CHAPTER THREE
“Lord Christopher has asked me to relay the message, my lord. The nature is urgent.”
It was dawn the next day and Dashiell, along with Bentley, Aston, Clayton, and a few senior soldiers were in Edward’s great solar to receive a messenger bearing the de Lohr blue and gold standards.
It was unexpected, to say the least. Christopher had returned home at the same time the Savernake army had headed for home, so Dashiell was deeply curious about the message the de Lohr soldier bore. He made sure the servants were out of the solar and the doors were closed before he let the man speak.
“Now,” he said as he turned to the man. “Tell me everything.”
The weary messenger complied. “The king has defeated Alexander, King of the Scots, on the Scotland border and even now pushes into Scotland,” he said. “The northern barons, including Northumberland, were unable to stop him and it is Worcester’s fear that the king’s strength has grown beyond reproach. He is calling a conference of the southern barons in order to address this issue, a conference to take place at Canterbury, his brother’s holding. He asks that you send word to Arundel and your other allies and ask them to convene in Canterbury for this important task.”
Dashiell was listening with great concern. His head was pounding with a nasty hangover, but he fought it as he listened to the serious news. Before he could question the messenger further, Clayton spoke.
“How far north has John taken his army?” he asked, astonishment in his voice.
“He is marching on Edinburgh, we are told.”
The room went deadly quiet at that news. It was shocking. Dashiell stared at the messenger for a moment before turning away, his mind working furiously. John marching on Edinburgh? He could hardly believe it.
“I knew he had men waiting for him in the north, mercenaries and cutthroats, but I do not believe anyone knew just how many men,” he finally said. He turned to the messenger. “Did my cousin give any indication of what he wanted to do about it?”
The messenger shook his head. “Nay, my lord,” he replied. “He simply asked me to relay the news and tell you to meet him in Canterbury in a few months. May was discussed.”
“Surely he has eyes up north,” he said. “He must be getting regular reports.”
The messenger nodded. “Indeed, my lord,” he said. Then, he sobered dramatically. “But there is still more news – the king’s mercenary army did not have an easy time of it. They met an army led by de Royans of Bowes Castle near Durham and they were damaged, but not defeated. However, the king’s army picked up more mercenaries who had landed in Sunderland and went on to destroy the army of Ajax de Velt near Berwick. Reports tell us that the army was strong by sheer numbers alone, but de Velt fought valiantly.”
Dashiell felt as if he’d been hit in the gut. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Ajax de Velt was defeated?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“The Dark Lord’s army?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Did de Velt himself survive?”
The messenger sighed heavily. “It has been reported to us that he did not, my lord. He took the field with his army but was a casualty of John’s archers. Worcester is understandably devastated by this news.”
The Dark Lord was dead. The man that, thirty-five years ago, all of England feared until he met a woman who tamed him. From that point forward, Ajax de Velt had been a model citizen, a strong ally, and to Christopher de Lohr, a good friend. He was quite elderly, taking the field into his seventh decade to fight alongside his sons, and most everyone believed he was immortal. He was one of the best knights England had ever seen.
Dashiell could hardly believe the news.
“God’s Blood,” he hissed, turning away. His aching head just grew tremendously worse and he sat heavily in the nearest chair. “De Velt is gone.”
“Those are the reports, my lord.”
Dashiell was nearly beside himself as he sat there, remembering the old knight, still big and powerful, with two-colored eyes – one eye was brown while the other had been brown with a big splash of green in it. It had made him unique among men.
“What about Northumberland?” Dashiell finally asked. “How did he fare?”
“Worse than de Velt. Northumberland’s army was fragmented. The king had a great many Teutonic mercenaries waiting for him at Newcastle, so when he pushed for the border, the sheer number could not be stopped.”
Dashiell was struggling to absorb all he’d been told. It was worse than he’d ever imagined. After several long moments, he finally nodded his head as if to acknowledge what he’d been told and stood up from the chair.
“Go to the kitchens and get yourself something to eat,” he told the messenger. “Have a servant show you a bed so that you may rest. Seek me out before you leave; I may have more questions.”
“Aye, my lord.”
The messenger quit the solar. When he was gone, Dashiell turned to Aston and Bentley, who were pale with shock. He shook his head with disbelief.
“De Velt was defeated?” he said. “Not merely defeated, but killed? I cannot grasp this. I truly cannot.”
Aston displayed equal disbelief. “I fostered at Pelinom Castle,” he said. “Jax de Velt was a fearsome but fair master. I cannot comprehend that John was able to defeat him.”
