CHAPTER THREE
“Forbes,” William Marshall greeted, amused when Gart stumbled back and tripped down a step, down onto the dirt floor of the tavern. “You looked quite staggered to see me. I was unaware my presence had such an impact on you.”
Grinning, Gart blinked his eyes, as the light from the open door was still bright. “Always, my lord,” he said seriously. “You cause me to stumble every time I see you.”
William chuckled, noticing that Gart was with three other very large men. Knights, he assumed, although they weren’t wearing any protection and a quick perusal of their weaponry showed it sorely lacking. He pointed to Kress, who was the closest man next to Gart.
“Introduce me to your companions, Gart,” he said, inspecting Kress from the top of the man’s blond head to the bottom of his enormous feet. “I would assume this is either of Loxbeare or de Dere or de Rhydian.”
Gart nodded, turning to indicate Kress. “My lord, meet Sir Kress De Rhydian,” he said. “You have never met a man more deadly with a sword.”
William cocked an eyebrow at the knight. “We shall see,” he said vaguely, throwing a finger in the direction of an empty table over near the front windows of the tavern. “Let us retreat away from the entry so our business is not heard by the entire world.”
So much for them leaving the tavern to find another, less-hostile place. Gart simply followed William as the man headed for an empty table over near the front window.
“As you wish, my lord,” he said. “But truthfully, we were not expecting to see you until tonight.”
William waved him off. “We made excellent time with our travel,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the men following him. “If the big blond man is de Rhydian, then the other two must be Loxbeare and de Dere.”
They had reached the table, which was empty except for a small man sleeping at one end of it. As The Marshal’s men roused the man and chased him away, the group began to collect their seats. Gart indicated Maxton, who was closest to him.
“This is Sir Maxton of Loxbeare,” he said, “and the tall brute is Sir Achilles de Dere.”
As Maxton and Achilles acknowledged William with a nod of the head, Gart made a point of not introducing The Marshal by name because he didn’t want anyone else in the room to hear the introduction. Already, they were conducting their business out in the open and he was uncomfortable, but William didn’t seem to be particularly concerned. He’d brought about twenty heavily armed men with him inside, men who fanned out through the room, so that William on the inside was well protected.
As they settled around the old, worn table, William wasn’t thinking about his men, or the tavern, or anything else for that matter. His attention was entirely upon the three knights he had just been introduced to.
He’d been waiting a long time for this moment.
“Loxbeare,” he said to the bearded knight with the dark eyes. “I know your father well. He is quite thrilled to have you home.”
Maxton nodded faintly. “That seems strange, my lord, considering I have not spoken with my father in almost fifteen years.”
William could immediately sense a serious, if not somewhat morose, man beneath the hulking exterior. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond to what seemed to be a family issue so he simply overlooked it. “Your father is a fine man,” he said politely, turning his attention to the big blond knight who had been more congenial. “De Rhydian, is it? You must be an excellent knight if you are keeping company with Loxbeare and de Dere.”
Kress smiled, lop-sided. “I have allowed them to keep company with me, my lord,” he said arrogantly. “I would have hoped they have learned something from me by now.”
William grinned; he liked a man with confidence. His attention finally came to rest on Achilles, the tallest of the group. He also looked to be the youngest with his smooth face and bright eyes, but from his weathered neck and hands, it was clear that he was much older than he appeared. Then William noticed the bloodied knuckles on the man and he couldn’t help but notice that the common room of the tavern had seen some serious upheaval. He motioned to the room before them.
“Was there some trouble here?” he asked.
Gart, trying to appear entirely ignorant, lifted his eyebrows questioningly. “Why would you ask?”
William gave Gart a rather wry expression. “I entered the tavern as you four were fleeing,” he said. “The room has been wrecked. What did you do?”
Gart held a serious expression for a few moments longer before being unable to do so. He cracked a smile, looking at Kress and Achilles, who were also grinning. Kress was shaking his head in exasperation. No one seemed willing to answer so Maxton was the one to finally speak.
“Achilles created a ruckus as only Achilles is capable of doing,” he said calmly. “But surely you do not wish to speak about a brawl in a tavern, my lord. Your presence here represents something far more important than a knight’s fight, so we would appreciate it if you would simply get on with it.”
William turned to the serious, even blunt, knight. “Indeed, I will,” he agreed. His attention was drawn to the man; he couldn’t quite put his finger on what was wrong, but there was something behind Maxton’s stormy eyes that made him appear quite edgy. Unstable, even. It was something William would have to watch. “I have come to see the three men who were ransomed with a good deal of money. I have come to ensure that you understand why you were ransomed.”
