Silversword (de Lohr Dynasty Book 7) (3 page)

All of these men were descendants of great knights, of men who had shaped England, but that was especially true of the men from the House of de Lohr. It was a name much like de Wolfe or de Russe or de Moray or de Winter or de Lara. These men were giants in the military circles of England during this turbulent time, men of benevolence but also men of power.

They were men who controlled the power of a nation that had just righted itself after Simon de Montfort’s defeat at Evesham those weeks ago. Now, these men were heading home with their armies, having done their duty for king and country. As their vast armies camped on the outskirts of London, awaiting orders to head home, those in command of those armies were in the tavern getting drunk and relaxing for the first time in months. It seemed like years and Chad, displeased with his brother’s attempts to control his behavior, dropped his breeches again and displayed his tight, white buttocks to the room again. Everyone cheered.

“Bloody Christ,” Stefan shook his head; he tended to be a brother without much humor, even when drunk. “We must get you home, Chadwick. Mother and Father will be anxious to see us and if you drop your breeches in front of our mother, she will not hesitate to take a stick to you.”

Chad was too drunk to care at the moment, unusual for the man who usually kept himself tightly under control. He found that he liked it when the room cheered for his naked arse.

“Stefan, you’ve not had enough to drink or you would not be speaking like that,” Chad said. “Why so serious, brother?”

Stefan threw a thumb at their youngest brother, Perrin. “Because Perry is drunker than you are,” he said. “One of us has to keep a level head or all of us will end up stripped and beaten in an alley somewhere. I should not like for that to happen.”

Chad made a face at his brother before looking to Jorden de Russe, who was standing next to him. All of the men were standing around a table near the corner of the room that they could just as easily be sitting at, but it was such a habit with them to be ready to move at a moment’s notice that none of them seemed to realize that they could actually sit and relax. They preferred to stand as if surveying the room, presenting their powerful and armored presence for those in the tavern to worship.

“Where do you go now, de Russe?” Chad asked his friend. “You have often spoken of your home at Clearwell Castle. Do you intend to return?”

Jorden was a handsome man with a quiet manner. But he was also more apt than any of them to snap a man’s neck at the least provocation. He was into his third cup of ale, his gaze distant as he thought on Chad’s question.

“I suppose so,” he said. “I have not seen my father in months and I should like to see him again. But then… I was thinking that I might like to travel. After the hell of the past few years, I feel as if I want to get away from everything. I have always wanted to see Rome. Mayhap I shall make the trip there.”

Chad cocked his head thoughtfully. “I hear they have full women and delectable food,” he said. “But that is provided Henry lets you go. You know that our fight is not over with, Jorden. The younger Simon de Montfort has an army and all sources indicate he will continue his father’s fight. I would not yet leave the country if I were you. We may have need of your mighty sword, my friend.”

It was a sobering statement that dampened their revelry. They all knew that regardless of Henry’s victory, and of their celebration this night, the fight to secure the throne of England was not over. It was wishful thinking on de Russe’s part to suggest he could travel out of the country. None of them could. The mood around the knights began to weigh heavily, no longer that of laughter and reflection. Now, their thoughts returned to the battle on that great and terrible day.

“What of Davyss?” Rhun du Bois asked. “Has anyone spoken to de Winter since the battle? With what happened to Simon….”

Oddly enough, Chad didn’t seem so drunk as he answered. “Everyone knows that Simon de Montfort was the best friend of Davyss’ father,” he said, looking into the dregs at the bottom of his cup. “De Montfort was Davyss’ godfather, for Christ’s sake. Davyss was very fond of the man. And the way he died… I have no love for de Montfort but what Prince Edward’s men did to him was dishonorable at best. No man deserves to die the way de Montfort did.”

“Roger Mortimer took his head,” Perrin de Lohr said quietly, nearly weeping into his cup. He was the sensitive brother. “He took his head and I heard Davyss say he wanted to buy it back. Has anyone even seen Davyss or Hugh? I worry what has happened to them.”