“He did not merely defeat him; he overran him,” Clayton said. When the others turned to him, they were surprised to see that he was remarkably subdued, at least for Clayton. “I was raised on stories of Ajax de Velt. We all were. I always thought the man could stand up to God Himself and win.”
Dashiell’s jaw ticked faintly. For once, he and Clayton were in agreement. “John was wholly unworthy to defeat such a man,” he said. “No wonder my cousin is calling a conference. If John’s army has not only defeated de Velt, but Alexander also, then it is quite possible that the rebellion against him is in serious trouble. If John brings that massive mercenary army south…”
“Then he brings it into the heart of England where those who oppose him are plentiful,” Bentley said firmly. “Mayhap he was able to defeat Northumberland and de Velt, but he will run into a good deal more resistance in his own country.”
“He will overrun us all,” Clayton said. “If he has an army to destroy not only de Velt, but the King of Scotland, what makes you believe we can defeat him?”
Dashiell could hear the hysteria building in Clayton’s voice. “Because we will be amassed by the thousands in the south,” he said. “Even John’s massive army cannot overrun tens of thousands of men who have taken a stand against him.”
“But he overran de Velt and de Vesci!”
“I would not worry if I were you. That is why my cousin is calling a conference; to discuss John’s defeat.”
Clayton fell silent for a moment, wandering away from the hearth where the men were sitting and over to the lancet windows that overlooked the bailey. The solar had a soaring Gothic ceiling, an intricate feature but one that kept the room rather cold, even on warm days. Clayton folded his arms as if to ward off the chill, or perhaps to ward off the dire news they’d been given.
Dashiell had been right; he was feeling some panic.
“We cannot face such an army,” he said. “It would be suicide. We must remain at Ramsbury and protect our own.”
Dashiell didn’t give much stock in his ravings. “We would not be facing him alone, Clayton,” he said. “We will meet with Chris and discuss what needs to be done. Until then, we will send messengers to Arundel and also to de Nerra at Selborne Castle. Since the House of de Nerra is much like de Winter and de Lohr in that they always serve the crown, I will be interested to know what the Itinerant Justice of East Hampshire has to say about all of this.”
“De Nerra fought with us at Winchester and Northampton,” Bentley said. “They have no more use for the king than we do.”
Dashiell looked over his shoulder at the knight. “I realize that, but I would be interested to know if they’ve heard of John’s push into Scotland.”
That was of great interest considering the de Nerras, by close proximity to Winchester Castle, always seemed to know of John’s movements before anyone else did. Gavin de Nerra had taken over the title from his father, Valor, only recently, but he was a sharp-minded man with a strong dedication to England and Dashiell liked him a great deal.
“Would you have me deliver the message to de Nerra, Dash?” Bentley asked. “I can ride to Selborne in a couple of days.”
Dashiell shook his head. “Although I appreciate the offer, I need you here,” he said. “However, I will go to Selborne personally. I have a few things to discuss with de Nerra, this being among them. But the fact remains that we can do nothing until the conference with my cousin in a few months’ time. So until that time, we conduct business as usual. I have new recruits waiting for me in the bailey, as I am sure all of you have duties to attend to. Let us get on with it.”
Dashiell, Bentley, and Aston started to move but Clayton remained.
“We cannot conduct business as usual, du Reims,” he said. “Far from it.”
Dashiell suspected they were in for more of Clayton’s hysterics. “Why not?”
Clayton was outraged by his attitude. “Because nothing is as it should be,” he said snappishly. “John is marching on Edinburgh and when he is done with Scotland, he will surely come back to England and back to the barons who have opposed him. We must prepare.”
Dashiell was growing impatient. “And we are,” he said. “We prepare by allowing our army to rest, by refilling our stores, and by training the new recruits so that when the moment is upon us, we are ready to fight.”
That wasn’t the answer Clayton was looking for. “Fight where?” he demanded. “If John has a massive mercenary army, then the best we can do is lock our gates and prepare for a siege. If we go out to meet him, we will die.”
Dashiell was very close to insulting the cowardly man. He didn’t like men who lacked courage and, at the moment, Clayton was showing his true self. It was an effort for Dashiell to put his insult into a constructive form.
“We cannot sit here and wait for the king to come to us, and you know it,” he said with veiled impatience. “Clayton, you can help us prepare for battle by ensuring our army is adequately outfitted. I know many of our men suffered greatly during the battle marches, meaning they wore through shoes and weapons and other things. You can be a great help to our future survival by making sure the army is properly outfitted. Will you do this?”
