Lord of War: Black Angel (14 page)

“He is
not
evil!” Ellowyn said indignantly, bolting to her feet. When she saw the expression on her mother and grandmother’s faces, she hastened to recover. “He… he was very kind and diligently protected me during the journey from London. I… I would like to change into fresh clothing. Please excuse me.”

With that, she nearly stumbled from the table, making haste to the great flight of stairs that wound its way to the upper floors of Erith’s four storied keep.  But before she could reach it, her father and Brandt entered the keep and Ellowyn nearly ran into them.   In fact, Brandt had to reach out and steady her to keep her from bumping into him.

“My lady,” he said, making a conscious effort to drop his hand from her arm when he very much wanted to keep it there. “Are you well?”

Ellowyn gazed up into his handsome face, now without his helm.  He was so incredibly handsome with his angled jaw and black hair.  Her heart was fluttering wildly.

“I am well,” she said, forcing a weak smile. “I am simply going up to my chamber.”

“Bon voyage, then,” Brandt said, humor in his voice. “Now you will finally have a solid room about you and not a tent.”

Ellowyn’s smile turned real. “I did not mind the tent.”

There was a glimmer in her eye when she said it, something only Brandt could see. And then she was gone, scampering up the stairs and disappearing from view. Brandt gaze lingered on her until she vanished before tearing his focus away.  He knew Deston had seen the exchange so he hastened to sounds as if he had shown concern purely for chivalrous reasons. He didn’t want the man to suspect anything more; at least, not until he was ready to plead his case.

“Your daughter showed remarkable strength throughout the journey,” he told the man as he began to pull off his gauntlets. “She never complained once.”

Deston stood there with his hands on his hips, watching Brant remove his gloves and the ruff around his neck that soaked up sweat and protected his neck from his chaffing helm. It was a soiled and bloody mess.

“Ellowyn is a good girl,” he agreed. “She is strong of mind and heart, but I would imagine you have already discovered that for yourself.”

Brandt looked at the man, wondering if he meant beyond the usual acquaintance. Maybe it was his paranoia suggesting it as he gazed at the man whose daughter he was in love with, but he thought perhaps Deston was only making a statement and nothing more. Still, he was careful in his reply.

“She is a proud daughter of the House of de Nerra,” he replied. “And how is your son?”

Deston’s prideful expression faded. “Being holy, I suppose,” he said, heading into the great hall with Brandt in tow. “We have not spoken in almost two years. He has taken a vow of silence, you know. It is an unnatural thing for a de Nerra to be silent.”

Brandt could see that the man was genuinely unhappy, which he found rather humorous.  As they approached the table, the women who had been seated stood up, their polite attention on Brandt.  He bowed respectfully when he came to the table.

“Lady de Nerra,” he said to Annalora, whom he had already greeted out in the ward.  His attention moved to the second woman. “Lady Gray, it is a pleasure to see you again. It has been a long time.”

Gray came out from the table, extending her hand when she came close to Brandt.  He took her small hand in his enormous one, shaking it gently.

“Brandt de Russe,” she said softly, her amber eyes twinkling up at him. “Except for the fact that you are bigger and older, you’ve not changed a bit since we last met.”

Brandt grinned, displaying his big white teeth. “And you have grown more lovely,” he replied. “I can see where your granddaughter gets her astonishing beauty.”

Gray laughed softly. “Did they teach you such flatter on the battlefields of France? Somehow, I do not think so.”

He took her hand and gently helped her to sit on the bench around the table. “I learned much on the battlefields of France, but flattery was not amount them,” he said as he sat down next to her. “I missed your husband there, my lady. Braxton was one of my mentors, you know. I miss his wisdom as well as his sword.”

Gray’s eyes were still glimmering. “He did so enjoy fighting with you,” she said softly. “He said there was no one like you.  He swore you were the first and last of your kind, the greatest knight he had ever seen.”

“He was a liar, too.”

Gray giggled. “He was no such thing, my lord,” she scolded lightly. “He always told the truth. That is, he did until he became ill. Then, by the time he told us the truth, it was too late. I do not believe I shall forgive him for that.”

