CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Somewhere on the road through Wiltshire, de Nerra and his party picked up a traveling band of minstrels, who were now playing loudly and festively in the great hall of Ramsbury.
Dashiell knew this because he could hear them all the way across the ward. Even through the patter of rain, the faint strains of music as the great hall filled with men trying to stay dry as the thunderstorm pounded overhead could be heard. But in the solar of the Duke of Savernake, everything was warm and comfortable as Dashiell held counsel with Gavin de Nerra and Stephen Langton, the Archbishop of Canterbury.
Considering Stephen Langton was well into his sixth decade, he was an elderly man who didn’t often travel. Because of that, Dashiell had to admit that he wasn’t glad to see him. Only a very serious subject would get the man out of Canterbury and on the road to Wiltshire, so he wasn’t a particularly welcome sight.
But he didn’t let that reluctance show as he greeted the man, and the archbishop was quite amiable in return. He appeared weary, that was true, but after a long journey that was to be expected. Dashiell also greeted Gavin, and the man seemed glad to see him. But he wouldn’t state his reasons for coming before they were someplace secluded; in this case, the duke’s solar.
That fact worried Dashiell even more.
Once they entered the solar and there was some privacy, the archbishop immediately asked to see his old and dear friend, the Duke of Savernake. Dashiell sent Aston for the duke and while they were waiting, small talk floated around. Refreshments were brought in, by none other than Belladonna herself, and she greeted the archbishop and de Nerra politely. But all of this was a stalling tactic, a build up for what was soon to come.
When Belladonna and the servants quit the solar, and it was only Dashiell, Bentley, de Nerra, Langton, and a few trusted de Nerra knights and ecclesiastical advisors left, the archbishop ate an entire piece of bread with butter before coming to the point of his visit.
“Sir Dashiell,” he said, licking his finger of the butter that remained. “I know you were not expecting such a great group to descend on you this night, but you have some serious issues that must be addressed, and I believed they were important enough to do such things in person.”
Dashiell nodded. “Of course, my lord,” he said. “And your visit to Ramsbury is always welcome, expected or not.”
The archbishop accepted a cup of warmed wine from one of his men. “I am honored,” he said. “I have visited here many times in the past to see my friend, Edward, and I know he trusted you greatly, du Reims. I am told his madness is worse now and that is why I have come. It is why I have sent for him. I want to see for myself.”
Dashiell suspected that was the case. “You are welcome to see him, my lord,” he said, “but do not be troubled if he does not recognize you. He recognizes few people these days.”
“Does he still believe he is Paul the Apostle?”
“Still, my lord.”
Langton digested that. “A pity,” he finally said, seemingly truly saddened. But he only lingered on thoughts of his friend for a moment before facing the issue at hand. “It seems you have a few items to deal with here at Ramsbury, so I will address them one at a time. Firstly, de Nerra tells me that you wish to marry the youngest daughter of the duke but the man, in his current mental state, cannot give permission. Is this true?”
Dashiell nodded. “It is, my lord,” he said, feeling the need to plead his case. “I am not sure how much Lord de Nerra told you, but I feel that I am a worthy candidate for the daughter of a duke. I am Viscount Winterton, the hereditary title of the heir to the earldom of East Anglia. When my father dies, I will inherit the earldom. I have much to offer Lady Belladonna, not the least of which is my deep affection and respect for her. To be frank, my lord, the lady and I love one another. We have for many years. It is my most earnest desire to marry her.”
Langton listened to him carefully. “That is what de Nerra told me,” he said, glancing at Gavin. “He also said he wonders what took you so long to plead for the woman’s hand.”
Dashiell gave him a lopsided grin. “Fear,” he said frankly. “Fear that she would not wish to marry such an old man. Imagine my delight when I was proven wrong.”
Langton grinned, revealing long, yellowed teeth. “Then I am delighted for you,” he said. “And you need not give me your resume, du Reims. I knew your grandfather. He was a great man, and I personally believe you will make an excellent match for the lady.”
