The Thunder Lord: The de Shera Brotherhood Book One (Lords of Thunder: The de Shera Brotherhood 1) (29 page)

The low-ceilinged foyer of Isenhall’s keep was surprisingly alight, as Scott had ordered torches lit and a fire stoked. The usually dreary, windowless room was deceptively bright as Davyss and Grayson were ushered inside. In the small hall off to the right, the one usually used as a private family dining room, de Shera knights were amassed along with an older knight that neither Davyss nor his father immediately recognized.

Scott and Troy came out of the smaller room to greet Davyss and Grayson, drawing them into the dining chamber that had two big pitchers of ale on the table. There were also remnants of a meal, indicating that the de Shera knights had been sitting around awhile, waiting and eating. Troy handed Grayson a cup of ale as Scott made the introductions around. When they came to William, the last man to be introduced, both Grayson and Davyss were visibly impressed.

“My lord,” Grayson greeted, surprised to find the man here. “Although we’ve not met, of course I am well aware of your reputation. I have admired you from afar.”

William smiled faintly at the short, compact older knight with a somewhat debonair manner about him. “As all of England is aware of the de Winter war machine, also,” he replied. “I have heard tales of your triumphs.”

Grayson grinned. “I would imagine that between the two of us, we could keep men busy for days and days with our tales of battle,” he said, watching William chuckle. “It may be a sad thing to discover how much is truth and how much is myth, however.”

William nodded his head. “I might seem far less impressive in that case,” he said, his gaze moving to Davyss. “And this is your son? I have heard of the man and his mighty sword.”

Davyss greeted William with the same reverence his father was showing. “I am honored that you would know my name, my lord,” he said. “I was raised on stories of your valor from the Scottish borders. I wanted very much to be like you.”

William gestured to the great sword hanging at Davyss’ side. “You are well on your way, so I am led to believe,” he replied. “
Lespada
, isn’t it?”

“Aye, my lord.”

“According to my sons, you and your sword are great friends with Gallus.”

Davyss nodded. “Our fathers were friends and, consequently, we became friends also,” he said. “We fostered together.”

William nodded in understand, glancing around at the group of knights and realizing that social pleasantries were coming to an end. It was time to come to the reason for the de Winter visit. William indicated the table and the benches that surrounded it.

“Please,” he said. “Sit and refresh yourselves. I am sure Gallus will be here momentarily.”

“And you would be correct,” Gallus said as he entered the chamber. Having seen Davyss and Grayson enter the keep from the window of his mother’s room, he and his brothers had made haste to the entry. His focus went straight to Davyss. “My friend, it is good to see you again.”

Davyss grinned, taking the man’s offered hand, as Grayson reached out and hugged Maximus and then Tiberius. When he moved on Gallus, he looked the man in the eye for a moment before embracing him as a father would. There was emotion in his actions.

“Gallus,” he murmured. “I see much of your mother in your face. You have the fairness of the de Lohrs. It is Maximus who looks exactly like Antoninus.”

Gallus laughed softly. “Maximus looks like a barbarian and I look as if I am part of the greatest family of warriors that England has ever seen,” he said. “Then who does Tiberius look like?”

“An archer that Honey became randy with,” Maximus grumbled.

That ribald, and untrue, comment sent everyone into gales of laughter at Tiberius’ expense but, being good-natured, he easily brushed off the comment.

“If you say that loudly enough, she may come down here and slap you,” he said to Maximus. “I should not like to be anywhere near you when Honey’s hands start flying.”

The men were grinning, regaining their seats around the table as the conversation turned with fondness to Honey. Grayson asked the inevitable question.

“How is she?” he asked Gallus. “Davyss said she is very ill.”

Gallus’ levity faded. “She is,” he said. “She lost consciousness sometime this morning and has not regained it. The physic is uncertain if she ever will.”

Grayson sighed heavily, his humor from moments before vanished. “It pains me greatly to hear that,” he said sincerely. “I… I know she did not wish to see me, Gallus, but I would consider it a great personal favor if you would allow me to bid your mother farewell from one old friend to another.”

