Crown of the Realm (A White Knight Adventure Book 2) (12 page)

Carrying
chains and leather strapping, his men moved menacingly forward.

“You will stand off, Captain!”

Drake immediately recognized the voice.

“
Mon seigneur
?” came the spoiled response.

“You heard me
!”

The captain reluctantly released his victim. Aveline explored her throat, coughing
her fright away.

Dressed in satin saffron, the speaker stepped into the torchlight and took her hand into his. “And now,” he said, sweeping an authoritative glare around the
men of his guard, “you will release the others.”

“But …,” the captain began to protest.

“Idiot! They have not come to invade, not with six men and one woman.” His eyes slowly made the circuit of those six men and one woman. “Have you?” and received the assent he expected.

Gravely studying Aveline, the
gentil-homme
continued to hold her hand. “Are you all right, my dear? Because if there is any damage, I will eviscerate our dishonorable captain.”

“You’ll what?” the dishonorable captain yelped.

“You heard me.” He did not have to raise his voice to put the captain in his place.

The ropes having been dispatched, Drake wiped blood from his chin. Aveline retracted her hand from the nobleman’s gentle grasp. “
If you please, kind sir,” she said, tipping her head.

He gave her leave.

Her spine straight and proud, she turned on the captain. “If
you
please,” she said to the boy, reaching out for his sword.

The captain balked.

“Consider the lady’s wish your command.”

Glaring at the nobleman, the captain reluctantly handed over the sword. Heavy and clumsy in her grasp, she brought the weapon to Drake, who took it, one eyebrow lifting. “I have been insulted. Will you let the insult stand without reply?”

Drake bowed his answer. The captain squawked in protest. “The lady is within her rights,” said the white-haired lord in saffron. “She has been insulted. Worse, she has been violated.” To Drake he said, “Not only do you have my permission, but you have my blessing.”

Drake approached with deliberation, his eyes making a study of the captain’s pretty costume. The captain, rightly scared, backed away from the knight he had ordered manhandled once too often. Drake raised the sword expertly before him. Torchlight gleamed off the steel. Each turn of the blade was another agony for the overdressed lout of a captain. He backed up all the way to the
stone wall upon which he might easily be eviscerated and then judiciously impaled. With a skilled arm, Drake executed several deliberate strokes. With each swipe, the captain shrieked like a girl. When he was done, Aveline’s champion flung the sword away.

Calmly, Drake strolled back to his ladylove. Together they surveyed his handiwork. Stripped of every item of clothing save for braies and hose, the captain exhibited
several superficial sword marks across his torso: livid, crisscrossing, and dripping red against the white of his sun-shy skin. His garments, once so lovely, lay like mowed weeds at his feet.

“You are chilly, are you not?” the lord asked the captain.

The captain nodded dutifully.

“It is so. You have been properly admonished, Captain. You may beat a hasty retreat and cry to your mother, if you will.”

The captain bent, gathered together his ruined outfit, and fled into the château.

Thibaud,
comte of Blois, turned apologetically toward Drake and Aveline. “My son Louis, who has yet to learn his manners.” Smelling unmistakably of ambergris, he reached out a hand. “We meet again.”

“I should have recognized your voice
,” Drake said, “from Nonancourt.”

“Indeed, you should have. But we did not have a chance to speak.
” And added, “Then.” He strolled through the same portal his grown son had fled like a brat of eleven or twelve instead of a man of eighteen or nineteen. “Come. I’m sure you have a thirst after your long journey.”

Fors led the way, soberly wiping a bloody nose. Chauvigny followed, rubbing a sore arm.
Hand and cheek smeared with blood, Béthune lagged behind. Relinquishing his place, Rand gestured Drake and Aveline through, though with a bleeding hand. Finally, Devon brought up the rear, matching his master’s halting gait.

~
Part III ~

A Man of Middle Class Speaks with a Woman of Higher Nobility  

A man of the middle class must therefore greatly excel in character all the men of the two noble classes in order to deserve the love of a woman of the higher nobility, for no matter how worthy any commoner may be, it seems very much out of place if a countess or a marchioness or any woman of the same or a higher rank gives her love to a man of the middle class.

Saturday, the 21st of April, in the Year of Grace 1190

THE RIB OF THIBAUD
, clearly several years his junior, was taken aback by the unannounced invasion of Drake’s irregular army. To her credit, she took it in stride.

