CHAPTER SEVEN
“You cannot compete,” Justus said, his voice low. “I have just come from the tournament field. The Earl of Carlisle is here and he is competing. He will know you on sight, Mat.”
Mathias stood in one of the smaller rooms of their large smithy stall, dressed in heavy battle armor from head to toe. It was mostly mail with pieces of plate over his shoulders and a fitted breastplate that was emblazoned with the crest of Banbury. It wasn’t his own beloved armor, custom-crafted protection that had been taken from him along with his precious broadsword on that cold January day, but it was acceptable. At least, it would have to do for his purposes.
Sebastian was with him, fitting the pieces left behind by de Lovern over his brother’s muscled body, but neither brother so much as paused when Justus delivered his ominous news. They kept going.
“I can compete and I most certainly will,” Mathias said as he fussed with the hauberk around his face. “With Tate competing, that will make the games far more interesting.”
Justus was quickly growing distraught. “Have you lost your mind?” he hissed. “If the earl sees you, he will arrest us all!”
Mathias shook his head steadily. “He will not arrest us,” he assured his father as he finished with the hauberk. “You worry overly.”
Justus could see that his words were falling on deaf ears and his anxiety grew. He was already in a panic since hearing about de Lara’s entry. Now, there was no stopping his fear.
“Why?” he pleaded as Mathias began to walk away to collect his tournament weaponry. “Why must you do this? I do not understand!”
Mathias picked up the first of three joust poles that he and Sebastian had worked through the night to forge. This pole was very well made with a rounded tip. The two other poles had a tip that looked like a fist and one that had a crow’s foot tip because it literally looked like a bird’s foot.
As Mathias pondered his answer, Sebastian came over to the table with a collection of fabric in different shades of yellow. As he began securing a large piece of fabric to one of the poles, Justus began pointing furiously.
“And there is another thing,” he said. “Where did you get the banners?”
Mathias glanced at Sebastian, who was focused on his work. “We borrowed them.”
Justus’ eyes narrowed. “You stole them!”
Mathias shook his head patiently. “We borrowed them from a few merchants,” he repeated. “We shall either pay them for the goods or return them, depending on the condition of the fabric when we are finished.”
Justus threw up his hands. “You stole the fabric during the night because the shops were not open for business,” he said. “You are thieves!”
Mathias took one of the strips of fabric from his brother and began fastening it to the top of the pole. “No one even saw us,” he said casually. “We were ghosts.”
“Phantoms!” Sebastian piped up.
Mathias grinned at his brother. “They will never realize it is missing.”
As the brothers jested, Justus turned away in frustration. They weren’t taking any of this seriously and it was a deadly serious situation. With the unanticipated addition of the Earl of Carlisle in the tournament, the stakes were much higher than they could possibly imagine. He knew Mathias was aware. He couldn’t understand why the man wasn’t treating the situation with more concern. Baffled, and reaching the apex of what he could emotionally handle, he collapsed onto the nearest stool.
“We will all be arrested,” he moaned, raking his fingers through his long, gray hair. “It is not fair that I should live to see my sons perish. I have done all that I can to protect them but they will not listen.”
Mathias heard the man’s soft utterings, casting a long glance at Sebastian before turning to his father. They knew their father was worried. The truth was that they were worried, too, but it did not deter them.
“Da,” he said softly, firmly. “Look at me. I know you are concerned but there is truly nothing to be concerned over. If I thought the risk was too great, I would not do it.”
Instead of looking at Mathias as he had been asked, Justus looked away. “You are taking a terrible and reckless chance.”
Mathias sighed faintly. “Let me tell you why I feel this opportunity is neither terrible nor reckless,” he said. “I am wearing armor that is not identifiable. It is in no way related to or indicative of Mathias de Reyne. The Patins we paid handsomely for at Lanercost Abbey is flawless. I made sure of it when the priest drew it up. For all anyone will know, I am Sir Chanson de Lovern. No one will ever see my face. I will compete, I will win, and we will have a tidy sum to do with as we please.”
Justus looked at his son as if he were daft. “What if there are people at the tournament who know de Lovern? They will know you are not him.”
