CHAPTER SIX
Farringdon House
It was a chamber filled with knights.
In fact, the very walls reeked of power… swords… and blood. They had absorbed such things over the years, walls that seen much of the politics of England.
The first floor solar of Farringdon House was a meeting place, one that William Marshal used to summon the great and powerful of England. It covered nearly half of the floor, and it was a very big floor, so there was easily room for fifty or more men in the solar with its great stone hearth, exposed beams overhead, and painted walls. The floor was made from wide slats of wood, heavy, but pocked from men who had walked upon it with their spurs and heavy boots. It was a spectacular room, meant for men of greatness.
This morning was no exception.
After his encounter with Andressa, Maxton had returned to Farringdon House, entering through an arched and secured gate built into the house itself and protected by several guards. Once inside, he passed through a tunnel that led into a damp, enclosed courtyard. To his right were stalls for the horses and a small corral, but stretching above that were four stories of a great stone house.
Windows faced into the interior courtyard and he could hear voices coming from the open panels – servants, people moving around, and the smells of baking bread. To his left was another arched doorway, heavily fortified, and there was another guard standing at it. He passed through with ease, entering the ground floor of the house, which was mostly servants’ quarters, a big armory, and the kitchens. It was low-ceilinged and dark. A stone walkway through the ground floor led to a large mural staircase, and he took the stairs two at a time as he made his way to the first floor above.
This floor was bigger, with higher ceilings, and bright with windows. It was also the floor with the enormous solar. Maxton could hear men in the solar and as he entered the room, which was lit by the morning sun because the windows facing west were all wide open and the sun was filling up the sky, he could hear Kress’ voice.
“Finally!” Kress declared. “We were about to send a search party out for you, Max. Where have you been all night?”
Maxton quickly realized there were several powerful knights in the chamber, all of them turning to look at him as he sauntered in. In fact, his reply to Kress caught in his throat as he looked at the familiar faces, some men he’d known for years, and men he’d served with in The Levant and even before.
He was, in truth, shocked to see such a collection, and it looked as if they were all waiting for him. Every eye was on him, including The Marshal, who was sitting near the window with a cup of something steaming in his hand.
“Well?” William said, gesturing with his cup. “Answer de Rhydian. Where have you been all night? We have been waiting for you.”
Maxton’s attention was drawn to The Marshal, but he was distracted by several grinning faces of men he considered his friends, for the most part. “I was not tired last night,” he said evenly. “I sought to enjoy all that London has to offer.”
“To indulge?”’
“To think.”
William came away from the window and approached him; he didn’t appear genuinely perturbed at Maxton’s disappearing act, merely curious. “Good,” he said. “I hope you have been thinking a good deal. That is why I have brought these men with me. Some are friends of yours, I believe.”
Maxton nodded, now looking at some of the men who were starting to crowd around him. “You said you had a meeting with the king and the marcher lords,” he said. “I did not realize that you meant they were gathering here, at Farringdon House.”
William was rather humored by the man’s surprise. “They weren’t until last night,” he said. “I sent word to them and asked them to join me here this morning. And not all of these men serve marcher lords, either, but are simply men loyal to England. I will come to the point, Maxton – I have told them of the threat against the king. They know of your mission. That is why they are here. They want to hear of your plan to keep the king alive and they want to know how they can help.”
Looking at the group, Maxton respected those he knew a great deal, but he really didn’t want or need their help. Moreover, there were a few men he didn’t know and he wasn’t pleased that they were in on his mission. Too many men with that knowledge and he might not have the edge he hoped because men, even trustworthy ones, had been known to talk. That was the truth. Nay, he wasn’t pleased at all. But that irritation was pushed aside when he focused on Christopher de Lohr, the very same knight he had told William he wanted no interference from.
Odd how the usual resentment and even annoyance he usually felt for the man wasn’t there at the moment. All he saw was a fellow knight, someone he’d been allied with for years, for better of for worse.
In truth, he was actually glad to see him.
“Chris,” he said evenly. “I see you made it home from The Levant in one piece.”
Christopher de Lohr, a blond god of a man, smiled at Maxton but didn’t go so far as to offer a hand in greeting; that wasn’t the kind of relationship he and Maxton shared. They were critical of each other, perhaps far too competitive with each other, and there had always been the threat of a very nasty fight breaking out between them. However, they were also men who would defend one another to the death. Christopher was the light to Maxton’s darkness and they both knew it.
Even the night must have a day.
“I did,” Christopher replied after a moment. “And I see that you did as well, although it seems to have taken you a very long time to come home. I was told of your troubles, Max, and I suppose I should say that I am glad to see you made it back to England at all.”
Maxton shook his head. “Do not say that,” he said. “It would make me feel all warm and giddy, and I could not stomach it, not from you. Remember how much I detest the sight of you.”
“And I, you.”