Chad grunted unhappily. Draining what was left in his cup. “Our cousins went with Davyss and Hugh,” he said. “They are not alone because they would get into trouble with Henry if no one was there to advise them. The House of de Winter serves the crown of England but the heart of the de Winters is with de Montfort. They want his body back and that is not going to happen, I fear. It is a tragic situation, indeed. Therefore, our cousins went with Davyss and Hugh to ensure something terrible does not happen to them.”

“Your cousins?” Rhun du Bois clarified. “The sons of Curtis de Lohr?”

Chad nodded. “Aye,” he said. “I realize there are a good many de Lohrs that sprang from the mighty Christopher de Lohr’s loins, but I speak of the current Earl of Worcester’s sons. Chris and Arthur and William have been shadowing Davyss and Hugh to make sure they do not end up in any trouble. In fact, they were to bring Davyss and Hugh to this tavern. I am surprised they have not arrived by now. We were all going to meet here, have a final drink together, and leave for home. I hope they haven’t run into any trouble.”

That was a very real possibility and the mood of the men plummeted further. Chad went so far as to set his cup down. He just didn’t feel like drinking anymore as thoughts of Evesham tumbled upon him. He’d been trying to forget what he saw.

Chad had been there when Roger Mortimer, among others, had cut down Simon de Montfort and he had held Davyss de Winter back when Henry’s loyalists went mad and carved up de Montfort’s body. Mortimer took the head while the hands and feet were cut off the body as prizes. Worse still, someone castrated the corpse and gave over the bloody trophies to Mortimer, who swore to take it home to his wife.

In all, it had been a horrific scene as Chad had comforted his friend, Davyss, who had been genuinely distraught. But even as he kept de Winter from doing anything foolish, he was very concerned for his de Shera cousins who had been fighting with de Montfort. Gallus de Shera, Maximus de Shera, and Tiberius de Shera had sided with de Montfort along with several other major barons, and Chad had been told that his cousins, the grandsons of the great Christopher de Lohr, had covered the de Shera rear as the beaten army retreated to Coventry.

In all, it had been a complicated mess and Chad was simply glad it was over for now. Still, a little voice inside of him told him the worst was yet to come. Years of experience in battle gave him that insight.

He prayed he was wrong.

“I have never understood why the House of de Winter served the crown when their dearest friend was de Montfort,” de Russe said, rousting him from his thoughts. “That never made any sense to me.”

Chad shrugged, his gaze moving out over the crowded, smoky common room of the tavern. “Because much like the House of de Lohr, the House of de Winter has historically supported the crown of England,” he said. “I suppose when it came to make that choice, either support de Montfort or Henry, Davyss’ father went with the traditional choice for his family’s legacy. But let us be truthful – it is never in anyone’s best interest to side against the king. That never ends well in most instances. De Winter did what he felt was right for his family.”

That was as good a reason as any and de Russe went back to his ale. The whole de Montfort/de Winter relationship was very convoluted and, as some whispered in the inner circles, it had very much to do with Davyss de Winter actually being de Montfort’s bastard. But those were just rumors from idle tongues, men who spewed untruths before they had a chance to think about what they were saying. As the knights stood there and mulled over the situation, and Chad ignored more calls from the prostitutes to drop his breeches, the door to the tavern jerked open and men began to pour in.

From the angle of their table, Chad and his knights couldn’t see who was coming in the front door until they were already well into the room. They watched that door closely, watching all who entered and left, so when the latest group of armed men entered, Chad recognized them immediately. He called out across the room.

“Chris!”

Sir Christopher de Lohr, named for his famous grandsire, turned in the direction of his shouted name. A big man with shaggy blond hair and a blond beard, he also looked a good deal like the man he was named for. Heir apparent to the Earldom of Worcester, he made his way across the crowded tavern floor, kicking aside anyone who didn’t move out his way fast enough. He was followed by four other knights, including two that Chad instantly recognized. He struggled to shake off his drunkenness at the sight.

“Davyss,” he hissed.

Davyss de Winter and his brother, Hugh, were being effectively pulled along by the younger brothers of Chris de Lohr. Chad moved swiftly towards the group, grasping at Davyss, who was in the grip of Arthur de Lohr. Only when Arthur saw that someone else had hold of Davyss did he let go.