Mathias shrugged. “I would wager to say that he was not very well known or very well liked if no one came looking for him after his death,” he replied. “I am unconcerned over someone recognizing de Lovern’s name or armor. He was an obscure knight, and obscure he shall remain.”
“Not after you win this tournament using his name.”
“Then mayhap that will allow the man some fame in death that he never achieved in life. It is the least I can do for him since I have stolen his armor and identity.”
Mathias had an answer for everything. After a moment, Justus sighed heavily and looked away, shaking his head. “I hope this girl is worth the danger you are putting yourself in.”
Before Mathias could reply, the young orphaned boy that they employed to clean up and run errands appeared. Stewart was a skinny child with a crown of wild red hair that looked more like bristly hay, but he was surprisingly well spoken and obedient. He focused on Justus.
“My lord,” he said. “A man is here to see you.”
Justus looked at the child with disinterest. “Tell him to go away,” he said grumpily, then quickly reconsidered. “Who is it, lad?”
“I do not know, my lord,” the child replied. “Should I ask his name?”
Justus nodded, defeat and frustration in his manner. Then, he shook his head and stood up, lumbering over to the doorway. He opened his mouth to say something to Mathias and Sebastian but thought better of it. They wouldn’t listen to him, anyway. He put his hand on Stewart’s stiff red hair and turned the child around as they headed out of the room.
“You would not disobey me, would you?” he asked the boy.
The child was deadly seriously. “Nay, my lord.”
Justus grunted, throwing one last thought out before he left the room completely. “At least someone listens to me,” he said, trying to make his sons feel guilty. “Let it be the servant boy, then.”
With that, he was gone. Mathias was in the process of affixing a standard to the second of the three poles as Sebastian continued to work with the third pole, the crow’s foot. Sebastian glanced at his brother as he worked, their father’s mood and words hanging heavy in the air between them.
“Tate’s entry is a surprise,” he said. “It is going to make this event a bit trickier.”
Mathias was focused on his work. “I have not seen him since January last year.”
“He knows we are here, in Brampton.”
“Of course he does. He has been charged by Edward to keep watch over us to make sure we do not do anything foolish. We stay in Brampton so he can keep a watchful eye on three dishonored knights.”
Sebastian looked at him. “If that is true, do you think you should reconsider competing today?” he asked. “If de Lara is not fooled by your disguise, Father’s predictions might come true – he may have us all arrested.”
Mathias shook his head. “I cannot imagine the man would arrest us all,” he said. “In fact, I do believe he will appreciate the level of competition if I am his opponent.”
Sebastian sighed, setting down the pole. “We did not discuss the mêlée,” he said quietly. “If you compete in that, then you will indeed be taking up arms again.”
Mathias looked at his brother. “I will be taking up arms in the spirit of sport, not for battle,” he said patiently. “There is a difference.”
Sebastian wasn’t so sure but he didn’t argue with him. Mathias was always the level-headed one, the brother with the most common sense and good judgment. Sebastian would have to assume he was right even if he disagreed with him. As he went back to work on Mathias’ host of tournament instruments, Justus reappeared in the room.
“Mathias,” the old man gasped, his face taut with panic. “De Lara is here. He has asked for you.”
Mathias didn’t react for a moment. He simply stared at his father as if not quite comprehending the words. But quickly enough, he realized what the man said and immediately began unstrapping the plate armor around his shoulders.
“Sebastian,” he hissed. “Help me get this off. Quickly, now.”
Fortunately, Justus had enough sense to close the door of the chamber, the one that opened into a storeroom, and then beyond the storeroom was the larger common room with a straw-strewn and uneven floor where the Earl of Carlisle awaited. Justus rushed to help Sebastian remove Mathias’ armor and in little time, the armor was off and the mail was in a big pile on the ground.
Mathias was clad in leather breeches and a stained, worn linen tunic, which was common enough for him on a daily basis. Without another word, he pushed past his brother and father and out into the storeroom where they kept various implements related to their business. As Mathias passed through, he grabbed a leather apron, almost too well worn to be of any true use, and secured it around his waist. By the time he hit the big common room that smelled of horses and hay, he was fully dressed as a smithy. He spied de Lara immediately.