Gart, seeing that William was having some difficulty with Maxton’s seemingly hard attitude, cleared his throat softly. “I have informed them why they were ransomed, my lord,” he said quietly. “They know that they have been returned to England to do a job.”
“But you have not told them what job.”
“Nay, my lord. That should come from you. We have been two months upon the road home, so you will forgive us is tempers are short and we are weary in general. Proceed as you will. They are ready to hear it.”
He sounded as if he was making excuses for Maxton’s behavior, which he was. William didn’t like that and especially not coming from Gart. Forbes was not a man given to apologies. His gaze, intense and appraising, looked over the three knights seated at his table. The room around them was starting to show signs of life again as the tables were righted and patrons settled down again, but William didn’t notice. He was only focused on the men before him.
“You know that you have been ransomed for a purpose,” he said. “But hear me now; I will inform you of your purpose from my own lips and you will understand the situation as it stands. Firstly, let me be plain – you three now belong to me. I have ransomed you and you are therefore in my service. Is this in any way unclear?”
Kress and Achilles shook their heads, with Maxton responding a split second later. William continued. “Excellent,” he said. “Now, I wish to discuss your reputation in The Levant. It is my understanding that the three of you carried out, shall we say, unsavory tasks for the Christian commanders. Is this true?”
Again, Maxton was the one to nod. When dealing with the three of them, it was always Maxton who spoke for the group. “We did as we were told, my lord,” he said. “There was nothing more to it.”
William cocked an eyebrow at the man. “I would hope there is a great deal more to it,” he said. “I was also told that once you left The Levant, you found lords in France and Saxony and beyond who would also pay you for those particular skills.”
“A man must make money the best way he can, my lord.”
“Forbes tells me that you three are known as the Executioner Knights for your skill as assassins and spies.”
The three men looked at Gart who gazed steadily back at them. It was clear he wasn’t going to elaborate on what he’d already told William; he expected the men in question to do it. After a moment, Kress pursed his lips and looked at his lap whilst Achilles stretched his long arms over his head and leaned back in his chair, unwilling to answer. Only Maxton was left to respond, once again.
They would leave the explaining to him.
“All men have their strengths and weaknesses, my lord,” Maxton said, his voice somewhat quieter. “Ours happens to be stealth, strength, and utter fearlessness. We work well as a team. We did as we were told and we accomplished our mission.”
“No matter how unpleasant?”
“No matter, my lord.”
“Your feelings do not come to bear?”
“Not in any case, my lord. They never have.”
William could see that. He was coming to understand something else, too – when Loxbeare spoke, there was no boastfulness. Either he was being modest, or he was simply unwilling to elaborate on their reputation. William suspected it was the latter; assassins usually did not live long if they bragged over their accomplishments. He understood their position all too well.
Therefore, he sat forward on the old table, motioning the knights nearer. For what he was about to say, he didn’t want to shout. As the three men leaned forward to listen, William eyed Gart, unspoken words passing between them; Gart would keep an eye out for anyone trying to listen to their conversation. As Gart sat back in his chair, far enough to keep on the alert but still close enough to hear the conversation, William began.
“You will answer me truthfully, in all things, or I shall send you back to the Lords of Baux without hesitation,” he said in a tone that suggested utter, complete compliance. “I’ve no time for foolishness or lies. Do you understand?”
The three men nodded.
“Swear upon your honor,” William said.
They did, in unison, and William continued. “I understand that you had an encounter with Lothar on your return from The Levant. Confirm this to me.”
Lothar. Sitting on the right hand of The Marshal, the mere mention of the name caused Maxton to stiffen somewhat. He knew that William was referring to the pope by his birth name – Lothario. Rather than address the man by his proper title, he was using a casual reference and Maxton knew it was because of the ongoing war between the pope and the king of England. There was little to no respect there, long gone to dust in the constant embattlement between John and the Catholic Church.
Even so, now that the name of the Holy Father had been brought forth, the light of why he and Achilles and Kress had been ransomed by William and Eleanor of Aquitaine was beginning to flicker in Maxton’s mind, and not in a good way. In truth, perhaps he’d always suspected, but now, he was receiving confirmation of it.
There was only one explanation – that they knew of the offer made from the Holy Father to the Executioner Knights. Maxton didn’t know how they knew, but they did. He found his eyes flicking to Gart as the man sat there, alert and silent. But Gart wasn’t looking at him and Maxton began to grow suspicious; perhaps Gart had told The Marshal, but how did Gart find out about the offer? Maxton had never told him and on their trip home from Baux, the subject of The Lateran Palace, or the pope, or anything else religious had never really come up. Perhaps that was because Gart had already known, and he’d been leading the three knights home to face an interrogation about it.