“Do not release your grip, Chad,” Arthur said to his cousin. “He has been trying to escape us for the past several hours. That is why it took us so long to meet you.”

Chad fixed on Davyss, who was a pale and angry shadow of himself. “If I truly wanted to escape you, I could,” he said. “No man could stop me.”

Chad could hear the defiance, the anguish, in the man’s voice, which was unlike Davyss. He eyed the man’s broadsword strapped to his right leg.
Lespada
, it was called, the hereditary weapon for the firstborn males in the de Winter family. The sword was more famous than the entire family, in fact, an exquisite combination of function and beauty. No one knew how old it really was, only that it was at least one hundred and fifty years old, but it was so well-made, and so well-tended, that it looked nearly new. Chad knew that if
Lespada
were unsheathed, they’d have real trouble. He sought to ease Davyss’ agitation.

“No one is trying to stop you,” he assured him, hands on the man’s shoulders. “We are worried about you, Davyss. You know that.”

Davyss glanced at his friend. Davyss, a powerful man with wavy dark hair and flashing dark eyes, was a force of nature with a sword. “I know,” Davyss said, wiping a weary hand over his face. “But I must go home to my wife and children and your foolish cousins cannot stop me.”

Chad sighed faintly, glancing at Chris and Arthur and their younger brother, William. All three of them were gazing back at Chad with varied degrees of sorrow and doubt. They could all sense that Davyss wasn’t himself, agitated and exhausted. Chad pulled the man over to the table where the other knights were waiting. He was amiably greeted and someone handed him a cup of ale. As Davyss downed the entire thing in three swallows, his younger and more volatile brother, Hugh, came up behind him.

“We may as well have fought for Simon the way Henry is treating us,” Hugh said, grabbing a cup of ale from Stefan’s hand. He tossed it back in one big swallow. “It does not matter that you and Chad and I saved Henry from certain death by recognizing the fact that Uncle Simon had placed him in enemy armor. We saw through Simon’s scheme and we saved Henry’s life. You would think that would matter to him!”

Stefan and Perrin shushed Hugh by shoving more ale at him while Chad and Davyss and the rest of the knights seemed to be looking at each other, uncertainty in their expressions now. Hugh spoke of something they were all aware of; Henry had been prisoner of Simon on the day of Evesham and to deceive Henry’s forces, Simon had dressed the man in armor that was similar to what Simon himself wore.

They all knew that Simon hoped that Henry would be killed by his own forces but that didn’t happen when Chad and Davyss, and finally Hugh, recognized Henry purely from his build. He had very small legs and broad shoulders, and Henry had kept tossing off his gloves, revealing his big-jointed hands.

That was when Chad and Davyss had grown wise to what Henry was trying to tell his men. Being that they were up on the front lines, they had a clear field of vision to the opposing forces. After that, orders went out not to kill the knight who kept tossing off his gloves.

And that’s how Henry was saved and de Montfort was defeated.

But it had not been without peril. They’d had to fight off several of de Montfort’s men, among them a very big and powerful knight named Luc Summerlin. Chad had managed to knock Summerlin off his horse and give the man a very bad slice to the neck, and he seriously wondered how Summerlin would react to him if ever he saw the man again. But he couldn’t worry about that now, nor would he. The battle was over and every man present knew how Henry had been saved without Hugh shouting it out for the world to hear. They were humbler than that. But the fact remained that Hugh had also shouted out something about Henry’s attitude. Chad turned to Davyss.

“Has something happened with Henry?” he asked quietly, struggling with his drunkenness. “What is your brother talking about?”

Before Davyss could answer, Chris spoke. “We heard through some of Henry’s knights that Henry is grossly displeased that my brothers and I covered the de Shera retreat,” he said, his voice low. “He also heard about Davyss trying to buy de Montfort’s head and rumor has it that he is now doubting de Winter loyalty. Henry is already going after those who openly supported Simon, Chad. He’s rallying his forces and intends to strike at anyone he perceives as an enemy.”

Chad listened without much reaction. “He would be a fool to strike out at de Lohr and de Winter,” he said. “Your father controls half of the Welsh Marches, my father controls a huge portion of Kent, and de Winter
is
Norfolk and Sussex. Is he really so stupid?”