Alys Capét was as charming as her mother. Her dark tresses, lightly peppered with silver, were hidden tidily beneath a
gold-threaded veil. The sharp features, tight jaw, and dark brows more closely resembled her brother King Philippe of France than her brother King Richard of England. But she exhibited the strength of both brothers through her forthright manner and a composure bred as much by heredity as position. Her eyes were another matter. Startling in their familiarity, they held the vivid coloring and piercing quality of her mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine.

“They are my cousins,” she said smartly and more than a trifle put out.

The comte had brought Drake and his
compères
into the great hall, where his wife was entertaining a multitude of guests, one or two of whom Drake recognized from King Philippe’s entourage at Nonancourt. Finding privacy in a castle where there is a dearth of doors and locks is not the easiest task. Excusing oneself on a matter of family concern that has instantly become a focal point of whispered gossip is even harder. But excuse themselves the comte and comtesse of Blois did, and retired to the solar, where the comforts of their position were manifestly abundant:
chaise longue
, coal-burning, brazier, padded chairs, coffers, a collection of books, embroidered wall hangings, silver candelabra, priceless statuary, and a popinjay occupying a gold-gilt cage.

No one had bothered to teach the feathered creature to speak, though he squawked a great deal, not unlike Louis de Blois, and whistled a friendly greeting to Drake.

Alys Capét, having taken in evidence of the recent strife of her guests, marshaled basins, rags, and bandages. Further, she had drink and platters of food brought in, all devoured instantly and ravenously, and immediately replenished. Nor did she neglect berating her son the captain, who was called into the solar, dressed in fresh garments but wearing the scowl of old and moving stiffly. Or leave off rebuking her husband with scathing looks that dressed him down as handily as Drake had done their son. And still had opportunity to drape a coverlet round Aveline’s shoulders and thrust into her hand a large goblet of fine wine filled to the brim.

Everyone settled and comfortable, their bruises and pride ministered, their thirsts quenched, bellies filled
, and ruffled feelings soothed, the second eldest child of Eleanor of Aquitaine set to work. With keen astuteness, Alys Capét, comtesse of Blois, drew out the tale that had brought Drake and his comrades to this place, at this time, and under these circumstances. And with unflinching defiance, she subsequently shed light on the treachery of her husband and the complicity of her son, and became suitably and most splendidly outraged.

Her husband the
comte, a man of inestimable presence, particularly when dressed in saffron, seemed a fool, and a stubborn fool at that. “Cousins, you say! From which side of the family? I can hardly keep track.”

“And you dare use them as pawns? Against my brother!”

“A brother you hardly know, of a mother who abandoned you years ago.”

“Still, my brother. And if,
if
my mother did as you say, it was at the insistence of my father, who obtained the pope’s sanction for his own selfish ends.”

“To rid himself of an adulterous wife, you mean?”

“To absolve himself of having taken for his queen his fourth cousin, the fact of which he was well aware, even as he willingly guided her to their marriage bed. And for the most unforgiveable sin of all, that of not bearing him a son and heir.”

“Due in no large part of keeping him out of her bed.”

“As I can do you, given one more insult.”

“
If that is how you see it, let it be so.”

She smiled complacently. “As I recall, or perhaps it was only malicious talk since I was but an infant at the time, you tried to rape my mother when she left my father, and force her to marry you against her will. But …”—she paused while Thibaud flushed nearly as dark as the
Sancerrois wine his guests were imbibing—“you’ve had to make do with her daughter these many years.”

“Have you forgotten that you have another brother?”

“Do not tell me
he
is the instigator.”

“Very well, I will not tell you.”

At which point Alys was ready for imbibing a rather substantial quantity of Sancerrois wine herself. Aveline offered the comtesse her half-emptied cup, which Alys seized and drained like a man and then refilled. When the goblet was again half-empty, she turned expectantly on her husband and waited for an explanation.

“I saw the order.”

“You’re sure it was Philippe?”

“I’ve seen the king’s seal often enough to know when it’s genuine. He is my nephew, for God’s sake!”

“Please, I beg of you, refrain from reminding me. It is enough that I am related to him. That you should also be is more than I can bear.” Alys Capét turned to her guests, sending them an apologetic grin that must have hurt the taut plains of her face. “You see the perils of my complicated life. I am not normally driven to drink, but I shall make this a special occasion.” And did. Afterwards, her voice quavering slightly, said to her husband, “And this order? It said …?”

