How to Train Your Knight: A Medieval Romance Novel (18 page)

“Leave that to me. Just listen to what my wife has to say. I’d have you join with us in our successes.”

Anthony pouted in a most un-lordly manner. “What is done, is done, at least until I speak with Edward myself. Is it true, what they say? That you saved his life?”

“Aye.” Just the mention of that day brought back the smell of tar, intestines, and burning bodies. He ran his hand across his face to erase the memories. It truly was a miracle either one of them had survived.

“Someday I’d hear that tale.”

Marcus sighed. “Maybe, with some strong spirits and a long night. It’s a gruesome one, at best. And for the pride of telling it? I tell you. God’s penance is high. The battle will rage on in my mind for days.”

With face softened, he said, “I heard it was bad. I’d have gone in your stead, you know, but Father would not have it.”

“That camel has long since left the tents. Best to let it be off. It’s too beautiful a day to muck around in the past. Behold, the bathhouse.”

His brother frowned, his face skewed, and he stared at the glistening pools of water. “You do this oft? Is it healthy?”

“It would seem unnatural not to, when one has the means.” Marcus gave him a questioning look, then guffawed. His brother cared not for a little water?

He refused to move forward. “Did you know that most of this manor was in ruins just ten years ago?”

“It surprises me not.”

“And the small stone houses, too, most were just stone heaps. How did she do it? I tell you, it’s no wonder Father believes that she’s in deep with the devil.”

Marcus groaned. “Not you, too?”

“No, no. It’s just astounding that a woman could do all this.”

“Aye, she’s remarkable, at that.” He pushed his brother up another level. “There they are. At the top pool.”

“Is there no modesty here at all? What do your priests say?”

“For the love of God. Across the world, bathing is considered normal and healthy even. It seems that no evil comes of it. It is dark enough in here for even the modest of maidens. I’m beginning to think you afraid of a bit of cleansing.”

They approached the largest of the pools where their wives lounged. Penelope was the fairer of the two, by far a classic beauty. She had long yellow tresses and white skin that had probably never met the sun. However, her face was pinched in a constant pout which wasn’t too pleasant to gaze upon.

Ann, however, eyed his approach with rosy cheeks and an open smile. Her shiny black hair swirled around her and just below the water he could see the hint of her full round breasts. For the first time, he believed himself the more fortunate of the two brothers.

“You bathe at the same time as your peasants?” Penelope was asking her as they approached. Other married couples arrived at the lower pools. They politely waved at them and eyed the newcomers with curiosity.

“I have no peasants,” Ann said, waving back.

Penelope pouted more so, if that were even possible. “That’s just silly. Of course you have peasants. Who tends the sheep and the lands?”

“Tradesmen.” Marcus eased into the pool and swam to Ann’s side.

“Surely, you’ve servants? What about your maid and your cook?”

“We pay them for their services.” She winked at Marcus and moved closer.

“How is any coin left?” Anthony put a toe into the water. He’d yet to take off his undershirt.

“We get by,” said Ann. “I buy their wares and sell for profit. With the monies I receive, I buy what the village needs and invest in machinery to make more profits.”

“Is this so?” Faster than a maiden, Anthony pulled off his shift and sank into the water up to his neck.

Marcus chuckled. “Aye and she has the ledger to prove it.”

“Can you show it to me? I find this worrisome.”

“Relax, there is nothing of magic or devilry.” He stretched out under the water and leaned his head back. His thigh rubbed against Ann’s and she wrapped one leg around his calf.

Anthony bristled. “Your foreign ways could get your head removed from your shoulders.”

“Be sensible. There are many ways of governance. I read once where the Romans had a senate and—”

“Ye have books?” Ann stood indignantly, her bountiful breasts all, but striking him in the nose. “Of Romans? You never mentioned that.”

“Aye.” He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back under the water. Playfully, he dunked her head under, too. From below, she circled his staff and twisted gently in retribution. He gasped, let her go, then glanced at his brother and his wife, who had missed all their play.

Ann’s eyes sparkled mischievously when her wet head emerged from under the pool. “You didn’t tell me you had more books.”

“I wasn’t sure I wanted you learning any more about Roman culture, my dear, and we
have
been somewhat busy.”

“Hmph.”

Anthony laughed. “Enough, you two. My fingertips are as figs. I’m eager to get dried off and have a look at the ledgers. Then, Ann, mayhap you can explain this arduous journey of turning sheep, mud huts, and sewer trenches, into a land of gold and opportunity.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe that you’ve convinced me.”