Maxton held the man’s gaze a moment longer but couldn’t keep a straight face. With a smirk, he turned to the man standing next to Christopher, with somewhat similar features, but shorter and smaller. Given the size of Christopher, and he was a very big man, that wasn’t saying much. Maxton’s eyes narrowed at David de Lohr, Christopher’s younger brother and perhaps an even bigger nemesis to Maxton than Christopher was.
“And you,” he said. “Those men I paid to make sure you did not make it home alive took my money and failed to do their job. I am displeased.”
David was the more hot-headed brother, quick to temper, but a hell of a fighter. Still, he knew Maxton was joking for the most part, but was quick to dish out as much as he was given. He wasn’t about to let Maxton get the upper hand with him, not even this early into the conversation.
“Be careful,” he said, holding up a finger. “You should not say such things. You are in the presence of powerful men now.”
Maxton snorted. “Who?” he said. “You? Chris?”
David’s blue eyes glimmered with mirth; he was relishing the expression on Maxton’s face when he told him the truth. “Both of us,” he said. “When you address Chris, you are now addressing the Earl of Hereford and Worcester. Show due respect.”
Maxton looked sharply at Christopher in an expression that satisfied David a great deal. It was one of surprise and perhaps even disbelief. Maxton hadn’t heard about Christopher’s titles since his return, something Gart hadn’t bothered to tell him. Gart was deeply entrenched with the de Lohrs, as he served David, but Maxton knew why he hadn’t mentioned it – it was best that he hear it directly from Christopher and David, given his contentious relationship with them. Still, Maxton couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealously at the news, his contemporary who had been given a glorious title.
“My congratulations,” he said to Christopher, wondering if he sounded as if he meant it. “When did this happen?”
“Shortly after my return to England,” Christopher replied. “Remember that I came home several years ago, so it has been about seven years ago. And David was made Earl of Canterbury very recently, after the death of his wife’s father.”
Another de Lohr with a title. The knowledge compounded the resentment Maxton was trying to fight down and he struggled with his reaction.
“Congratulations to you, also, my lord,” he said to David as neutrally as he could manage. “It seems that while I was off fighting other men’s wars, you and your brother were making good for yourselves here at home.”
David simply shook his head. “It hasn’t been that simple, Max,” he said as he turned away. “We’ve had a mess on our hands for the most part.”
Maxton could have questioned him, but he didn’t have the will to. Whatever David meant, he would find out soon enough. Instead, Maxton turned to the other men in the chamber, men who were waiting to greet him, and he found himself shaking the hand Cullen de Nerra, a mountain of a man who was the son of the High Sheriff of Hampshire, probably the highest law-position in all of southern England.
Cullen was a knight’s knight, a powerful young man with great talent, so great, in fact, that he’d been knighted before he’d seen his twentieth year. Maxton had fought beside the skilled young knight many times, but he hadn’t seen him in ten years, since before he went to The Levant. As he shook the man’s hand, he looked him over carefully.
“Bloody Christ, Cullen,” he said. “You’ve grown into a behemoth since the last I saw you. What happened to that giddy young knight with the big dimples?”
Cullen grinned, displaying the dimples that Maxton had referenced. With his sandy-blond hair and dark eyes, the man didn’t want for female attention. If there were women around, they would gravitate to Cullen before anyone else, making him something of a hindrance to his friends at times. Maxton remembered being rather envious of that particular trait.
“He is still here,” Cullen said. “I had to gain muscle and size to compete with the likes of you. You always were my idol, Max.”
“Shut your silly mouth or you’ll have me weeping like a woman.”
Cullen’s grin widened. “’Tis good to see you home, but I am sorry to hear you’ve had such troubles.”
Maxton waved him off. “It was nothing,” he lied. “Thanks to The Marshal and Eleanor, Kress and Achilles and I have made it home in one piece. That is all that matters.”
“Indeed, it is.”
Cullen slapped him on the shoulder in an affectionate gesture, but further conversation was cleaved as William pulled Maxton away from Cullen and towards the rest of the men in the chamber. They didn’t have all the time in the world for pleasantries with old friends and it was time to finish up the introductions so they could get down to the business at hand.
“Or course, you already know Forbes,” William said, flicking a wrist at Gart, who was standing over by the open windows overlooking London. “But I do not think you know the others. Allow me to introduce you to the fine young knights who have come into service since you have been away from England. Remember the names of these men, Loxbeare; these will be knights with great legacies.”
Maxton came face to face with four big and well-armed knights, as deadly as he had ever seen. The first two looked similar in features, while the third one had pale blond hair and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. He thought he recognized the fourth knight, as a cousin to the de Lohr brothers, a rather muscular man with auburn hair and an auburn mustache. William began introducing them, from left to right.
“This enormous fellow is Sir Sean de Lara,” he said. “Sean is young, but he has been in my service for four years and there is no finer knight in the land. Since we have total trust in this chamber, and what is said here will not be spoken of outside of these walls, know that Sean has recently entered the service of the king as part of the man’s personal guard. You will come to know de Lara, Maxton; he will be close to the king at all times and you will have to work closely with him.”