That had to be it.
Maxton was instantly on his guard.
“I will confirm it,” he said after a moment. “But if you know that, then you also know that the very encounter was the reason we were prisoners of the Lords of Baux.”
“I want to hear it from you.”
Maxton wasn’t comfortable speaking about a situation that had impacted him and his friends intensely, but he had little choice. His suspicions were growing, and he was coming to wonder if there weren’t a hundred crown troops outside of the tavern, all of them awaiting a signal from The Marshal to come charging in and puncture him to death. If William knew he’d met with the pope, then he probably knew why. Even though the offer had been made in the strictest confidence, something like that wouldn’t remain a secret forever. Men talked.
With that thought lingering on his mind, Maxton proceeded carefully, trying not to look like a man who was pleading his case.
But he was.
“Much as you have heard of our reputation, so had the Holy Father,” he said, his voice so low that it was coming out as a growling whisper. “When we reached Rome on our journey back to England, an Italian knight we had become acquainted with during our time in The Levant spoke of a papal directive of a most secretive kind. It would seem that the knight had a cousin in The Lateran Palace, and the Holy Father had been looking for good English knights for a special mission. Our friend, the Italian knight, had mentioned what he knew of us to his cousin, who in turn told the Holy Father. We were evidently what the Holy Father was looking for, and we were brought to The Lateran Palace. When were deemed trustworthy, we met with the Holy Father himself.”
William was listening intently. “Just like that? Was it so easy, then, to have an audience with Lothar?”
Maxton’s lips twitched with an ironic smile. “Nay, it was not so easy as all that,” he said. “We spent months in Rome, being seduced by those in The Lateran Palace and all they could provide us. Wine and woman, and even money. We lived like kings. When it was determined we were loyal enough to the Holy Father, we were summoned to speak with him. But it took time.”
William sighed faintly, digesting the situation. “Why did you remain, then? Purely for the fact that you were being spoiled with food and comfort?”
Maxton lifted his big shoulders. “Nay,” he said, “although I will admit that after the hell of The Levant, it was a welcome change. We remained because we were intrigued by whispers of large sums of money and property that the Holy Father was willing to pay for a most important task. Call it a mercenary intention if you must, but we had a purpose in remaining. It wasn’t simply hedonism.”
William’s eyes glittered as he looked at him. “All men have a mercenary heart,” he said. “It is the one thing every man has in common, if nothing else. So… you remained where you were pampered and spoiled, waiting for an offer of a task with great rewards. When you finally met with Lothar, what did he ask of you?”
Maxton didn’t hesitate. “To kill the king.”
“John?”
“Aye.”
“And you refused?”
Maxton snorted. “That was why you found us in the possession of the Lords of Baux,” he said. “We refused to assassinate our own king and the Holy Father took exception to that. So that his offer to us would not become public knowledge, he threw us into the vault and then sold us off to the Lords of Baux, who had never made it clear what they intended to do with us. The garrison commander at Baux-les-Provence, who became friendly with us because he hated his lord with a passion, told us that we were to be ransomed back to our families, but that never materialized.”
William absorbed what he was being told. It was everything Gart had told him and more. “Did Lothar tell you why he wanted John removed?”
Maxton shook his head. “He did not,” he said flatly. “But he offered us enough riches to buy our own army if we took to the task. My lord, it is well-known that John and the Holy Father are in contention with each other. That has never been a secret, so if I am made an offer to remove my king, I do not question it. But no reason given could be worthy enough for such a task. He may be a weak king, but he is the only one England has. He has his mother’s powerful backing, and I would rather see him on the throne than one of his brother’s children. A child upon England’s throne would be an invitation for disaster.”
They were astonishing and astute words. William stared at him a moment before finally shaking his head in a wry, and even foreboding, gesture.
“More than you know,” he muttered. “But that is exactly why Lothar wanted you to remove John. To put a child upon the throne.”
Maxton’s eyebrows lifted as Kress and Achilles sat closer, now completely wrapped upon in the conversation. “A child?” Maxton repeated. “Who? Arthur? God, don’t tell me he wants that lad for the throne. He is controlled by Phillip, the French king. Why would the Holy Father want a French-controlled king on the throne?”
William shook his head quickly. “He does not,” he said. Then, he lowered his voice, his yellowed eyes fixed on Maxton. “There is another.”
An expression of confusion washed over Maxton’s face. He glanced at Kress and Achilles, who appeared equally perplexed. Seeing their reactions, Maxton returned his focus to William.
“Of whom do you speak?” he asked. “Who else is there?”
