Dragonblade Trilogy - 01 - Dragonblade (2 page)

“Mistress, I thank you
for your service.”

“My pleasure, my
lord.”

Tate’s gaze was like
an immovable object. He tried not to be obvious about it, but the lady was
quite lovely. Such beauty was very rare. He did not, however, like the bold
nature he had seen come forth from her since their arrival. Were it not for
that flaw, he might have considered speaking further with her.

“Please, my lord,”
Balin put his hands up to quiet the crowd. “Speak to our people. Tell them of
England’s need.”

When Tate looked away
from her, Toby felt as if she had been jolted. He had held her in such an odd trance
that his sudden departure startled her. Still, she retained enough of her wits
to remain attuned to the subject at hand.

“My lord, if I may,”
she said carefully. “These are simple people with simple lives. Things like war
frighten them, not inspire them. I am afraid a thunderous address will only
further alarm them.”

Tate looked at her.
“Mistress… Elizabetha, was it?”

His tone bordered on
contempt. Toby struggled to retain her courage. “I have not gone by Elizabetha
since my birth. I am known as Toby, my lord.”

“Toby? That is a
strange name. A man’s name.”

“It is a nickname, my
lord, given to me by my grandsire.”

“Why?”

“His family name was
de Tobins. My mother gave it to me as a middle name. Everyone called my
grandsire Toby and he called me the same.”

Tate’s reply was to
give her one more look, a once-over, and turn back to the crowd.  Toby took the
opportunity to study the man; the Lord of Harbottle, the title for the
Harbottle Commons lordship he held, was an exceptionally tall man with arms the
size of tree branches and enormous hands. Though he wore no armor, merely
layers of heavy tunics, breeches and massive boots, Toby could tell by the
width of his shoulders that he was, quite simply, a very big man. She backed
off, unwilling to provoke Cartingdon’s liege, but she didn’t leave completely.
To do so, if he was going to war-monger, would have been to do a great
injustice to the populace of Cartington. She felt as if she had to protect
them.

Tate saw that she
wasn’t leaving and he tried not to let it affect him as he addressed the
uncertain throng. He wasn’t sure why she was so distracting, but she was.

 “Good people of
Cartingdon, I am Sir Tate Crewys de Lara, Lord of Harbottle. As your liege, it
is a privilege to speak with you this day.”

The crowd had
simmered, but they were still uneasy. Tate continued in an even voice.

“I have listened to
your mayor speak on Young Edward’s behalf,” he said. “I am here to tell you
that the king is ready, willing and able to assume the mantle left by his father.
Those who are not the rightful rulers have assumed his throne. Most of
England’s nobles understand this and to them I have made my plea. I have spent
many years in the service of the young king and I can personally vouch for his
abilities. He is wise, thoughtful, and fair as much as his young age will
allow. With the proper advisors, the rest will come with time.” Tate raked his
fingers through his short, dark hair as he collected his thoughts. “I sent word
to Mayor Cartingdon days ago requesting men and money for the king’s cause. My
men and I have been in town for two days, observing the people and countryside.
It is by sheer fortune that we are here for the meeting that will decide the
aid you will provide Edward the king. I could easily tax you to death or simply
take what, by all rights, belongs to me. But I choose not to do so. I would
like the support from Cartingdon to be genuine, for the young king and his
cause. I believe he will establish a stable monarchy from which we may all
benefit. Therefore, I ask you to please decide favorably upon him. England is
Edward, and Edward needs your help.”

By the time he
finished, the entire church was silent. The townsfolk looked at Balin, Toby,
each other, attempting to determine if what their liege said was true. He
sounded convincing. Toby, too, was almost convinced of the young king’s cause
after his speech; she stood slightly behind Tate and to the right, able to see
his strong profile. There was something about him that conveyed truth. She
looked at the knights standing well behind him; they, too, seemed strong and
virtuous. Even the squire seemed honorable. One of the villagers broke the
silence.

“I am a ferrier,
m’lord,” the older man said hesitantly. “I canna provide ye with gold or coin,
but I can provide ye with meself. If Edward the younger is in need, then we
must help.”

Toby knew the man who
spoke. He was kind but not intelligent. She could see most of the other
townsmen talking quietly to one another, no doubt discussing their prowess with
a sword and crossbow.  Some of the men had already seen battle, called into
action a few years earlier with the removal of King Edward and the Despencers.
There were some men, however, that had left to aid the crown and had not
returned.

“What of the
opposition, my lord?” Toby could not keep silent; she hated to see men’s lives
wasted. “Can you please tell them of the opposition they will face?”

Tate looked at her,
her beautiful face strong and her expression intense. He didn’t sense hostility
from her, merely concern.

“The opposition is
Queen Isabella and her lover, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March,” he said, glancing
over the crowd. “Mortimer has a large army at his disposal, as does the queen.
The king’s troops, however, are loyal to young Edward; that much we have
ascertained. The Queen’s strength will come from France and her brother, the
king’s, army. But once we have begun our campaign to reclaim the throne,
summoning France’s troops will take time. It is my belief that we will have
enough time to subdue Isabella and Mortimer before support arrives.”

“But what of the
nobles?” Toby asked.

Tate’s gaze fixed on
her again; he seemed incapable of staying away for long. “There are many in
support of the king.”

“Who?”

“Alnwick, Warkworth
and York in the north. Arundel in the south.”

He had named some of
the most powerful nobles in England. Their armed support collectively was
staggering. Toby felt her questions had been answered and was reluctant to
press him further, although she was still opposed to the general idea of war.
Still, any more questions would have made her appear belligerent, which
normally would not have concerned her, but she did not want to shame her
father. Balin, sensing she had come to the end of her queries, thank the Lord,
stepped in.