Dashiell tried not to feel overwhelmingly hopeful, spurred on by the archbishop’s words. “It is possible to have the church’s blessing, then, given the mental state of the duke, my lord?”
Langton nodded. “It is,” he said. “But I must see my old friend and decide for myself if he is able to give consent. If he is not, then I will give it for him. But I must make that decision myself. Is that clear?”
Dashiell nodded. “It is, my lord.”
“I will also speak with the lady to ensure she is not being forced into this.”
“I shall bring her to you at your convenience, my lord.”
Langton seemed content that Dashiell understood the process and was agreeable to it. “Marriages are not the domain of the crown, du Reims, as much as the king and those before him believed it was. It is the jurisdiction of the church, as every holy union is. Therefore, I will give permission if my questions are satisfied.”
Dashiell was so relieved that he was nearly weak with it. He glanced at Gavin, who was smiling at him. It was a knowing little smile that suggested their victory was only a breath away. But before they could begin rejoicing, Langton spoke.
“There is one more question,” he said. “Has the lady had any other suits?”
Dashiell wasn’t sure how much Gavin had told the archbishop of Clayton and his intentions, but when he glanced at the man, he saw Gavin nod faintly. That told him that the subject had been brought up, so Dashiell had no choice but to tell the truth.
“None that have come seeking her, my lord, but there is a… situation,” he said. “The duke’s eldest daughter, Lily, married Clayton le Cairon three years ago. You have been to Ramsbury at least once since that time, as I recall, so I believe you have been introduced to Clayton. Clayton has someone in mind for her and he has contacted this man, but the man knows of my offer for the lady and has agreed to refuse Clayton’s offer.”
Langton’s expression hardened. “I have met le Cairon, but I do not know him personally,” he said. “However, I have been told all about him from David de Lohr, in fact. He does not like the man, nor does anyone else who knows him. Power hungry is the way he has been described to me. What business does he have taking it upon himself to broker a marital contract for the duke’s daughter?”
Dashiell sighed heavily. “He believes it is his right, since he will be the duke upon Edward’s death.”
Langton was deeply displeased. “It will be if she is still unmarried when Edward dies,” he said. “But it is not his responsibility now, as much as he tries to make it such. De Lohr told me how le Cairon coerced the marriage to Edward’s heiress and he also told me of le Cairon’s repeated attempts to put the duke in harm’s way, hoping he will be killed so that le Cairon can inherit the dukedom. Do I speak the truth so far, du Reims?”
Dashiell nodded solemnly. “You do, my lord.”
“And now I am told that you have arrested him and put him in the vault?”
“I have, my lord.”
“Explain to me the catalyst for this decision.”
Dashiell felt he was being put on trial, but it didn’t bother him. He knew he had done the right thing and he had every faith in his judgment of the matter.
“We have endured three years of le Cairon putting the duke in harm’s way, my lord,” he said. “At first, he was subtle about it. He would leave a door open, or pay a servant to look the other way while the duke wandered off. He insisted that we always bring the duke on battle campaigns, although part of me agreed with that. The Duke of Savernake has been a warrior for a very long time and his reputation is beyond compare. He inspires the men who see him. But le Cairon insisted he come on a battle march for purposes other than inspiration.”
“Explain.”
Dashiell shrugged. “As I said, he would leave a door open and let the man escape, and then call it an accident,” he said, “but in battle, he would purposely allow the man to wander into the fight because the duke believes he must bless the men. In this past campaign against John, I caught the duke wandering the battlefield no less than four separate times and every time, it was traced back to le Cairon. But two months ago, we attended a celebration at Chadlington and le Cairon was blatant in his attempt to put the duke in danger. The duke barely came away with his life and I determined that in order to preserve the man’s safety, I could no longer permit le Cairon to retain his freedom. That is what it boils down to, my lord – Clayton le Cairon has made numerous attempts on the duke’s life and, as the duke’s captain, I have to put an end to it once and for all. What le Cairon has done is nothing short of attempted murder.”