“Will we have enough gold to buy fine jewelry and beautiful gowns?” Penelope pushed her body against her husband and he actually blushed.

“You may find, at first, that in order to manage everything, your husband will be covered in sheep dung and mud.” Ann chuckled.

Penelope gasped in horror. “Never.”

Anthony stroked his wife’s head the way one might a colt and glowered at Ann. “Worry not. We’ll find a truce between dirt and profit, I’m sure.”

Placing his hands to the surrounding surface, Marcus pushed up and exited the water. As modestly as possible, he quickly donned a cloth and turned. “Stay ladies, and robe in privacy. I’d not have my brother say I ogled his pretty lady. I’ll send some maidens to see to your needs.”

He leaned over to his wife, kissed the top of her head, and whispered. “Later, I’ll feed that hungry look.”

She hid her blush by ducking back under the water.

Chapter 16

Ann bounced up and down on her chamber’s padded bench and pulled her fur closer. Her breath formed little clouds of mist. “I can’t believe it’s time for the fair. This will be the best one ever.”

“Sit still. I can’t braid your hair if you move about so.” Sally held her down with a firm hand as the tugging began anew.

Ann turned with longing toward the wall slit again. “Ow. Sorry, I’ll try. But it’s too dark to see. Are the wagons loaded? Where’s Marcus and his men?”

“M’lady. Sit down. I’ll need to start all over again. This will make thrice. At this rate, we’ll never have you ready. Your husband will nay be happy with you.”

Ann stood, dropped the thick fur blanket, and spun for Sally to inspect again. “Look at the beautiful new tunic and gold belt. He gave me these last night, as well as silly, but beautiful, jewels for my neck. Truly a better day has never been had. I can’t wait to sell our wares. Are you done?”

“Aye, that’s the best I can do with you prancing around so. There, see for yourself.” Sally clucked her tongue, held out a polished silver plate, and put the comb back on the dresser.

“Don’t put that down. Get yourself ready. You’re coming with us.” Grinning widely, she grabbed her matching cloak and tied it around her neck.

Her young maid’s eyes went wide. “Me?”

“Ha, yes. I’ll need you to keep me company. Marcus says a lady must not go about without a maid in London.”

She squealed with excitement. “I’ll be right down, but I should let Peter know.”

“I’m sure Marcus has already asked your blacksmith’s permission, but we can check. Hurry on, now.” She dashed down the stairs with her tunic held up to her knees. A torch, sitting in an iron bracket, lit her way and she again marveled at the miraculous bundle of saplings, coated with Jacob’s new resin. Marcus was so full of wonderful ideas.

Outside the open front doors, dawn was beginning to break. Inside, with serious faces, Marcus and Thomas bathed in the red glow made by a low fire in the hearth. Her husband raised his eyes to heaven when he spotted her. “You’ll someday break your neck if you continue to lay siege to those stairs.”

She hopped down the last two and gave him a quick kiss. “No doubt. I’m going to check with the men who loaded the wagon to make sure we’ve not forgotten anything.”

“You already checked it and rechecked again last night.” He turned to Thomas with a shrug. “Not a thing has changed since then.”

Once she was out the front door, Marcus sighed when an odd sense of disquiet rested upon his soul. The wrongness was similar to leaving his sword resting against a wall. He wanted her closer, by his side, and under his protection. More than that, under his body, legs locked around him, as they’d been the previous night.

Shaking the thought aside, he said to Thomas, “I’m not sure if we have enough armed men to guard the wagons. It’s been too quiet as of late.”

“We should wear armor?” Frowning, he scratched at a short stubble of beard.

“Just mail and silk. Better to have speed. Any word on our friends?” Marcus pushed an iron bar into the fire and new flames burst forth.

“You didn’t give the Templars much notice. I put Jacob in the turret to sound the alarm
if
they show.” Turning an eye to the pile of food on the table, Thomas stabbed a slice of meat pie with his dagger. The whole of it slid into his mouth without losing a drop onto the mosaic floor.

“I’m certain they’ll catch up with us on the road. Are the decoy wagons ready?” Marcus backed away from the hearth. What with silk, padding, mail, and heavy wool upon that, sweat rolled down his chest.

With chipmunk-like cheeks, his friend nodded.

Teaching his men to have a care with their eating, by God, was hard work. Marcus grabbed a plate and gave him a meaningful scowl. “And out of sight from Ann?”

Thomas finished chewing, swallowed, and smirked. “Why keep it from her? Of all things, your wife is truly practical.”