“I am sure that each
man can find it within his conscience to lend what support he can, my lord,” he
said. “All men interested in committing themselves to the young king’s army
will assemble at the church tomorrow at noon for further instructions. For my
part, I will supply a herd of my finest sheep to sell at market and donate the
proceeds.”

Toby’s jaw dropped.
“Father.…”

Balin cast his
daughter a withering glare. “My daughter, as she is most knowledgeable in the
accounting of my livestock, will be glad to show you the prize herd north at
Lorbottle.”

Toby was speechless.
It was the largest herd of sheep they had, nearly ready to be sheared. The
money they would bring would be enormous. Astounded, she grappled with the
concept as her father called an end to the gathering and the townspeople began
to disband. She was so stupefied that she didn’t realize when Tate came and
stood next to her.

“If it would not take
you away from any pressing duties, I would see the sheep this day,” he said. “I
would also like a full accounting.”

Jolted from her
thoughts, Toby looked up at him. From the corner of her eye, she could see that
her father was about to make a hasty retreat from the church. “Excuse me a
moment, my lord.”

She raced to her
father, cutting off his exit. Balin held up his hands.

“Not a word,” he
hissed at her. “You have my orders. Follow them.”

“Father, do you
realize what you have done?” she hissed in return. “To donate five hundred head
of sheep, with the price of wool today, will cost us a fortune in lost money.
We still have to pay the wages of our farm, our taxes, and eat on top of
everything else. We need that money.”

“It will not do us any
good if England goes to the dogs under Isabella and Mortimer,” he said flatly.
“We have suffered so much under Edward’s rule. Can you not understand that the
young king is our best, brightest hope?”

“I understand that you
have apparently lost your mind.”

“There are many things
in this world that I will tolerate and many things that I learn to accept,”
Tate was standing behind Toby, listening to everything that had been said. “But
the one thing I refuse to accept is a daughter’s disrespect to her father. You,
Mistress Toby, have an appalling lack of manners. I have seen such display from
the moment I first entered this church.”

Toby was ashamed and
defensive at the same time. “If honesty is a sin, then I am indeed guilty, my
lord.”

“It is not a sin. But
your lack of control is.”

Toby wisely refrained
from an opinionated retort. She wasn’t a fool and calmed herself with effort.
“May I speak frankly, my lord?”

The corner of Tate’s
mouth twitched. It was difficult for him not to smile at what was surely to
come. “By all means.”

Toby took a deep
breath, hoping he wasn’t about to slap her for her insolence. “My father became
prosperous by hard work and good luck, but only by harder work and even more
good fortune have we maintained it. My mother used to maintain the business
when I was very small, but that duty passed to me several years ago after she
became ill. Since that time, we have seen our prosperity grow many times over.
Were it not for me, however, my father would have given everything away and we
would be living in poverty. He is generous beyond compare and does not know
when to stop.”

“And you believe that
donating to the king’s cause is an example of how your father does not know
when to stop?”

“Not necessarily. But
we were counting on that harvest of wool to pay wages to our farmhands for the
next year. Many people depend on us for their livelihood.”

Tate cocked his head
thoughtfully. “Then your opposition is not against the king himself.”

“Of course not.”  For
the first time, Toby’s tone softened. “I simply cannot believe that the king
would want aid for his cause at the expense of starving out many of his loyal
subjects.”

“It is that serious?”

“It could be. Winter
is not yet over and harvest will not come again until next fall. Our people
must have something to live on, my lord.”

Tate was quiet a
moment; he glanced at the two massive knights who had accompanied him. One man
was a giant, with short brown hair and cornflower blue eyes. The second man
wasn’t as tall but he was enormously wide with white-blond eyebrows. The pair
of them gazed back at Tate and he knew either one of them would have gladly
taken the lady over their knee at that moment. His focus moved to the squire,
the skinny lad who accompanied him everywhere. The boy had a somewhat
submissive expression. So far, none of those expressions helped Tate sort
through the situation.

After a moment’s
deliberation, he turned back to Toby. “What would you suggest, mistress? I will
leave it to your good judgment.”

Toby was surprised at
the question. She had expected far more of a battle, ending in her defeat.  She
thought quickly, hoping to come up with a solution that would placate him and
not send her family to the poor house.

“There is a herd of
older sheep that we were considering sending to the slaughter simply because
their wool has become so tough,” she said. “It is only around two hundred head,
but the wool could be sheared one last time and sold for market value, and then
the herd could be slaughtered for meat. It would bring you nearly as much given
the proper market and negotiations.”

“Of which you would so
kindly provide me.”

Toby nodded, feeling a
good deal of relief. “It would be my pleasure, my lord.”

“I would see the
herd.”

“You will dine with us
first, my lord,” Balin insisted. “Toby can take you to the herd at first
light.”

He wondered what
adventures in indigestion he would discover during the course of dining with
the opinionated Mistress Toby Cartingdon. If the woman was formidable in the
public arena, he could only imagine her stance in a private setting. He was
loathe to admit it to himself, but he was more than curious to find out.

***

“An interesting meeting,”
the blond knight said as they made their way to their chargers, tethered at the
livery near the church. Sir Kenneth St. Héver had served under Tate de Lara for
many years and had, consequently, experienced many things with him. But the
latest experience in the church was a curious one. “An interesting town.”

His counterpart, Sir
Stephen of Pembury, was the larger, darker knight. He was the more congenial of
the two. “What kind of town can it possibly be that allows itself to be run by
a female?” he said what they were all thinking. “A strong man could do wonders
here.”