Langton was looking to Dashiell with great distress as he realized the full scale of le Cairon’s treachery. After a moment, he sighed heavily.
“I had heard as much from de Lohr,” he said. “But I wanted to hear it from you. If all of this is true, why did you wait so long to arrest him?”
Dashiell knew that question would come. “Because in the beginning, he was very subtle, my lord,” he said. “He blamed everything on a ‘mistake’ or an ‘accident’. At first, we believed him but, very quickly, we came to realize his true nature. He was clever in his attempts to hide his movements against the duke but, as of late, he made no such attempt to hide anything. When he became so bold, and I have witnesses to attest to his boldness, I had the proof I needed to act.”
Langton understood. “This is most distressing,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Then you did the right thing, du Reims. Le Cairon is in the vault and he is going to remain there as long as I have anything to say about it. But you do realize this creates a problem when Edward passes away. There will be a succession crisis for the dukedom and it is very possible that, without an heir, it will revert to the crown. The de Vaston family is a royal relation, after all.”
Dashiell knew all of that and he nodded reluctantly. “Edward’s ancestor, Gilbert de Vaston, was a cousin to William the Conqueror through his mother Herleva of Falaise,” he said. “It was William who awarded the dukedom to Gilbert.”
“Then John will want it back if Clayton does not inherit it.”
“But Clayton has committed an act of attainder, my lord,” de Nerra spoke up. The law was his jurisdiction. “By making attempts on the duke’s life as he has, he has committed great crimes. But by committing an act of attainder, he forfeits the title and cannot pass it to his heirs, if any. That means his wife will lose her title, and her inheritance. The family will lose everything.”
Dashiell knew what that meant; he’d known, from the beginning. “They will essentially be destitute,” he said. “Savernake will revert to the crown, meaning John can give it to any favored ally he chooses, including any of those mercenary scum he seems so fond of. It is a very real possibility that Savernake’s mighty army will be under John’s command at Edward’s death.”
The weight of that reality hung in the air, an outcome that no one wanted to see. It was a truly horrific thought that Savernake, and her powerful war machine, should be given to an ally of the king, and someone not born and bred in England. As bad as Clayton was, John was worse. Langton sighed, deep in thought.
“So it comes to this,” he said, looking between Dashiell and Gavin. “Do you want Clayton in command of Savernake, as a man loyal to the rebellion, or do you want John in command of it? Either prospect is appalling, so you must decide which is the lesser of the evils.”
Dashiell felt as if he’d been hit in the gut. He could feel his stomach roll at the thought of such a horrific choice. Before he could speak, however, Langton continued quietly.
“There is something else you should know, du Reims,” he said. “The king held a meeting last month in Oxford between his agents and the rebel leaders, de Lohr and de Winter included. You may or may not be aware of the contention between John and the pope at this time but, as a fighting man, I am sure you know that the pope has had his issues with John. The king, historically, does not have the pope’s support in this battle for his crown. But my sources tell me that the pope has made a decision in that regard – to support his rule or not to. John is waiting for this decision. If he gains papal support, then you will lose my support, unfortunately. I cannot go against the pope and the church will lay down its arms. If that is the case, it is more important than ever that Savernake not revert back to the crown. I am sure you understand this.”
Dashiell listened to the information seriously. “I was not aware of the meeting,” he said. “I should have been. Savernake has been at the forefront of this rebellion.”
Langton nodded patiently. “Savernake has, but Christopher de Lohr felt it best, given the circumstances with Edward, that the duke not attend. He did not want John’s agents seeing the powerful Duke of Savernake’s madness. For all the king knows, Edward de Vaston is still leading his armies, and that is a strong factor for the rebellion.”