Maxton nodded as he eyed the young knight; he was handsome, square-jawed, and powerfully built. But the eyes… they were a shade of dark blue, but the intensity radiating from them was palpable. He nodded his head briefly.
“De Lara,” he greeted. “You and I will converse privately at some point very soon.”
Sean nodded firmly. “Aye, my lord. A pleasure.”
Maxton didn’t linger on Sean because William was pulling him to the knight standing next in line.
“And this is Kevin de Lara, Sean’s younger brother. He has the strength of a bull, so do not let his shorter stature fool you. He will take you off your feet before you know what has hit you.” He came to the last two men in the line of knights. “And these final two warriors are particularly important – the man with the blue eyes is the premier knight for the House of de Winter. He’s also Irish to the bone and he’ll rip your head off before you know what hit you, so beware. I’ve never met a meaner man next to you, Loxbeare.”
Maxton lifted his eyebrows at the large knight with the piercing blue eyes, so blue that they were silver. “Is that so?” he said, a hint of doubt in his tone. “Forgive me, my lord, but if this is a gathering of marcher lords, then I am not sure why de Winter need be present. De Winter is not a marcher lordship, the last I heard.”
William answered. “De Winter has a small outpost near Gloucester, so there is some vested interest in the marches,” he said. “Bric MacRohan leads the de Winter war machine, and that is something we cannot do without.”
Maxton nodded in understanding. “I see,” he said. Then, he addressed the silver-eyed knight. “Where are you from, Irish?”
A blond eyebrow lifted. “The name is MacRohan,” he reminded him in an Irish accent so thick that it was barely understandable. “My family hails from Dungarvan Castle, but I was born in Ardmore.”
“I see,” Maxton said. His gaze was intense on the man. “No offense intended, but you are not English. The situation we are to discuss requires men who are loyal to England to the core. I have never heard of such loyalty from an Irish knight.”
That comment only seemed to bring color to MacRohan’s pale cheeks, and William took the hint. He quickly pulled Maxton away from the Irish knight with the flaring nostrils.
“Don’t look at him any longer,” he muttered. “I’ve seen him throttle men for less than what you have just said. Every word out of your mouth from this point on will be a challenge to him.”
“It is a legitimate concern.”
“MacRohan is related to de Winter by marriage. His loyalty to England is beyond contestation. One more comment like that from you and we may have real trouble from him, so look away, lad, look away. Don’t look a mad dog in the eye.”
Maxton wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, but to tempt fate, he looked over his shoulder at Bric MacRohan to see that the man was indeed glaring at him as if waiting for him to say the wrong word.
In truth, Maxton thought it was rather humorous, although he appreciated a man with such a commanding presence and a quick temper. Men with little control fascinated him, which was probably why he had made a companion of Achilles. He was the same way. As Maxton fought off a smile, thinking that he already liked MacRohan for some strange reason, the last knight in the chamber was introduced.
“Finally, this is Dashiell du Reims,” William said. “He is a cousin to the de Lohr brothers, as his father is the Earl of East Anglia. Dash is his heir and holds the title of Viscount Winterton. Currently, he serves the Duke of Savernake and helps command the great Savernake armies.”
Maxton greeted Dashiell with a nod of his head, noting the powerfully built man with the auburn hair. He didn’t look much like the de Lohrs, who were both blond-haired and blue-eyed, but he had the same build as David, and as a commander of the massive Savernake army, he was a man of considerable power.
“Du Reims,” he said. “Your family legacy is a great one.”
Dashiell had a rather gruff manner. “It is, my lord,” he said. “Thank you.”
Maxton cocked an eyebrow. “But that greatness is tempered by your relationship to the de Lohr brothers. You could have picked better relatives.”
A smile played on Dashiell’s mustache-covered lips. “Next time I will be more careful.”
“See that you are.”
The grin broke through. Dashiell was the last introduction in a meeting that had already been full of them, but Maxton’s mind was very sharp. He had the ability to completely recall every detail from nearly every moment in his life, and that included introductions. Once he met a man, he never forgot him, or anything about him, so as he absorbed the considerable power that was filling the chamber, William spoke to him.
“These are the men who will be at your disposal as you make plans for what is to come,” he said. “I realize you said that you and your companions work best as a team, but know these men are ready and willing to assist you, whatever your need may be, and in particular, you must establish a working relationship with Sean since he is going to be so close to John. You will need that communication.”
Maxton nodded. “I imagine so,” he said, glancing over at Sean, who had turned to speak quietly with his brother. “Does the king know that Sean reports to you?”
William shook his head. “Although I gifted Sean to the king as a token of trust, and Sean has sworn his fealty to John, the truth is that Sean is there to watch John’s every move. It may not be entirely possible because John surrounds himself with his hand-chosen advisors, but Sean will at least know of the man’s movements. He will report them to me as he can.”
Maxton pondered that directive. “Then he is your spy.”
“He is.”
Maxton understood. “Does anyone else know?”