He was giving Clayton something productive to focus on, rather than giving in to his panic. Surprisingly, Clayton was a hard worker when he set his mind to it, but it was the simple matter of forcing him to focus. However, he would only do it if the job seemed important enough, and evidently, this one wasn’t. He shook his head.
“I will not,” he said flatly. “Any fool can see to that.”
Dashiell’s patience was at an end. “Then I will put someone else on the task who I know can competently complete it,” he said, turning for the door. “I care not what you do, but if I hear you have been spreading the news of John’s march on Edinburgh and frightening the men, I will seek you out and you will not like my reaction. Do you understand me?”
Clayton lifted his chin, turning away from him. “You cannot dictate my behavior.”
“I can when it comes to the health and well-being of the men. If you upset them, you will answer to me. I care not what you do from this point on, but keep your mouth shut.”
With that, he quit the solar, heading out with his men into the early morning with a good many tasks on his mind. Still, he couldn’t seem to shake the suspicion that Clayton would, indeed, spread rumors about the king’s strength and the fears of obliteration.
Something told Dashiell to be ready for what Clayton was capable of.
What Clayton was capable of was exactly what Dashiell had feared, only worse.
Clayton didn’t like to be embarrassed in front of his men. He knew Dashiell and the army was against him; he’d always known. He’d felt alone since his arrival to Ramsbury, when he’d married Lily and assumed his rightful place as heir to the dukedom. Only, no one took him seriously. They never had, and he knew that.
But things were about to change.
As heir to the dukedom, he wielded some power, power that was rightfully his. The old duke wasn’t long for this world but, even if he was, Clayton knew he could assume power to a certain extent. Although he couldn’t petition the king to appoint him as the new duke, using Edward’s madness as evidence that such a thing was needed, he could still act in a manner that was within his power as the heir.
And part of that power was making appropriate marriages to ensure the strength of the dukedom. No one, not even the church, would argue with that. He had to show du Reims who was truly in charge at Ramsbury. He wasn’t going to be embarrassed by the man any longer.
He was going to aim a proverbial dagger right at Dashiell’s heart.
Summoning his clerk, a tiny man who greatly feared him, he had the man construct a missive to Lord Sherston, Anthony Cromford. It was an invitation to view the young woman who could be his future wife. In the missive, Clayton made sure to tell Lord Sherston of Belladonna and her exquisite beauty.
Although Lily inherited the dukedom and Acacia was taking her dowry to Amesbury, Belladonna inherited wealth from her mother’s side of the family. Her mother was a de Lara, a wealthy family from the Marches, and Belladonna not only had wealth, but a castle as part of her dowry. Clayton recalled that the duke had told him such a thing before his mind completely left him.
Therefore, Clayton made sure to emphasize the strength of Belladonna’s wealth and Sherston, like any normal man, would be willing to take a look at her based purely on her dowry and the fact that she was a duke’s daughter.
But the problem was a location for their meeting. Where could the two come together so that Sherston could glimpse Belladonna? Surely, it couldn’t be at Ramsbury. Du Reims would chase the man away before he even entered the gates, so the meeting had to happen away from Ramsbury.
And then, it occurred to Clayton – a buzz he’d heard as soon as the army had returned to Ramsbury from their long battle campaign. Something about a party at Chadlington Castle for Lady Jillayne. Lily had briefly mentioned it and he’d heard his manservant speak of it, also, simply because the women had been preparing for it ever since the invitation had arrived a month before. Clayton hadn’t given the event any thought until now.
But at this moment, he was giving it a great deal of thought.
Chadlington…
It would be the perfect place. Belladonna would be in attendance, as would a host of other houses, and even if Sherston wasn’t invited, his presence would probably not even be noticed. Better still, even if du Reims came to the party, the opportunity to introduce Belladonna to Lord Sherston could take place well away from du Reims’ prying eyes.
The man would never even know until it was too late.
It was a brilliant plan, at least as far as Clayton was concerned. He was going to undermine du Reims and take delight in doing it. Later that morning, a messenger bearing Savernake colors rode swiftly from the gatehouse of Ramsbury, a messenger personally selected and handsomely paid by Clayton himself.
He told the guards at the gatehouse, guards loyal to du Reims, that the messenger was taking a missive to his father, but that wasn’t the truth. He simply didn’t want the guards tipping off Dashiell, and as the messenger headed off to Sherston, about a two-day ride from Ramsbury, all Clayton could do was smile.
His plan was in motion and du Reims would be none the wiser.
Aye… Clayton would have the last laugh in all of this.