“My lord,” he greeted calmly.
Tate de Lara, Earl of Carlisle and Lord Protector of Northern England, had been inspecting a half-finished sword tucked into a protective cage near the bellows. Upon hearing Mathias’ voice, he swung around to face him.
Tate was a very big man, muscular and tall, and had a face of classic male beauty with a granite jaw and full lips. His hair was dark like a raven’s wing, shorn up the back yet long enough in the front so that it swept across eyes the color of storm clouds. When he spied Mathias, those stormy eyes lightened considerably.
“Mat,” he said, moving towards him with a hand outstretched. “You have not changed since the last I saw you. You are as big and ugly as ever.”
Mathias cracked a grin. He was slightly taller than Tate, with broader shoulders, but the two of them could have easily been brothers with their dark hair and masculine features. Seeing Tate for the first time since he had been stripped of his knighthood was something of a shock, Mathias soon realized. He hadn’t thought about how much he had missed the man until this moment. He missed him greatly.
“If I insult you in return, it might mean trouble for me,” he said, his eyes glimmering. “But I will say that I am very happy to see you, my lord. It has been a long time.”
Tate just stood there, holding his hand and smiling at him as he reacquainted himself with the man’s face, when a knight of enormous proportions entered the stall. Mathias looked over to see Kenneth St. Héver enter the chamber.
Very blond, with ice-blue eyes and a square, determined jaw, he may have been slightly shorter than Tate or Mathias but he was purely hard, bulky muscle with enormous hands. No man survived long in a fight against St. Héver simply because he was so bloody strong. He was a knight’s knight, a warrior all men aspire to be but seldom are. He also happened to be one of Mathias’ closest friends. Kenneth took one look at Mathias and headed straight for him.
Even Tate was surprised by the amount of emotion from the usually emotionless St. Héver as the man threw his arms around Mathias and nearly squeezed him to death. Mathias actually grunted as he squeezed Kenneth in return, but as quickly as the two came together, they also separated. St. Héver was embarrassed by his emotional display.
“Mat,” he greeted, looking somewhat chagrined. “You are looking well.”
Mathias grinned. “De Lara just told me I looked old and ugly.”
“He is a truthful man.”
Mathias laughed softly. “I can be grateful for my health, I suppose, even if I am a troll to behold.”
Kenneth smiled, an extremely rare gesture. He had big, white teeth that he kept mostly hidden. “I do believe I was the one considered a troll,” he said. “Compared to you and de Lara and Pembury, I am the shortest of the group.”
“The shortest and most fearsome,” Mathias reminded him. “I am glad to see you are still breathing. Having been living in obscurity for the past year or so, I have not been abreast of current events or of my friends’ conditions. I am very happy to see you both alive and well.”
Tate nodded. “Alive and well indeed,” he said, looking around the smithy stall. “And you? It looks as if you and your brother and father have done well for yourselves. I am told this is the biggest smithy operation in Brampton.”
Mathias nodded. “It keeps us busy.”
There was something in his tone that suggested that was the only thing the smithy profession was good for and the truth of the situation began to weigh heavily. They hadn’t seen each other since that horrible day in January when Mathias lost everything and already the crux of the situation was rearing its ugly head. It was the giant in the room that no one wanted to acknowledge yet everyone felt the presence. Tate finally honed in on it since everyone’s mind was on the same thing.
“How has it been for you?” he asked quietly. “I am not entirely sure I want to know the answer, for I know how I would feel if I were in your situation.”
Mathias lifted a dark eyebrow. “You do?” he asked, torn between curiosity and outrage. “How would you feel?”
Tate found he was having difficulty looking the man in the eye. “Hollow,” he said after a moment. “I suppose I would feel hollow. What happened to you could just as easily happen to me. Such are the fortunes of war.”
Mathias shrugged as if to agree. “That is true,” he admitted. “But it did not happen to you. It happened to me. Feeling hollow is only the beginning. Unless you have experienced it, you cannot understand.”
Tate sighed heavily and averted his gaze. He didn’t dare look at St. Héver because the man had been filled with anguish since the happening. He loved and respected Mathias deeply, and his dishonor had been a bitter thing to watch.