William shook his head. “Nay,” he mumbled. “Not even his brother. Kevin adores Sean and if he knew, he might try to help him, and we do not need young Kevin involved. He is an excellent knight, but I am afraid his willingness and emotion would give Sean away. And nothing must give the man away.”
“Agreed,” Maxton said. “But Sean’s position with John will be invaluable.”
William nodded, holding up a hand to Maxton to prevent him from further conversation at this point. William, in fact, had an agenda and he needed to complete it quickly. He had plans for the day that were already set and they did not include lingering overly at Farringdon House. Therefore, he motioned the men in the room closer so they could all hear the conversation.
“Now that I have made the appropriate introductions, you are all allies on a first-name basis,” he said seriously, looking to every man around him. “Total trust and total loyalty are imperative from this point on, with all of you. I have explained the situation with Lothar and John; you know that Lothar offered Maxton and Kress and Achilles great rewards in exchange for the assassination of John, an offer they refused. We know that Lothar is in possession of Richard’s bastard son and that he is prepared to remove John and supplant him with the boy. And we know that Maxton, Kress, and Achilles are here to stop the assassins that Lothar has undoubtedly already sent. They could be in England as we speak. It is up to the Executioner Knights to find them and eliminate them. That is the gist of the situation, gentlemen, but make no mistake; we need John. As difficult as he is, he guarantees an England free of papal rule. To place the illegitimate son of Richard upon the throne would assure the destruction of everything we hold dear.”
A heady mood settled about the room, the situation as serious as these seasoned men had ever seen it. Now, this horrible plot was out in the open, something that William had only whispered about to each of them until now. Speaking of it in something other than hissed tones somehow made it more real, and far more powerful than they could imagine. Every man there realized that they were the last line of defense between the England they knew and an England ruled by The Lateran Palace.
It was a devastating thought.
“What do you have planned?” Christopher broke the silence as he spoke to Maxton. “And what do you need from us?”
Maxton looked at the serious faces around him; he could see that they were all sincere in assisting him, but as he’d told William, he didn’t need the interference. It would have been easier to tell them all to go away, but he couldn’t. They had a genuine desire to help against this heinous threat because it was something that affected every one of them. Not wanting to insult anyone, he tried to be tactful in his response.
“I will need intelligence,” he said. “You good lords have a wide scope in England; I need information on anyone unusual. Men you do not recognize, men who seem out of place. It is my guess that the Holy Father sought out other seasoned knights when my comrades and I refused his offer, and it is further my suspicion that those knights are English. The Holy Father was concerned that foreign knights would not be able to get close enough to John to carry out their mission, so we would be looking for English knights, newly return from the continent and beyond. If you hear of such men, I must know.”
Heads were nodding as Maxton turned his attention towards Kress and Achilles and continued. “In between pitchers of ale last night, my comrades and I spoke of the correct approach to this,” he said. “We have decided that the best approach, at this point, would be to remain in London near the docks. Anyone entering the country would most likely come from there, so we will be infiltrating the taverns and gangs that are near the docks. We will make friends with the trollops and the street urchins. Often, they see and hear things that would prove valuable to our cause, so that is where we are headed. If anyone slips past our net, then that is where you good men come in. Remain vigilant. Look for anything strange.”
“What about sending word to our allies in France and beyond?” David wanted to know. “Mayhap they will have heard something – anything – to aid our cause.”
But Maxton shook his head. “The more men know of this, the more chance there is of word reaching the very men we seek,” he said. “We do not know who they are, or where they are, but if they know we are aware of their existence, it will make our task far more difficult.”
That drew a few nods from men who agreed, mostly Sean de Lara. Given that he had been tasked with spying on the king himself, he well understood that the less men who knew of the issue, the better. Considering the nature of the situation, Maxton’s plan seemed to be a strong one, and a logical one. In truth, there was nothing more they could do. As the men began to turn to each other, speaking softly, Maxton made his way to Cullen.
“And you,” he said, putting a strong hand on the young knight’s arm. “Your role in this will be most important. The king’s favorite castle of Winchester is not far from your father’s fortress. You would do well to frequent the village of Winchester on the hunt for men who do not belong there.”
Cullen nodded grimly. “And my father?” he asked. “He is the High Sheriff, Max. I know you wish to keep this situation quiet, but he is trustworthy. He should know what is happening.”
Maxton glanced at William, who had heard the request and nodded his head in response. “Then tell him,” Maxton said with William’s approval. “Tell your older brothers, too. Gabriel and Gavin de Nerra are excellent knights and very trustworthy. They will be able to assist you and your father in making sure Winchester is covered. Since it is no secret that John is in residence there often, it could be that the assassins will try to strike there.”
Cullen had his orders, eager to get on with it. This was the most important thing he’d ever been involved in and he understood that. Seeing the knight’s confidence, Maxton knew that Winchester would be in good hands, but that also brought about the subject to of the king’s movements in general. The man liked to move around. He turned to Sean, standing with his brother.