Brandt’s gaze was soft as he took her hand and kissed it. “How many years has it been now? Six?”

“Six years, two months, three weeks and seventeen days,” Gray replied softly. “He is buried at St. John’s in Leven if you want to go and yell at him, by the way.”

“I miss him.”

“As do I.”

Brandt gave her a faint smile. Not wanting the conversation to deteriorate into something heady on the subject of Braxton de Nerra’s passing, he shifted the subject.

“Well,” he said, turning to Deston and Annalora, now seated on the opposite side of the table.  “I suppose you would like a full report of my use of your men, my lord.”

Deston waved him off. “I wish to hear more of this battle with the Welsh that nearly killed my daughter.”

Brandt thought back to the fight and the fact that Ellowyn had indeed been in a good deal of peril.  But he didn’t want to frighten the family over something that was over with, so he did his best to be truthful yet tactful.

“There is not much more to tell,” he replied. “I told you that the Welsh rebels had attacked Kenilworth earlier that day and set their sights on us as well. They plowed through the middle of the column first, blindsiding us, and that was where Ellowyn was riding. She took an arrow to the shoulder but she was taken to safety immediately where she was tended first by my knights and then by the nuns from Coventry. She recovered quickly and is in fine shape, as you have seen.”

As Deston nodded his head, Annalora and Gray were in various states of horror. They had not heard of Ellowyn’s injury and both of them bolted up from the table.

“My sweetling!” Annalora was already rushing for the stairs. “I must see to her!”

Brandt felt rather bad that he had startled them, but Deston yelled after the pair. “She is well,” he told his wife and mother. “You saw for yourself – she is fine!”

Annalora muttered something that sounded suspiciously like an insult to her husband’s sense of compassion as she and Gray disappeared up the stairs. Brandt turned to Deston somewhat sheepishly.

“I did not mean to upset them,” he said. “I was not aware that they did not know of our Welsh encounter.”

Deston waved a careless hand. “They are always looking for something to work them into a froth,” he said as servants brought forth pitchers of wine and trays of cheese and bread. “You know women; they like to be upset and them blame us for causing it.”

For some reason, Brandt thought back to the moment he and Ellowyn had first met.  She had been furious and had blamed him; although there was blame on both sides, he could see Deston’s point.

“I will admit,” he said as he reached for a cup of wine, “that I upset your daughter when we first met.  She did not announce herself right away and… well, I was not kind in my reaction.”

Deston collect his wine cup, a twinkle in his eye as he looked at Brandt. “Did you chase her away?”

“Something like that.”

He snorted as he drank. “Did she return with a stick and try to beat you? She is fiery like that.”

Brandt gave him a half grin. “Not quite,” he said. “She is quite bold, however. She did not hesitate to let me know what she thought of me.”

Deston laughed. “You do not know the half of it,” he said, reaching for the cheese and bread. “She possesses bravery and a sense of vengeance that exceeds that of most men I know. Had she been born a man, she would have made a magnificent knight.  Sometimes I wish… well, it does not matter what I wish. I still have Ellowyn and for that, I am grateful.”

Brandt watched the man intently. “What about your son?” he asked. “Surely whatever profession he has chosen does not make him any less your son.”

Deston cocked an eyebrow at him. “That is what my father said,” he replied, drinking his wine in thought. “Fenton… he could have been the greatest knight we have seen yet. Do you know him?”

Brandt nodded. “I am acquainted with him,” he replied. “When your father and I served together in France for a time, he spoke of him.  He was very proud of Fenton.”

Deston regarded his wine, the pensive look of a disappointed father evident. “We all were until he joined that damnable cloister,” he said. “He said he felt as if his true calling was to God and not the knighthood. He broke my heart on that day.”

Brandt could see the sadness, the frustration, in the man. He could see that it was a sensitive subject.

“Well,” he said quietly as he reached for his own bread and cheese, “the knighthood is not for every man. Sometimes I wish it was not for me, but alas, I am too entrenched in the very fabric of the profession to ever retire from it. I will die on the battlefield and not warm and safe in my bed as most men.”

Deston watched him as he took a healthy bite of the tart, white cheese. “When do you return to France?”