“There is nothing I can say to lessen your shame or anguish,” he said softly. “Mat, if I could ease this at all, I surely would. You did not deserve what happened but I swear it was the only way to save your life. There were many who wanted to do to you what was done to Mortimer. The only way to prevent that was to strip you of everything and make you inert. I pray to God that you understand that.”
Mathias nodded slowly. “You told me all of this before,” he replied steadily. “I understand everything.”
Tate gazed into the dark green eyes. Mathias was a very difficult man to read. “Do you?” he whispered, almost painfully. “Do you also know how Ken and Stephen and I spent three days and nights begging the nobles to spare your life? Do you know that Ken went to fourteen different households in one day alone gaining acceptance to have your life spared providing we strip you of your knighthood? The day that Edward took everything from you was the day we looked upon as a victory. It could have so easily gone the other way. I would rather be speaking to you now, a mighty knight transformed into a simple smithy, than visiting your grave and wishing I could have prevented your death.”
Mathias truly hadn’t known all of the wrangling and bargaining that had occurred before he had been stripped but he assumed it had been something of a measure. He had been in far too powerful a position within Mortimer’s command structure for him to get away so easily when Mortimer was deposed. His eyes glittered at Tate.
“Yet you still feel as if you did not do enough,” he ventured softly.
Tate shrugged. “It is possible,” he agreed. “I did what I could. I can only pray you forgive me for what has become of you. I have wanted to say that to you since everything occurred.”
“And so you have,” Mathias said quietly, reaching out to grasp Tate’s shoulder in a reassuring gesture. “Truly, there is nothing to forgive. I simply do not think on it any longer. My life is here and now, and I must be satisfied with that. But know that I am grateful for everything you did for me and my family during that time.”
“Edward will soften,” Kenneth said, watching Mathias comfort a genuinely distressed Tate. “Already, he speaks of the future and of the mighty knights he will summon. He has mentioned your name. He misses you, Mat. We all do.”
A dull twinkle came to Mathias’ eyes. “I am here, in the wilds of the north,” he said. “I swore never to bear arms again in battle, but I can support you with my mighty hammer and flaming-hot horse shoes. I am quite good with both, you know.”
Tate cracked a grin. “I would imagine you would be formidable with a willow switch should you so choose,” he said. “You are formidable in any case.”
“Get me a willow switch and let us find out.”
Tate snorted, as did Kenneth. It was good to alleviate the tension somewhat and both men were eased to see that Mathias had patiently and honorably accepted his sentence. In truth, they had expected nothing less. Mathias had always been exceptionally honorable, but still, that didn’t lessen the tragedy of the circumstances.
“Speaking of formidable,” Mathias took the opportunity to shift the subject. “I hear you are competing in the tournament today. Good news travels fast.”
Tate nodded, struggling to move past the heartbreak of Mathias’ situation. “I am,” he replied. “So is Ken. It is unfortunate that you are not. It would be like old times.”
Mathias wasn’t sure which direction to take with his reply. He could agree with the statement or he could confess his intentions. He wasn’t so sure he should do the latter, at least not at this point, so he settled for a neutral reply.
“If it was like old times I would be defeating you both,” he said with some humor. “Mayhap it is best that I stay clear of the competition.”
Kenneth fought off a grin. “I seem to recall that I defeated you in the mêlée the last tournament we competed in,” he said. “Coventry, wasn’t it? I knocked you off your feet.”
Mathias cocked an eyebrow. “I tripped.”
“Tripped or fell, the result was the same.”
“You are too confident. If you do not cease this foolish boasting, I shall ask de Lara permission to compete against you in the tournament to knock some of that arrogance out of you.”
It was a calculated statement. Mathias wanted to see how Tate would react to the idea of him competing in the games based on the very war implements he had sworn never to wield again. Even though he had skirted the subject with his father and declared that he wasn’t, in fact, taking up arms, the truth was that at some point, he would be wielding a weapon if he advanced in the games. That being said, his statement to de Lara constituted a pivotal moment, one that Mathias found himself greatly anticipating. Before Tate could respond, however, a small figure entered the stall.
“Cousin Tate! What a wonderful surprise to find you here!”