“Except when it comes to the black hearts of men. Has everyone dined?”

“Dame Mary has fed us to the point where our belts have been adjusted out and has laden the wagons with her wares to sell. We had to cast lots with the half of the men staying to decide whether she stays or goes.” He washed down the last of his meal with a mug of spring water, thumped the vessel on the table, and patted his stomach.

Giggles outside the manor caught their attention. Apparently, the blacksmith’s prowess on the wedding pallet was the current topic of conversation between Ann and Sally. Marcus smiled smugly when Ann bragged of his own abilities.

A sleepy Bart jumped up, knife in hand, when Marcus kicked his chair. “Wake up. Go outside and guard the ladies.” He nudged Thomas in the side. “Heads up. Here comes the Lady Meredith. Say your goodbyes and we will be—”

A shrill whistle sounded from the turret and not the one reserved for friends.
Damnation
. Multiple horse hooves pounded the road in the distance, his men raced to the stables, and he and Thomas ran to the door while drawing their swords.

Jacob shouted out above their heads. “The Earl of Thornhill comes.”

Christ our Savior!
Not red crosses on white, but his father. His innards wrapped into a knot, he cursed, then sealed it with spit. “Trouble has found us.”

“Interesting.” Thomas smiled and gave two shrill whistles.

Men, children, and women rushed into the main hall. Ladders rested upon walls, tapestries landed with a whoosh on the floor, and a group of ten rushed up the stairs. Within minutes, all slits were manned with archers, albeit some quite strange, including Dame March.

“How the devil did he know we’d have our wagons packed? Have we hid the town’s machines sufficiently?” Marcus stood in the arched doorway, sword ready.

“Relax. Your father’s band wouldn’t know a loom from a kiln. We’re spread too thin to guard the whole of the village. We’ll have to rely on their ignorance.”

“Get these wagons out of sight. I’ll see to my father and his guard.”

One single, long high trill and Ann appeared with eyes wide.

“Quickly into the tunnel. Get the rest of the house maidens with you.”

She nodded, lifted her skirts, and ran off with Sally on her tail. Thank God she’d learned some obedience in the last few months. With irritation, he realized that some women stayed at their wall posts.

He shouted to the priests running across the field, “John, see to the women.
All
of them. James, here with me.”

Bart and James swatted the horses’ rumps and gave a shoulder to the cart to get the wheels rolling. The stable lad, Charles, sat in the seat and raced the wagons south toward the river bridge. He was barely out of sight when mounted chargers galloped straight across the green, sod flying.

He and James waited with their swords drawn at the door of the manor. His riders surrounded the invaders. Above, more arrows than he had trained archers aimed low. It looked damned impressive from this angle.

The earl’s knights, covered in mail, gripped their weapons. Several kept their visors down.

Almost bursting out laughing upon seeing his father’s shocked face, Marcus raised his arms widely and shouted above the din, “I know most of you by your Christian names. I’d have peace. Stand down.”

His father’s first in command raised his right arm high into the air, helms raised, and his men went more at ease. However, his father dismounted with hand fisted over sword’s hilt as he approached the door.

Damn the arrogance.
He wouldn’t bow to the bastard that sired him. Instead, he extended his arm as an equal. “How unexpected. You come to my estate with weapons drawn?”

“How undiplomatic. I’ve come to see you safely to the fair and you greet me like a thief in the night. I’ve a vested interest in your accounts and, of course, I wonder of your success with your murderess wife. Is she here, or did you dispose of her already?” With the eyes of a falcon, he glanced down at the deep wagon tracks in the grass.

Interesting
. Anthony had guarded his tongue well, for his father knew naught that the land no longer belonged to him. Marcus let loose his most dangerous smile. Knights shifted in their saddles and several of the horses in the square whinnied and stomped. All in this entourage knew how the grin did not bode well. He gestured with arms wide toward the building and then up at the countless arrows, pointing down from above.

“Why not come into my hall, and sit and eat. We can discuss my last moons here in the Green Meadows.”

His father’s eyes narrowed. “Shouldn’t we be on our way to protect your wares?”

“As I’m sure you noticed, I’ve already sent the wagons. Hours ago, in fact. We can catch up later.”

Face growing almost as red as his beard, his father turned on his heel and signaled to his men with sword high. “Well, it seems you don’t need us, after all. We’ll take our leave.”

Marcus braced his legs, separated sword from sheath, and pointed. “I rather must insist that you stay put. Tell your men to stand down or mayhap there’ll be a most unfortunate accident at our estates. Sadly, Edward may hear how the earl did not survive.”