Gallus couldn’t deny the man who had meant so much to their family after Antoninus had passed away.

“Of course you can see her,” he said softly. “Let us complete our business here and I will take you to see her.”

Satisfied, Grayson claimed a seat next to de Wolfe and poured himself some ale as Davyss and Gallus settled in next to one another. It was Gallus who spoke first.

“Now,” he said, looking between Davyss and Grayson, “it seems that there are great stirrings afoot. I have heard the story second-hand but I would like to hear it from you. Why has Henry ordered you to lay siege to Isenhall and take it from me?”

Davyss, who had not been involved in the conversations between Grayson and Henry, turned to look at his father. Grayson set down his ale cup, his handsome face grave. Immediately, the mood of the room turned deadly serious as the knights prepared themselves to hear the truth of what had happened. None was more attentive than Gallus.

“About two weeks ago, Henry received a missive from Simon de Montfort,” Grayson said. “The missive, which I saw, was not in de Montfort’s handwriting, as I have seen that before. It said that the culprit in Jacques Honore’s death was none other than Gallus de Shera and that the man had acted alone in his attack on Honore. It also expressed concern that de Shera was growing increasingly rebellions and he had married a Welsh princess against the wishes of his liege, which I can only assume to be de Montfort. It was speculated that de Shera was allying himself with the Welsh and that Isenhall was to be a base for a Welsh foothold in England. Based on that missive, and that information, Henry ordered me to take my army to Isenhall and capture it.”

Gallus had heard this before so he wasn’t angered as he had been the first time he’d heard it. Still, he was struggling with his frustration.

“You say that de Montfort did not write the missive,” he said. “How did you know it was from him? Did he sign it?”

Grayson nodded. “He did,” he replied. “But what I find strange is that he evidently sent it while you were at Kenilworth. Davyss told me you had been there for several weeks. We only received the missive from de Montfort a couple of weeks ago, so he sent it while you were at Kenilworth. Why would he do that?”

Gallus didn’t have an answer for that. “I cannot say,” he said. “I suppose I am having difficulty believing he would actually send it. Is it possible that it was forged?”

Grayson shook his head. “It bore his seal,” he said. “Henry made no mention of any suspicion that the missive was forged. As for the fact de Montfort didn’t write it personally, a scribe could have written it so it is not odd that the missive was not in his handwriting. But it struck me as very odd that the man would have sent it at all because it is well known that he loves you, Gallus. I would have never thought he would betray you like this. Are you at odds with the man now? What has happened between you two?”

Gallus sighed heavily. “Nothing has happened between de Montfort and me,” he said. “But much has happened between me and Hugh Bigod. The man wanted me to marry his daughter, very badly, but I married another instead. I did not do it to spite Hugh. It was a marriage that my mother accepted on my behalf. I had little choice. But Bigod has taken it personally and has done all he can to slander me to the barons, trying to undermine my reputation. My wife is Welsh, you see, part of the House of Gwynedd, and Bigod is spreading rumors that I am allying myself with the Welsh when that is simply not true.”

It was a clean, concise explanation, and Davyss and Grayson believed Gallus without question. The man had never lied before and they didn’t expect him to start now. He was far too honorable in a world that saw very few men of Gallus’ quality. Grayson, disgusted by Bigod’s behavior, shook his head with contempt.

“I never did like Hugh Bigod,” he muttered. “Him or his brother. Is his brother involved in any of this?”

Gallus shook his head. “I’ve not seen Hugh’s brother in months,” he said. “The man is in Oxford, I believe, so Hugh had done a good deal of damage to my reputation purely on his own. I do not think that the barons believe him but they mostly go along with him – he is a powerful man with a good deal of wealth and manpower behind him. No one will openly oppose him. I suppose what is the most surprising is that de Montfort has evidently given in to the man’s lies. That is the only explanation behind that missive.”