Dashiell understood, but he wasn’t happy about it. Any meeting with the king’s agents should have been shared with him, as the head of Savernake’s armies.
As he looked to Gavin to see what the man’s reaction was to all of this, the solar door opened. Everyone turned to see Edward coming through with Aston on one side and Drusus on the other.
“Ah,” Langton said as he stood up, stiffly. “My old and dear friend.”
Edward had the same glazed look on his face that he usually had. As Langton came near him, he seemed to recognize him, briefly, but that recognition was quickly gone.
“Blessings, my son,” he said to Langton. “Go with God.”
He made the sign of the cross before Langton, which was hugely ironic considering who Langton was. But they’d been through this before, at least once, so when Edward offered his hand to Langton, the man kissed it.
“You are looking well,” Langton said, looking Edward over carefully. “Do you know who I am, my lord?”
Edward looked at him, momentarily confused, before the confusion rippled away. “We are all men of God,” he said. “Do you love God?”
“I do.”
“Then you shall inherit His kingdom.”
Langton tried to speak concisely, hoping something might break through the fog of madness enshrouding Edward’s mind. The last time he had seen his old friend, Edward had recognized him. But this man did not. It was like looking at a shell of a man he’d once known and loved.
“My name is Stephen Langton,” he said. “I am here because this man wishes to marry your daughter. Edward, do you know who this man is?”
He was pointing to Dashiell, who came up to Edward so the man could look him in the face. A flicker of recognition in Edward’s eyes turned into a smile as he reached out, putting both hands upon Dashiell’s face.
“My son,” he whispered. “My Dash.”
Dashiell glanced at Langton, who was pleased to see at least some recognition for a man who had served Edward closely for twelve years.
“Aye, this is Dashiell,” Langton said. “Dashiell wishes to marry your daughter, Edward. Do you approve of this?”
Edward’s smile faded as he stared at Dashiell, looking at him through eyes that no longer sparkled with the life Edward once had. It greatly saddened Dashiell to look into the face of a man who truly had no idea of the life, or people, going on around him.
“My daughter,” Edward said.
“Aye, your daughter,” Langton said, looking at Dashiell for the name. When Dashiell told him, he repeated it. “Belladonna. Your daughter, Edward. Dashiell wishes to marry her.”
Edward simply gazed at Dashiell as if he hadn’t heard Langton. He dropped his hands from Dashiell’s face and turned away.
“A man will leave his father and mother, and be joined to his wife,” he muttered. “They shall become one.”
Langton followed him as he wandered. “Indeed, they shall,” he said. “Do you give your approval for Dashiell to marry Belladonna?”
He was met with silence, confusion. When Edward finally spoke, it was with great angst. “I absolve you of your sins, all of you, poor wretched creatures given whim to earthy sins,” he said. “Go with God!”
He lifted his hands as he wandered, now mumbling to himself. Langton followed him for a few moments, trying to speak to him, before giving up entirely. Finally, he turned to Dashiell.
“I am hungry,” he said, disheartened by the state of his old friend. “Feed me, du Reims, and bring Lady Belladonna to the feast so that I may speak with her. Let me be assured this is what she wishes and if it is, you two shall have my blessing.”
It was all Dashiell could do to contain his delight. “Aye, my lord.”
As Gavin and Bentley took Langton from the solar and headed to the great hall where the minstrels were still playing loudly, Dashiell and Aston rounded up Edward and, along with Drusus, coaxed him back to his chamber, where his supper was already waiting.
Once Edward was locked in, safe and sound, Dashiell turned to Aston with such an expression of joy that Aston was actually startled by it. But three softly uttered words from Dashiell’s lips told Aston everything he needed to know about the expression and the joy, in Dashiell’s heart.
Perhaps the meeting with Langton had been stressful, disheartening even, but there was one good thing that had come out of it.
Dashiell could hardly control himself.
“She is mine.”