid-July,” he replied. “All we knew was that she had two boys and did not fare well in the birth. Lollardly has called in physics from Norwich, Great Yarmouth and Acle to tend your wife. Your mother told me to ride swiftly to find you and tell you to come home right away.”

  Davyss struggled to think, to plan what he must do next. All he could feel was stark, unadulterated panic and he struggled to shake it off. He could not let it overwhelm him. He had to get to Devereux.

  Somehow, he found his feet but he was still unsteady. All he could think, feel or see was his wife and the thought that something horrible had happened to her threatened to undo him time and time again, but he pushed the negative thoughts away, listening to his brother’s instructions because he couldn’t seem to do for himself. Hugh seemed to be doing everything for him, helping him to dress, telling him that Andrew and Edmund were securing the horses.

  It was Hugh who strapped the scabbard around his waist, the elaborate leather sheath that contained Lespada. Davyss absently touched the hilt of the ancient sword, thinking that all of the battles in the entire world seemed rather insignificant now; family, life and love were so much more important. All he wanted to do was get to his wife. That was the only thing that mattered. As he moved past the soldier who had delivered the devastating news, he grabbed the man by the arm.

  “My sons,” his voice was faint, hoarse. “They are well?”

  The soldier could see how shaken his liege was and, truth be told, he felt a good deal of pity for the man. They all did. All of Davyss’ soldiers knew how deeply in love he was with his wife and her failure to come through the birth of his children unscathed had sent all of Norwich into a depression.

  “Well, my lord,” he assured him softly. “Lollardly and your mother have had quite a time with them. They scream at all hours and eat constantly.”

  Davyss looked more stricken, if such a thing was possible. “My mother is not caring for them, is she?” he demanded. “The woman can barely walk. I do not want her carrying around a newborn infant.”

  The soldier shook his head. “Lady Lucy and Lady Frances have care of the infants. They have also hired a wet-nurse from town. Your boys are well taken care of, my lord, I assure you.”

  That seemed to ease Davyss somewhat but he was still horribly pale. He continued to clutch the man’s arm as if the soldier was some odd link to everything back at Norwich. He didn’t want to let him go.

  “Do…,” he began again in a whisper. “Do the boys have names?”

  A faint smile crossed the soldier’s weary lips. “Your wife has named them Drake Davyss and Devon Grayson,” he replied. “Your mother says they are the image of your father but I have heard tale that they are fair like your wife.”

  That was all Davyss could take; he closed his eyes and tears rolled down his cheeks, mingling with the pouring rain. Hugh, concerned, tugged on his brother and got him moving. The soldier followed because Davyss couldn’t seem to let go of him. Together, the three of them traveled to the livery area of the encampment where Andrew, Nik, Philip and Edmund already had the chargers saddled and about five hundred men preparing to move out for Norwich. It was Hugh who ran to Henry and Edward to tell them what had happened.

  Henry let Davyss go without question.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  On the morning of the sixth day since leaving Evesham, the massive white block of Norwich Castle’s keep came into view.

  Davyss had pushed his men hard for the long trek back to Norwich. The column had made around thirty-five miles a day before stopping only to rest the horses and then proceeding on. Davyss seemed to have no sense of exhaustion although his men certainly did. After weeks of traveling and fighting, they were all deeply exhausted but pushed on for Davyss’ sake. They knew what was at stake and not one man disagreed with him. So they rode on, fighting the intermittent thunderstorms and sometimes stifling moist heat, until the great keep of Norwich was finally sighted on the horizon.

  Once Davyss caught sight of it, he spurred his charger into a thundering gallop. Nothing on this earth was going to keep him from Devereux any longer and he rode the already-exhausted horse into Norwich’s double-baileys, leaping off the horse when he reached the keep and taking the steps two at a time. He burst into the soldier’s hall only to be met by Lollardly.

  The old priest threw his arms around him. “Davyss, boy,” he squeezed him and let him go. “We saw your army on the horizon. Praise God that you are safe.”

  Davyss grabbed the old man by the arms, his fingers biting into the flesh. “Devereux,” he demanded. “What happened? Where is she?”