Their confusion was evident, telling William that everything Maxton had told him was the truth. They truly didn’t know the motive behind the pope’s request. With that realization, William sighed heavily before proceeding.
“Richard wintered in Sicily ten years ago in route to The Levant,” he said grimly. “Whilst there, he had a liaison with a nobleman’s daughter and a son was born. That child is now in the possession of Lothar and he plans to eliminate John and place Richard’s own son upon the throne. He is prepared to swear that the child’s mother was married to Richard, thereby rendering his marriage to Berengaria null. He will make the boy Richard’s legal heir and the hereditary king of England.”
Maxton stared at him. In fact, they were all staring at him, every man at the table other than Gart, who was still being alert for anyone else listening to the conversation. But the lull became extended enough that Gart finally looked to the table, seeing the shock on the faces of Maxton, Kress, and Achilles.
“This news you hear comes from me,” Gart said quietly, watching three sets of astonished eyes turn to him. “I received the information from a man very close to the Holy Father.”
Maxton wasn’t over his shock. “Who?”
“Abramo.”
That brought a reaction from Maxton. “I know this man,” he said. “He is the right hand to the Holy Father. In fact, I would say that he controls those in the church even more than the Holy Father does. He is a sinister man who wields great power.”
“And this information comes from him,” Gart emphasized. “They wanted English knights to assassinate John because it was felt that Englishmen could get closer to the king than a foreign warrior. That is what they wanted of you, Max. They wanted you to remove John from the throne so they could put Richard’s bastard upon it.”
Maxton didn’t think he could be any more astonished than he already was, but he was wrong. It was a massive plot and the more he pondered it, the more astounded he became.
“And I refused,” he muttered. Then, his sharp gaze moved quickly between Gart and William. “But I would wager to say that was not the end of it. They would simply make the offer to someone else.”
William nodded, seeing that Maxton was coming to fully understand the situation now. “And they have,” he said, “but we do not know who it is. That is where you come in, why we have ransomed you. It will take men of your particular talents to prevent the assassins from reaching the king. In fact, I would suspect whomever has been charged with that task is already here, in England.”
Maxton frowned. “But surely the king has enough guards of the body,” he said. “You do not need us to protect the king.”
“Nay, not protect,” William said. “But you think like assassins because you are assassins. It will take men like you to find whoever Lothar managed to send and prevent them from completing their mission. Every dirty act you’ve ever committed, and every brutal thought you’ve ever entertained, has created a skill set in you that no one else has. Do you understand me, Loxbeare? You must find these men before they can get to the king. That is why you have been ransomed – this is a job that only you can do.”
Now, Maxton did indeed understand everything and the entire situation made perfect sense. All of it. He looked at Kress and Achilles, seeing the same understanding in their eyes. Their purpose was made clear now and, not strangely, Maxton felt some relief. When he’d thought he’d been brought here to be interrogated about the popes’ offer, the meeting turned out to be something altogether different. In fact, now that the truth was known, he felt some enthusiasm for the task. This was different from what he was usually called upon to do and there was some relish in that challenge.
Assassins finding assassins…
“You are correct,” he said after a moment. “This is a job that only we can do. And you are also correct in that whomever the Holy Father managed to coerce into this task is probably already in England. I am surprised they have not yet made an attempt on the king, in fact. Have you made John’s commanders aware of this threat?”
William shook his head. “Nay,” he said, “but after this meeting, Windsor is my destination. John has just arrived from Winchester and he is expecting to see me, so before this night is out, John and his men shall know of this threat. And they shall also know that we have the best men for the job to prevent it.”
Maxton agreed with him with a slight nod of his head; he could feel his confidence surging, the taste of a deadly game upon his tongue. It was a familiar flavor. But he knew a great deal of this game and it was important he speak of it to William. The man had to understand, too, that this was no ordinary task.
The stakes were too high.
“I must stress that John must do nothing differently,” he said. “If he does anything out of the ordinary, or goes into hiding, whomever the Holy Father has sent will know that something is amiss – he will realize that John knows of the plot. Therefore, in order to catch these men, we need to draw them out, and we can only do that if John maintains his usual schedule.”
William was nodding before Maxton finished speaking. “I am aware,” he said. “I will ensure that the king does nothing differently, but you must come up with some manner of plan to catch these assassins, Loxbeare. You simply cannot prowl London hoping to run into them at some point.”
Maxton smiled thinly. “Unfortunately, that is part of the job,” he said. “We will indeed be combing London for information, but it will be for the purpose of formulating a plan. And we will need a base in London, somewhere to stay whilst we work.”