Grayson grunted, confused and upset by what was going on. He lifted his shoulders. “And I am caught in the middle of it, as are you,” he said to Gallus. “I am supposed to lay siege to Isenhall, which you know I cannot do. It… it is almost as if Bigod and de Montfort are trying to punish you somehow, or anger you. Surely their intent was for Henry to attack Isenhall and they knew how that would affect you. They knew you would run home to defend your fortress.”

Something in what Grayson said made a good deal of sense. An idea was coming to Gallus, something vague, but his thoughts were beginning to churn. He looked at de Wolfe across the table.

“They would indeed know I would run home to defend my fortress,” he said. “Do you recall that Bigod offered to send some of his men to accompany me home? To reinforce my ranks, he said. How would he know my ranks needed reinforcing?”

William cocked a dark eyebrow. “If he knew Henry would be attacking Isenhall, then he would indeed know you needed reinforcing,” he said. Then, he held up a thoughtful finger as the mind of The Wolfe began to roil right alongside Gallus’. “Mayhap it was de Montfort and Bigod’s plan all along to have Henry attack Isenhall so they could ride to your aid.”

Gallus was at a loss. “But why?” he demanded. “Why would they turn Henry on to Isenhall simply so they could help me fight him off?”

The entire table was hanging on that suspicion, each man thinking on that very specific line of thought. Why
would
de Montfort and Bigod provoke Henry into attacking Isenhall so they could help defend it? It made absolutely no sense, in any of their minds, but it was Maximus who finally saw the logic of it.

“If Hugh went to our aid, then you would no longer have a reason to be angry with him,” he pointed out. “Gallus, you would be indebted to him.”

Gallus couldn’t believe what he was hearing. That particular thought hadn’t occurred to him but now, it made absolute sense. He was hit with the idea like a physical blow. Hissing loudly, he slammed both elbows on the table and put his face in his hands.

“Great Bleeding Christ,” he groaned, exasperated. Then, he pulled his hands away. “That is
exactly
how that man thinks. If I am indebted to him, then I will forgive him for all of his horrible slander. De Montfort is not attempting to betray me. He is trying to make amends between Hugh and me in some twisted fashion. If two of his most powerful barons are in turmoil, then his rebellion against Henry is weakened. But if we are united against a common enemy, then his cause is strong once again.”

The entire table was looking at Gallus in varied degrees of shock as he reasoned out what could possibly be de Montfort’s motives. It was astonishingly true on so many levels and every man understood that. Grayson, now coming to comprehend a great deal, shook his head with the idiocy of it all.

“Sending a missive to Henry mentioning that you were behind Honore’s death would most certainly anger the king enough to retaliate,” he said. “Of course de Montfort would know that. I am proof that the man’s suspicions were correct. Henry
is
mad enough to seek vengeance.”

Now, they had the truth. It was logical and completely understandable given the personalities of the men behind the scheme and their ulterior motives. There could be no other alternative.

Gallus, infuriated and disgusted, rose from his seat and began to pace, wandering his way to the lancet windows that overlooked the crowded bailey beyond. It smelled heavily of men and animals, the scent wafting in on the noon breeze. He paused by the window, looking out at the soldiers who had set up small encampments in his crowded bailey. As he looked at all of the men and material outside, an idea began to occur to him.

“I am going to beat that bastard at his own game,” he said. “I will not be indebted to him. He will be indebted to
me.
He will not best me, I swear it.”

Davyss was the one to ask the obvious question. “What will you do?”

Gallus leaned back against the wall next to the window, crossing his arms casually as he faced the men at the table. It was a table of utter power, of men with legendary histories or families. There were no finer knights, anywhere. After a moment, Gallus actually laughed.

“God’s Bones,” he sighed, pondering the situation. He eyed Davyss and Grayson. “How would you like to help me get even with Bigod?”

Grayson slapped the tabletop. “Nothing would give me more pleasure,” he declared. “What did you have in mind?”