“You wouldn’t dare. The king would have you beheaded.” His heavy jowls shook with rage and his long mustache jumped up and down.

The man at the lead of his father’s entourage lost patience and drew his sword. An arrow from above skimmed the man’s neck, helms thunked closed, and horses inched forward.”

“Halt! All!” Marcus glared up at his manor, wondering who’d almost started a war. He then turned back to face his father. “The king and I have an understanding. Much better than the one that binds me to you. Come into my manor and sit by the fire. I’ll feed you all while you rest. You shall not freely steal of my lands or my goods. Bind him.”

Shaking, Bart pulled a leather string from around his waist. He pulled the earl’s hands together, bound his wrists, and spit on leather to make it hold. The boy began to utter a protest, but Marcus cast him a stern glare. “Nobility without honor deserves no respect, not even from a squire.”

Sheathing his sword, Marcus slowly retracted a long, thin curved blade from his frog. He put the point to his father’s torso. “Tell your men to dismount and stand down. I learned of many interesting weapons during my long stay in the East. This one can pierce through mail. You wouldn’t want me to put it to the test, I assure you.”

Without waiting for the order, his father’s guard dismounted and weapons were tossed to the ground.

“These lands art mine by law. Thou art still my vassal.” The earl tried to elbow the knife away from his chest.

Marcus dug the tip through both mail and padding and moved his father into the hall. Dragging out two chairs, he said, “You see, after you sent me away, and before I wed, I spent some time with my good friend Edward. Sit please, while I explain.”

“You ungrateful whelp. You can’t steal these lands from me. They’ve been in my family for centuries.” He landed on the chair with a mighty thump and pulled at his beard with bound hands.

Marcus leaned forward until they were eye to eye. “And so they will continue to be. You should take pride. Treachery and deceit I learned at your knee. I convinced His Grace of your love for me. Helped him to see the profitability of granting me title to this land without your interference. Your greed made it easy. He had no idea how much of his taxes you were pocketing.”

“You won’t get away with this.”

“I already have and I’ve the parchment to prove it.” He leaned back and watched his father squirm. True how revenge
was
best served cold.

His hazel eyes burned bright with anger. “I have friends in court. When the bishop arrives, you’ll find yourself and the witch-harlot excommunicated, at which time I’ll take back what is mine.”

“I believe the bishop has taken it upon himself to pray in solitude, to consider his sins in private.” He grinned, but with no mirth.

“Impossible.” His father stood and began to pace across the tiled floor.

Marcus followed. “That the Bishop would consider his sins? Mayhap you’ve the right of it. For his sake, I can only hope you’re wrong.”

“His holiness will have your soul sent straight to hell.” He attempted to point his finger, even with his hands bound.

“I’ve already been there and I was sent back to find yet another, in England.” Marcus sat, shrugged, and peeled beeswax from a table candle with his knife.

“You young idiot. I sent the bishop here to help you interrogate the witch. She has a treasure trove of Roman gold coins. You could’ve used his techniques to take what you wanted.” His eyes twitched and his neck bulged as it always did, when angry.

So it was true. His father had arranged all, including the torture of his sweet wife. His knife itched to murder him for his sadistic nature, Ten Commandments be damned. “What I wanted? That’s amusing. How was it that you neglected to tell me that she had coins? How did you, Abernathy, and the bishop work all that out? And exactly when did you plan to weave me out of the tapestry? I suspect I
should
be dead by now. Did you expect my wife to have a hand in that?”

“Calm yourself. You see the devil behind every corner. I’m your father. I’d let no harm come to you.” His father smiled, but his eyes flashed with evil and deceit.

“My patience is at an end and finely tethered. You’re outmaneuvered. Let us sit, drink some mead, and make peace between us.” Marcus pounded a fist on the table and poured from a brown ceramic jug. Summoning a saint’s worth of patience, he placed a cup in his father’s bound hands.

His father drank, spat into his face, and tossed the mug at him. The contents spilled over his best tunic and onto the clean mosaics. “Thou art no son of mine.”

“So be it. If you wish to live to see the morrow, you’ll instruct your men to accompany me to London. Move. I see conversation has no merit with you.” He growled and motioned with his knife for his father to return to the courtyard.

Dropping back into a chair, his father crossed arms over chest and said, “Never. My men are loyal only to me.”

Pleased to find a reason to draw blood, Marcus poked him in the chest. “I’ll flog you until you relent, as you oft did to me.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” He glowered in rage.