“Unfortunately, this will be a burden for you to bear, Sean,” he said. “If the assassins slip past us in London, then you will be the last line of defense. The king does not know of this threat for good reason; he will panic and go into hiding, and it will lessen the chance that we will be able to catch these men. If they think the king is oblivious, and that no one knows there is a threat against him, they will move more freely and we will have a better chance of finding them. Therefore, do not share this information with any of the king’s guard. These are men we do not know or trust, and we cannot take the chance that someone will inform the king of the threat. Do I make myself clear?”
Sean nodded. “You do, my lord,” he said, “but if the assassins make it past you, then they shall not make it past me. This, I swear.”
Maxton didn’t know the knight, but he believed him. There was something in his tone that suggested nothing other than complete certainty.
“Good,” he said. “But you must let me know any time the king moves from location to location. Even if he simply wants to go on a walkabout in the city, I must know. You must send word to Farringdon House, as we will check in daily for such missives. If John moves, we will shadow him. Mayhap his movements will draw the moths to the flame.”
“Or the assassins to a king.”
“Exactly.”
Sean understood the seriousness of it. “I will do my very best to send you such information.”
With that, plans were finally cast. At least they had a directive now, a scheme that would hopefully prevent the country from being thrown into turmoil. But there wasn’t one man there who didn’t believe they were in for a battle – a battle of locating just a few men who had been directed to kill a king in a city, and a country, of thousands and thousands of people. The proverbial needle in a haystack. But it was a battle with no real lines drawn, no definitive enemy, simply phantoms.
They were looking for phantoms.
“You have your directives, good men,” William finally said, breaking the silence that had settled. “I will see you later today when we meet with John and his issues with Wales, and even then, we will be on the look out for those sent by Lothar. Your vigilance, and Maxton’s sense of danger, is the only thing standing between England and ruin. Remember that.”
No one had to be reminded. The seriousness of the situation had been hammered in to them.
It was do or die.
Christopher and David were the first to leave the chamber, bidding Maxton and Kress and Achilles a polite farewell as they departed. Having been involved in the politics of England for many years, a mission of great importance was nothing new to them, and they took it very seriously. Dashiell and Bric were next, with Bric casting Maxton a final glare as they followed the de Lohr brothers from the paneled room.
Maxton saw the expression the Irish knight had thrown him but he ignored it, instead, focusing on Cullen as the man bid him a warm farewell. Cullen also shook the hands of Kress and Achilles as he went because he was the amiable sort. He liked to hug and shake hands, as least of men he was fond of. Kevin de Lara followed after him, a silent knight who was deeply introspective and made no real move to be polite in his departure, but his brother, Sean, lingered behind. He hadn’t followed Kevin, not yet; he had something more to say.
“I will head to Westminster now to join the king and his entourage,” Sean said quietly, his gaze moving between Maxton and William. “I can tell you that John has been toying with the idea of hunting tomorrow in the forests outside of Windsor Castle, which will make it difficult to protect the man. I cannot prevent a well-placed arrow from the trees.”
William grunted unhappily. “Nay,” he said. “But you can watch the trees. Send men into them to keep them clear. That would be a normal procedure for the protection of the king, in any case, so there should not be anything unusual about that directive.”
Sean didn’t say what he was thinking – it wasn’t as simple as that. John didn’t like men in his forests, even if it was to protect him. He felt that it scared away the game. But he didn’t argue the point with William; there was little reason to because William would tell him to do it anyway. And he would.
He would do as he was told.
Resigned, he simply nodded his head. “If John does decide to hunt tomorrow, I will send you word later tonight.”
“See that you do,” William replied. “And, Sean… know that we are depending on you a great deal for any information you can provide. Know that I have complete and utter faith in you.”
Sean’s gaze lingered on William a moment, perhaps surprised by a statement that sounded suspiciously like praise, before departing the chamber, his boot falls fading as he took the stairs down to the ground floor. When the sounds of his footsteps were gone and the world around them was silent, Maxton turned to William.
“He has a very difficult job ahead of him,” he said. “How good is he, my lord?”
William lifted an eyebrow. “As good as I have ever seen,” he assured him. “Have no fear, Maxton – I know how to judge a man. Sean de Lara is destined for greatness, mark my words. As are you. Now, I also intend to head to the Palace at Westminster, as that is where we shall be meeting with the king. Keep me informed.”
He put a hand on Maxton’s shoulders as he walked away, followed by Gart, who had remained silent during the entire meeting. He had been lurking on the outskirts, watching everything, absorbing. It was an important moment for him because he was the one who had recommended Maxton and Kress and Achilles for this task, so more than anything, his reputation was on the line as well.
He could see that he hadn’t been wrong.
“I will be shadowing The Marshal, but send word if you need me,” Gart said as he moved past Maxton and headed for the door. But he paused just shy of it, turning to look at the three men still remaining in the chamber. “This is your moment, gentle knights. If ever the fate of a country rested with only three men, this is time. You were sprung from the bowels of Les Baux de Provence for a reason, and that reason is upon you now. Bonne chance, my friends. You will need it.”