Brandt chewed and swallowed the bite in his mouth. “We spent the last year raiding the Aquitaine,” he said. “Edward may be young, and fairly hot–headed, but he is a brilliant leader. He knows what it takes to lead men to victory.  We moved through the Aquitaine raiding and weakening strategic towns and those we did not raid, we set about building alliances. France is still quite divided with many houses laying claim to the throne. Edward intends to gain a foot-hold there.”

Deston was listening carefully. “Edward? Or you?” When Brandt shook his head, Deston put up a hand to silence him. “Brandt, we all know it is you who is the military intelligence behind Edward. It is
you
. You have planned the systematic weakening of the Aquitaine and you are the military leader planning the Black Prince’s movements.  Edward may be a great leader of men, but you are the man behind the leader. Make no mistake; England understands that and so do those in France.  When all of this is over, you will be an extremely powerful man in both countries.”

Brandt didn’t have much to say to that. He returned to his bread and cheese, ripping off great hunks of bread and washing them down with the rich red wine.  Deston could see the man was silent on the matter of his greatness, as most great men were.  He was not humble, but he knew the truth. He saw no need to confirm it.  Deston poured himself more wine.

“It is well known that you are a master of
chevauchèe
,” he continued quietly. “Quite an effective tactic – burn, pillage, and loot, and then move on to the next town. I understand that Edward has used your tactics for the past year quite heavily. That is what has weakened the Aquitaine most of all and I am sure that is why the French call you
l’ange noir
. Even they know who is truly the master behind the prince – Exeter, the Angel of Death.”

Brandt glanced at him. “Where did you hear things like that?”

Deston grinned. “Erith is well-traveled,” he said. “We have many visitors. I hear many stories.  Is any of this untrue?”

“Of course it is true.”

“Then you must be a very wealthy man from all of the time spent looting the Aquitaine.”

“I am well-rewarded for my service.”

It was a mild way of putting it. Deston chuckled softly before draining the rest of his wine.

“When do you return to France?” he asked, shifting the subject slightly. “More importantly, how many of my men will you need when you return?”

Brandt sighed heavily; the wine was starting to relax him and his professional manner was easing.

“I will not be in England long,” he said, suddenly looking very weary as he reflected on his future plans. His burdens were huge, dragging at him. “My directive from the Prince of Wales is to return for fresh troops and join him in the Aquitaine in three months’ time.  We are beginning the systematic weakening of the north of France. Without going into a huge amount of detail, it is our intention to take Chartres, Tours, and eventually Poitiers. The prince wishes to set up court in Poitier and rule from there.”

Deston was looking at him seriously. “Is this true?” he breathed. “My God… you have a task ahead of you, man.”

Brandt nodded faintly, slowing down his food and alcohol intake as a thought occurred to him; returning to France soon as he was, he would have to marry Ellowyn quickly if he was going to spend any amount of time with her before he left. Odd that now, instead of returning to France where Edward was waiting for him for fresh men and supplies, all he could think of was Ellowyn and how he did not want to leave, not while they were just becoming close.

“I will be soliciting men and material from the Duke of Carlisle, the Earl of Wrexham, and move across the middle of England soliciting what support I can,” he said. “I will perhaps ride to Carlisle and Wrexham because their sons, St. Hèver  and de Lara, serve me. I know the families well.  To that end, what support can I expect from you?”

Deston took a deep breath, sighing heavily with thought. “Five hundred men at the most,” he said, scratching his blond head. “The six hundred you brought back should expect to stay here. What kind of supplies do you need?”

“Arrows,” Brandt said without hesitation. “The archers go through them at a maddening pace.  They recover as many as they can, but supplies are short. We can also use any kind of combat weapons you can provide – axes, poleaxes, swords. Anything. Horses would also be well-met.”

“I will see what I can do,” Deston said. “How long will you be staying?”

“No more than a day; two at the most.”

“Then let us spend tonight feasting and enjoying life. We will speak of the serious things tomorrow.

“Agreed.”

They lifted a cup to each other before drinking deeply. Brandt was thinking heavily on re-introducing Ellowyn into the conversation for the purpose of asking permission to court her when his knights entered from the bailey.