  Lollardly could see how edgy Davyss was. He struggled to calm him. “Listen to me,” he gripped him. “You must calm yourself or you will do her no good. Do you hear me?”

  Davyss shook him so hard that he nearly snapped the man’s neck. “Enough,” he roared, moving for the stairs that led to the upper chambers of the keep. “Tell me how she is. What happened to her?”

  Lollardly was trying to keep the man from bolting up the stairs. “Davyss, I cannot tell you all that I must if you are running up those stairs,” he yanked on his arm. “Stop a moment and listen to me. It is important.”

  Davyss heard the plea through his desperate haze and he came to an unsteady halt, facing the man. “What is it, then?”

  Lollardly knew he would only have his attention for a short amount of time before he was demanding to see his wife again, so he spoke quickly. “Your wife went into labor two weeks early,” he lowered his voice. “She labored for two days to bring forth your enormous children, Davyss, so much so that I believed I was going to have to cut into her to remove them. The physic from Great Yarmouth agreed with me. But finally, she gave birth to your first son and we were shocked to realize that there were two. Never did I feel two children when I examined her; only one. Your wife was so weak already by the time the first boy was born that it was nearly impossible for her to gather the strength to birth the second child. But that wasn’t the worst of it.”

  Davyss’ expression was wrought with horror. “Dear God,” he breathed. “What happened?”

  Lollardly sighed heavily, his manner turning gentle. “Your second son was born feet-first,” he murmured. “Your wife did not have any strength left to push so we were forced to… well, we had to pull the child out by his feet, Davyss. It was the only way. Then we could not detach the nourishment sack from her body and she bled profusely until we were able to pull it free. She lost a great deal of blood and the difficult birth seriously injured her.”

  By this time, Davyss’ hand was at his mouth as if to hold in the gasps of horror. The hazel eyes filled with tears. “How is she now?”

  Lollardly lifted his shoulders. “She lives,” he said honestly. “But she has not recovered. All she does is sleep. She barely eats. If she does not start showing more improvement soon, I am afraid we… well, we may lose her.”

  Davyss blinked and the tears rolled down his cheeks, just as quickly wiped away. He took a deep breath, digesting Lollardly’s words, struggling to acclimate himself to the situation.

  “May I see her?” he whispered.

  Lollardly simply nodded. He followed Davyss up the stairs t
o the fourth floor. As Davyss approached, he could hear babies crying and his tears returned en force. As he stood at the top of the stairs, gazing into the chamber where both of his lusty sons were being tended, he sobbed deeply.

  Lollardly stood behind him, his hand on Davyss’ shoulder as the man observed the activity of the room. It was a smaller chamber with a large bed in it, and Frances sat on the bed changing the swaddling of one twin while Lucy paced the floor with the second twin. Both boys were screaming at the top of their lungs and Lucy was attempting desperately to calm the baby in her arms until she saw Davyss.

  The surprise on her face turned to joy before immediately turning to distress. The enormous man was filthy and exhausted as he stood at the top of the stairs, tears running down his face and dripping onto his dirty tunic. Lucy went to him.

  “Davyss,” she was torn between being very glad to see him and deeply concerned as to why he was crying. She could see that he was looking at the baby in her arms and her focus turned to the child. “This is your son, Drake. Your mother swears that he looks just like your father.”

  Davyss gazed down at the baby, struggling to stop his sobs. As Lucy unwrapped the boy so he could get a better look, his sobs turned into weepy laughter at the vigorously screaming baby. He was absolutely furious. Davyss reached out a tentative finger, pushing it into a waving hand and being rewarded when the infant gripped him tightly.

  “He is very strong,” he commented, feeling the warmth of joy wash over him as he gazed into the little face. “But why is he so angry?”

  Lucy grinned. “He is hungry; he is always hungry.”

  Davyss was overcome with emotion as Drake continued to scream. Lucy watched the man’s face, seeing the complete adoration, the pain. It was enough to bring tears to her eyes. She knew how much all of this meant to him and to Devereux.