With that, he departed, leaving Maxton and Kress and Achilles in the vast solar with his words hanging in the air. Maxton’s gaze was on the vacated doorway but when he turned to his friends, he found that they were looking at him rather intensely.
“We never spoke of the approach to this situation in between pitchers of ale last night,” Kress muttered. “But I am impressed with what you told them, Max. If that was a scheme without any true thought given to it, then it was a good one. Is that what you really want to do?”
Maxton ran a hand through his dark hair, letting his guard down for the first time. All of the alcohol he’d ingested from the night before had worn off completely and his head was beginning to throb.
“Aye,” he said. “I think it is as good a plan as any. Did you two sleep last night?”
Kress nodded, glancing to Achilles. “A little,” he said. “Did you?”
“Nay.”
“Then what would you have us do today while you get some sleep?”
Maxton put his fingers to his temple, feeling the pain coming on. “Get out into the city by the docks,” he said. “I want you to study every street, every hovel. Find the taverns. Watch the people along the docks; we may need eyes on that dock at all times and mayhap there is a man who would keep track of the comings and goings of ships, and their place of origin, for a few coins.”
Kress nodded. “We shall,” he said. “You will meet us there later?”
Maxton closed his eyes, feeling very weary all of a sudden. “I shall,” he said. “I plan to sleep for an hour or two and then join you, because I will admit that I am starting to second-guess my brilliant idea of remaining awake all night. At this moment, it does not seem quite so brilliant.”
Kress smirked. “There are quiet chambers on the top floor,” he said. “Find a bed up there.”
Maxton nodded, but his attention moved to Achilles. “No fights,” he said to the man. “And leave the women alone. I realize that fist-fights and wenches are your natural inclination, but you do not need the distraction. And in speaking of women, remind me to tell you of the pledge from St. Blitha I came into contact with this morning. A rather harrowing tale.”
Achilles, who had been rather incensed with the directive to stay away from women and anything violent involving his fists, appeared puzzled by the mention of a postulate.
“A pledge?” he repeated. “What were you doing at St. Blitha?”
But Maxton shook his head. “I was no where near St. Blitha,” he said. “I came across her in the street, stealing food. But I will tell you of it later; at the moment, I must find a bed before I collapse, and you two must head out to the docks. I’ll join you there in a couple of hours.”
That was the cue to depart for Kress and Achilles, and depart they did. Maxton watched them head out of the solar, leaving him standing alone. Instead of seeking a bed, however, he found himself lingering on the meeting that had just taken place and thinking of everything that had been discussed. He’d been surprisingly pleased to see the de Lohr brothers, definitely pleased to see Cullen, and amused by the rabid-dog Irish knight. He was also intrigued by Sean de Lara, the plant by William Marshal in the king’s entourage.
But all of that seemed to pale by comparison to thoughts of the lovely, starving pledge from St. Blitha. He’d essentially forgotten about her once he’d reached Farringdon House, and during the course of the meeting, but now that he mentioned her to Kress and Achilles, she was filling his mind like a fog.
Now that he was alone, with no men or conversation distracting him, thoughts of the woman were heavy upon him. That lovely, pale face and swan-like neck that was so very elegant. He just couldn’t dispel the images of her flitting through his brain and something told him that even if he tried to sleep, he wouldn’t be able to. Not with thoughts of her dancing in his head. But he would have to force himself, knowing that after some sleep, he might see things a bit more clearly.
He was a man with much on his mind.
Maxton was about to head from the chamber when he caught sight of a hulking figure coming up the darkened stairwell. The shape looked oddly familiar and as he watched, the face of someone he knew very well came into view, but it wasn’t just any face. It was a face he hadn’t seen in years, perhaps a man he thought he would never see again.
His eyes widened.
“Sherry…?” he gasped. “Bloody Christ… Sherry is that you?”
Sir Alexander de Sherrington gave a rather cocky grin as he came off the stairs and entered the chamber, his arms wide open as he sucked Maxton into a powerful embrace. Alexander, or Sherry as he was known to his friends, was an enigma, a man unto himself, and an elite knight that was squarely in the same league as Maxton, Kress, Achilles, Gart, and the de Lohr brothers, to name a few. They didn’t come any greater or any smarter. And he was utterly, completely delighted to see Maxton.
“Max,” he breathed as he hugged the man tightly. Releasing him, he stood back so he could take a good look at him. “I saw everyone downstairs and they told me you were up here. It is good to see you, my friend. Thank God you and Kress and Achilles survived the Lords of Baux. I will admit that I had my doubts.”
Maxton drank in the sight of the man who could be considered the fourth Executioner Knight. Alexander had worked with he and Kress and Achilles, many times, in The Levant. They’d accomplished some harrowing missions together, and after leaving The Levant, they spent time at The Lateran Palace together, as well. The four of them had been as thick as thieves.