“If you are looking for an indictment, you will not find one. Nor will anyone. The instructions were relayed orally. The writ gave the spoken word credence.”

“Where is this writ? I mean to see it.” And when the comte postured, she said, “How foolish of me. Reduced to ashes. And the messenger of this dark conspiracy?”

“Shall remain nameless.”

“But of course. Regicide cannot support witnesses.” Finding a stool, she swept her azure skirts off the floor and installed herself with royal bearing.

“Whoever he is,” Thibaud said, “he acted on behalf of his king, in the name of his king
, and on the authority of his king. As did I. And probably knows as much as I. That is to say, nothing.” He wiped hand against hand as if to clean them. “
Rien de rien
.”

Drake was having a private conversation with the popinjay, feeding it bread crumbs and whistling in mimicry. Observing, Alys remarked, “Ah, so that is what happened to my favorite vase. And my chair. And my table. While I was in Paris, mourning the loss of our dear queen.”

Drake swung his head around and found the comte, who crossed a leg.

“Well, dearest Drake,
” she continued, “I only wish you and Stephen had broken more than a few worthless objects, such as the heads of those nearest and dearest to my heart.”

She hiccup
ped. Her husband coughed. The popinjay squawked.

“Where is he now, hmm, my beleaguered cousin? Where is Stephen fitzAlan?”

The popinjay squawked again. The comte coughed again. The comtesse hiccupped twice more. “I take it you don’t know.”

It was the
comte
’s
turn to refill his cup.

“You realize,” said the
comte’s wife, “his health, his safety, his well-being, his very life … and my good graces … are now dependent upon you.”

His eyes narrowed. “You drive a hard bargain,
ma dame
.”

“That is because I know you best. I know where your weaknesses lie. And they won’t lie in our, or should I say, my bed. Continue on this course, my handsome bedfellow, and as they say,
Ce n’est pas une partie de plaisir
.”

Louis spoke up. “Isn’t it enough that it was the will of the king your brother?”

A mother’s eyes moved sharply on her son. Walking lamely, he cowered back to his former place. Here and there, he was leaking blood from one of the many scratches delivered by Drake’s sword, and spoiling yet another fine suite of clothing. “You’re not having a good day, are you Louis?”

“
Non, maman
.”

“If I were you, I should remain invisible until it is my wish that you be made visible. Next year
, perhaps.” Her gaze returned to her husband. One dark eyebrow lifted expectantly. 

“I only know this
,” he said to Drake. “Three
routiers
abducted your brother, escorted him here, and took him away when we were done with you. To where, I was and remain uninformed.”

“South,” Louis said.

“South,” his father agreed.

Drake
turned away from the birdcage. “Under whose command were they?”

“Their own.”

“And their names?”

“Formal introductions were not in the offing.”

“Descriptions?”

“I didn’t take particular notice. Louis?”

Drake shifted his eyes toward his sulking cousin. “I only dealt with the leader. Botolphe was his name. Common ladies would find him … worthy.”

“
Oui
, he was a pretty fellow, to be sure,” Drake said. “Yellow of hair. A wrestler’s hands. Hence, the second man was tall and simple-minded, and the third owned a surplus of teeth.”

“
Alors
, you know them.”

“They served Richard’s mercenary leader.”

“Mercadier would never condone such,” said André.

“I agree.”

Louis said, “They must hold a grudge against you, then, these
routiers
.”

“Not that I’m aware, but wherever they took Stephen, they hied themselves back to Chinon in time to hang a would-be assassin …
yours truly.”

The
comtesse crossed herself. “
Mon Dieu au paradis
.”

“Except that Geoffrey intervened,” Rand pointed out.

“—Looking regal. Whence John showed up, also looking regal.”

“C
learly, there is a mastermind at work,” Alys said.

“Whether it is Philippe or another, I will not guess,” said her husband. “This I do know: if pressed, your loving brother,
ma dame,
would deny every connection.”

The
comtesse stood. “As usual, my brother has played the game in fine form.” To Drake, she said, “You will rest here for the night. In the morning, you must decide what to do. Unfortunately,
mon cher
, I can offer no advice but a wealth of prayers. Whatever you decide, my dear son Louis shall accompany you …” Louis sputtered disapproval, which she firmly overrode. “… to protect your interests and mine. And you,” she addressed her husband, “your reparation is to come. I shall devise something wholly delicious, which you may anticipate with dread.”

He bowed, smiling slightly. “As you
wish,
ma belle comtesse
.”