William waved a hand. “Not to worry,” he said. “You may stay at Farringdon House, near Aldersgate. It is a home that belonged to my mother, and my wife hates it because it is more fortress than home, so my men and my allies stay there when they are in London. It is place of knights and everyone knows it. You have use of it and whatever else you need.”
Maxton glanced at his clothing. “I fear we need decent weapons and clothing,” he said. “We cannot go on a hunt looking as paupers.”
William nodded sharply. “Gart shall get you everything you need,” he said. Then, he pointed a finger at Maxton. “But there is no time to waste. Get what you need and be quick about it. John is in London because he has called a meeting of his marcher lords, and I intend to be part of that meeting.”
“Marcher lords?” Maxton repeated. “Is there trouble in Wales, then? Is that what has been happening since we have been in The Levant?”
William shook his head. “Nothing so dramatic,” he said. “John has a surprisingly good relationship with the Welsh, but there are the usual things to discuss. It is a country always on the brink of rebellion, so he has called for his marcher lords. Christopher and David de Lohr shall be there, as well as the Lords of the Trilaterals, the de Laras. They should be all converging on London as we speak.”
A flicker of recognition crossed Maxton’s features. “The de Lohr brothers will be here?”
“I take it you know them?”
Maxton thought on the two men he’d known for twenty years or more, men who were essential for the control of the country. He’d fought with them, and killed for them, and had been allied with them for a very long time. But their relationship hadn’t always been a good one; Maxton had a love/hate relationship with Christopher even in the best of times, and when the men had all served in The Levant together, Christopher and David had taken the path of glory at Richard’s side while Maxton and Kress and Achilles had found themselves embroiled in the dirty dealings of the Christian commanders.
Perhaps there was a part of Maxton that had resented the de Lohr brothers and their righteous path to glory, and there had been contention between them because of it, but the truth was that Maxton’s contention with Christopher in particular had old roots, indeed. The noble and honorable Christopher compared to the sly and ruthless Maxton. Maxton had watched Christopher soak up the adulation at times while Maxton remained in the shadows, doing the dirty work.
He was still doing the dirty work.
“Aye, I know them,” he finally said. “Do Christopher and David know of this plot against John?”
William shook his head. “No one does,” he said. “But I intend to tell them. They are trustworthy. And we may need their assistance, so it is better if they know.”
Maxton couldn’t disagree with him, but he had a point to make. “Tell them if you must, but I will not tolerate any interference from them. Chris was Richard’s champion and he may feel as if his greatness is needed in this situation as well. You will tell him that is not. For what I must do, I do not need a de Lohr.”
There was some animosity as he spoke, cluing William in on the fact that although Maxton knew Christopher, there was evidently no love lost there. But he wouldn’t ask about it; he didn’t care, anyway. He was more focused on Loxbeare and ensuring the man had his full confidence to do the job tasked to him.
“De Lohr will not interfere,” he assured him. “In any case, I shall return to Farringdon in a day or two, and I shall expect to hear of your plan for the king. Is this clear?”
Maxton took him at his word when it came to de Lohr, making it easier for him to return his focus to the task ahead of him. “It is, my lord.”
There was respect in his tone, not missed by William. “Excellent,” he said. “Now that you have your duty, you will excuse me to go about mine.”
Without another word, he excused himself and headed out of the tavern with his men in tow, leaving Maxton, Gart, Kress, and Achilles still seated at the table. It was true that a hint of shock still lingered among them, and perhaps the slightest bit of intimidation of the job ahead of them. It was an extremely important one, perhaps more important than anything they’d ever done. But they would not fail.
They could not.
“Well?” Maxton said, breaking the silence. “It seems we have a task to complete.”
Gart, who had remained largely silent and observant throughout the conversation with William, could hear the confidence in Maxton’s tone and it was both surprising and pleasing. The man he’d just spent the past few months with had lacked that tone in his voice; even Kress had commented about it. Max was quiet during our months in captivity, and when he did speak, he was oddly philosophical. If Gart hadn’t known any better, he would think that Maxton was beginning to question everything he’d ever known, his very existence, in fact. Gart had witnessed the change in the man, but in just a short conversation with William Marshal, Gart didn’t sense that change from Maxton any longer.
That confidence was much more like the man he knew.
Perhaps it was because the man had a purpose now, or perhaps it was because he was feeling useful again. Months in captivity could damage a man’s soul, but Maxton was strong. Perhaps all of the quietness had been his way of dealing with the situation and nothing more. It didn’t seem to matter now, whatever the reason, because Gart could see glimmers of the Maxton he knew before him.
A man who would get the job done or die trying.
He hoped it didn’t come to that.