Alexander was dark, with dark eyes and dark hair, and a beard covering his jaw. He was also enormously built and had the brightest smile Maxton had ever seen. When he grinned, framed by that black beard, Maxton swore he could see every tooth in the man’s head. It was an infectious grin, in truth, and completely deceptive. When he looked friendly, even jolly, the truth was that Alexander de Sherrington was a killer beyond the talent of most mortal men.
He was Death personified.
“So did I,” Maxton admitted after a moment. “But we survived purely on the grace of Eleanor and William. Had they not ransomed us, we would still be there. My God, Sherry, I still can’t believe it. What are you doing here? No one ever mentioned you were in London.”
Alexander nodded, patting the man on the shoulder. “That is because I only just arrived,” he said. Then, he quickly sobered. “I heard about your tribulations after leaving Rome, Max. It is a shame, really, to have ended your time in Rome with such a terrible happening. Personally, I have fond memories of the place”
Maxton wasn’t hard pressed to agree. “I do, also. It may have ended badly, but while we were there, it was a debaucherously good time. Stories I will never be able to tell my children, anyway.”
Alexander grinned as he recalled those decadent months of wine, food, and women. For a moment, he warmed to the memory. “Nor I,” he said. “We all lived like kings for the time we spent at The Lateran Palace, until those sworn to serve God made us questionable offers that went against His teachings. In truth… it seems like another lifetime ago.”
Maxton found himself reflecting on those very same things. “It does,” he said. “But our lives, Sherry… they have never been comfortable nor pleasant for any length of time. That is not the nature of our business.”
Alexander’s good humor faded. “That is true,” he said. “But what we received at The Lateran Palace went beyond comfort, at least for the time we were there. But after the depravity and self-indulgence, when were offered missions for a great sum of money, that was when everything changed. The offer that came to me was the pursuit of a double-agent, a man who was discovered to spy for both the Holy Father and the Scottish king. And the offer that came to you and Kress and Achilles… your offer was far worse than mine. They wanted you to kill your own king, an offer that turned against you when you refused, and the Holy Father sold you to the Lords of Baux in punishment.”
Maxton’s voice was soft. “He wanted us to kill John to supplant him with Richard’s bastard son,” he said. “Did you know that? Richard had an affair before marrying Berengaria and the boy was the result. A boy currently in the possession of the Holy Father.”
Alexander sighed heavily. “I’d hear rumor,” he said. “Nothing definitive, but now the mission to assassinate John makes sense. It wasn’t simply a random directive.”
“It was not.”
“Max… forgive me for not helping you and Kress and Achilles in all of this. I should have tried to free you from the Lords of Baux. I should have…”
Maxton shook him gently, cutting him off. “Nay,” he said firmly. “You had agreed to your offer and you were already on your way by the time everything happened to us. If you had gone back on your word simply to help your friends, your fate would have been the same as ours. Never second-guess your decision, Sherry. You did the right thing. Have you found your man, by the way?”
Alexander shook his head. “He is in London, somewhere,” he said. “I have tracked him all across the continent, up to the land of the Northmen, and back across the sea. He came ashore in Berwick and then found his way back down to London. It has been a long year of following him, but I am confident I will find him now.”
“Why do you say that?”
Alexander dropped his hand from Maxton’s shoulder. “Because it seems that my target is where he wants to be – here, in London,” he said. “Alasdair Baird Douglas, as he calls himself, has been an agent for the Holy Father for some time, a gift from the King of Scotland, so I’m told. But it was discovered that the man is also feeding secretive information to the Scots, information about the Holy Father, and that is why they want him stopped. They paid me a king’s ransom to do it.”
“I never did ask you who made you your offer. Did the Holy Father send you after him?”
Alexander shook his head. “He did not,” he said. “Abramo did. You know the man.”
That drew a reaction from Maxton; he rolled his eyes unhappily. “I know him,” he muttered. “So does Gart. All of us who spent time at The Lateran Palace know him. He’s a deceitful, ambitious beast hiding behind the guise of a priest.”
Alexander cocked an eyebrow. “Was he the one who told you about Richard’s bastard, then? Because the rumors I heard were that Abramo was the one speaking of the boy.”
“He did not tell me,” Maxton said. “I knew nothing of it until the Marshal told us of the boy after we were freed from Baux. All Kress and Achilles and I knew was that the Holy Father wanted our king dead, and that came directly from the Holy Father himself. He never once mentioned the lad.”
Now things were a bit clearer. When they’d last seen each other, the situation for all of them had been a bit chaotic. Alexander had been forced to leave on his mission before Maxton had agreed to his offer, and it had only been later on, through another knight, that he’d heard of Maxton’s imprisonment.
Still, he’d never forgiven himself for not helping his friends, for not being there when they needed him. But Maxton had been correct – he’d agreed to an offer and his word was his bond. It was the way men such as them worked; they were only as good as their word. Were they to break it, then the respect they’d worked for, and their reputation, would have suffered. It seemed harsh to choose a mission over friendship, but they all understood the risks of their vocation.
Honor was everything, even among assassins.
“I saw Gart yesterday, right after he left a meeting with you and William Marshall,” Alexander said after a moment. “We spoke briefly, but he told me that The Marshal has tasked you and your Unholy brethren with finding the papal assassin meant for the king. Do we know for certain the Holy Father has sent others?”
“We do not know for certain, but we can surmise. We refused to do the job, so they would simply find another.”
“That is my thought, as well,” Alexander said. Then, he paused. “I have a thought about that, Max.”
“What?”
“I wonder if the assassin is Douglas?”
Now, Maxton was very interested. “The man you are chasing? What makes you think so?”
Alexander stroked his bearded chin, turning towards the windows overlooking London, a glorious sight now that the sun had risen. He’d missed this sight in the years he’d spent away from England. The ribbon of the Thames was to the south, glittering in the early morning light, and the land to the west spread out to the horizon like a vast green jewel. Green, beautiful England.
He was glad to be back, no matter what the circumstances.
“I say that because I have been chasing the man for a year and we have ended up in London,” he said. “Coincidentally, when John happens to be here. Douglas has led me on a merry chase, but he has never stayed more than a night or two in any given location – we have been to more cities and villages than I can count, and I have never been more than a few days behind him. But now that we are in London, we are going on the third night here and I’ve seen no movement from the man. He is dug in like vermin on a dog.”
“Do you know where he is?”
Alexander nodded. “I do,” he said. “He is down by the docks.”
Maxton cocked his curiously. “Then if you know where he is, why not fulfill your task and do away with him? Why wait?”
Alexander glanced at him, something lurking on those dark eyes. “Because the man has my curiosity,” he said. “I could have killed him many times during the course of my travels, but his movements intrigue me. He has left his share of used women and death in his wake, but once we reached Berwick, he sent a messenger north into Scotland, but I managed to catch up to the messenger and kill him, so the Scottish king will not be receiving any intelligence from Douglas. I am sure he does not know that, and now he is here in London, lingering. But what is most strange about his movement is this – I tracked him to St. Blitha, a Poor Dominica order outside of the city walls to the north. I have no idea why he was there, but he stayed for more than an hour before departing and fleeing into the city.”
Maxton’s eyebrows lifted. St. Blitha! That was where his starving angel resided, the woman who had occupied his mind since nearly the moment he’d met her. Confusion swept him.
“Why in the hell would he be going to St. Blitha?” he said. “There are only women there. What message could he possibly have for them?”
Alexander shook his head. “I cannot tell you,” he said. “It is possible he has a sister there, I suppose. Mayhap he went to visit her. Or, more than likely, he has a message from The Lateran Palace for one of the nuns.”
“A message from whom?”
Alexander lifted his shoulders. “According to Abramo, Douglas had many audiences with the Holy Father before he left,” he said. “Mayhap it is a message from the Holy Father himself, although I have no idea why the man would be sending a message to a tiny, poor order like St. Blitha.”
“But it was Abramo who sent you to kill the man?”
“Aye.”
“Did he do it on the order of the Holy Father?”
Alexander shook his head. “He made it clear that there was no such order,” he said quietly. “It is Abramo who wants him dead, not the Holy Father.”
All of that made absolutely no sense to Maxton. “Baffling,” he muttered. “What concerns me, however, is your thought that he could be the very assassin I am looking for. Could it be possible he went to St. Blitha asking for sanctuary after he completes his task against John? If you think about it, killing the king and then hiding in an obscure abbey until he can escape London is a rather brilliant plan.”
“A plan that could have come from the Holy Father in one of those many meetings with him that he has had with the man.”
The light went on in Maxton’s eyes. “Indeed,” he growled. “Now, this is starting to make some sense. Your assignment to kill Douglas could solve both our problems.”
Alexander nodded knowingly, tapping the side of his head as if to congratulate them both on figuring out a most complex and confusing scheme. If it was true. At this moment, they had no reason to believe it wasn’t.
“What next?” Alexander asked him.
Maxton thought on that question quite seriously. “I believe you should go to the docks,” he said. “Kress and Achilles are already there, scouting out the area. Find them and tell them what we have discussed. As for me… I have business at St. Blitha.”
“What are you going to do?”
Maxton wasn’t sure, but thoughts of Andressa were weighing more heavily on his mind than they ever had before. He was coming to think that meeting the starving woman that morning hadn’t been a coincidence… perhaps it had been a sign from God, sent to help him prevent the murder of a king.
He couldn’t think of it any other way.
“I am not certain as of yet,” he said, “but I will meet you at the docks when I am done. Wait for me there.”
Alexander nodded, giving him yet another slap on the shoulder as he departed the chamber, heading down the stairwell. Maxton wasn’t far behind him; suddenly, he wasn’t sleepy any longer. His mind was working furiously on what he’d been told, and what he needed to do.
An eventful morning was about to turn into an eventful day.