The Thunder Lord: The de Shera Brotherhood Book One (Lords of Thunder: The de Shera Brotherhood 1) (26 page)

“Then what will you do?” he asked. “You heard him. He will go to Henry if I do not prostrate myself before the barons. I will not do it!”

De Montfort was deep in deliberation, struggling to find a way out of this situation.
The man’s wife controls him
, he thought of Gallus. Thoughts of Gallus and Henry and Hugh tumbled about in his mind, searching for an answer. He could not have his barons at odds. The more he deliberated, the more a solution seemed to be in sight. It was devious, but if all went according to plan, it would work.

“You may not have to,” de Montfort said after a moment. “Gallus hates you, that is true, but if we could turn his hatred away from you and on to someone he hates more, then this situation will be solved. What if you were to ride to the man’s aid? Better still, what if you saved his wife? You saw how he flared when you mentioned her.”

Hugh looked at him. “What do you mean?”

De Montfort was shrewd, he knew how to manipulate men. He knew what needed to be done in order to achieve a greater good. He turned to Hugh.

“What if we were to send word to Henry that it was Gallus who was responsible for Jacques Honore’s death?” he ventured. “Henry was already contemplating laying siege to Isenhall before Gallus intercepted and destroyed Honore’s men. What if we confirm that Gallus is the culprit and that his wife and mother are now vulnerable at Isenhall because Gallus is not there? If I were Henry, I would send my troops to Isenhall to lay siege. I would try and take the castle to punish Gallus for the Honore defeat, punishing him more by capturing his wife and ill mother. When Gallus hears of it, he will rush to Isenhall to fight off Henry. What if you were to offer your troops to help? You help defeat Henry, help save Gallus’ wife and mother, and then the man is not only back in our fold, but he will be determined to ruin Henry once and for all. Never underestimate a man’s sense of vengeance when something he loves has been threatened.”

Hugh was staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and hope. Aye, there was hope there – hope that he would emerge the hero in all of this. It would save his pride. De Montfort was doing what he did best – knowing the hearts of men, saving what could be a very terrible situation between Gallus and Hugh, and keeping the focus on what was important – a better England. He understood Gallus and he understood Hugh, and he knew what he had to do in order to see the men reconciled. Once reconciled, it would strengthen the rebellion beyond measure. Indeed, Hugh was not disagreeable to what de Montfort was concocting. In his mind, it made sense.

“But it will take weeks for Henry to amass an army to march on Isenhall,” he finally said. “Gallus has given me a day to throw myself at his feet.”

De Montfort waved him off. “I will talk to him,” he said, confidently. “I will tell him you agreed to apologize but that you need time to prepare. If he believes an apology is coming, he may be patient. But you will have to help extend that patience.”

Hugh cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

De Montfort sat down in the chair Hugh had vacated, great possibilities brewing in his mind. He could see an end to all of this, something that would not only drive Gallus back into their fold but also solve the hostilities between him and Bigod. As much as de Montfort hated to put Lady de Shera and Gallus’ mother in harm’s way, it had to be done.

“You will have to do what you do so well,” he said, looking at Hugh. “You are a worse gossip than most women I know. Now you will gossip about your respect for Gallus. To only a few people, mind you. Tell them you were wrong, enough so that Gallus catches wind of what you have done. That will keep him in check, at least until we can send word to Henry. If Gallus believes you are preparing to make a public apology, he will be momentarily satisfied. But we must move swiftly. I will send word to Henry today. The man must be made to march on Isenhall.”

Hugh didn’t care if the king marched on Isenhall or not. It seemed like a rather elaborate plan to force Gallus’ loyalty to their cause but it could not be helped. If Gallus’ hatred against Henry was greater than his hatred of Bigod, then he would remain with de Montfort. It was all about retaining Gallus and for no other reason than that, because like de Montfort, Hugh was quite certain that Gallus meant what he said. If he didn’t receive a public apology from Bigod, then he would side with Henry. If that happened, England’s hope for a new government and a new future would be lost. Loss of the loyalty of the Lords of Thunder could change everything.

By noon, a messenger with a carefully crafted missive was already heading for London.

Mid-April

It was a day like any other mild spring day. The grass, having burst its frozen bonds, was emerging brilliantly across the land, and the birds in the sky and in the trees were being very noisy with their joy. As the king’s army traveled the road west, heading for Isenhall Castle, a pair of mockingbirds had singled out a particular man-at-arms and were diving on the man’s head, much to the delight of the rest of the army. Laughter could be heard in the ranks as the birds swooped and pecked on the hapless victim, who kept swiping at them.

Only the knights on point weren’t laughing. Davyss de Winter, riding at the head of the column with his father, Grayson, and his brother, Hugh, had his thoughts elsewhere. He was riding to lay siege to his best friend’s fortress and, try as he might, he couldn’t reconcile that in any fashion. Although, politically, he and Gallus were on opposite sides of the spectrum, in his heart, he was joined with Gallus. His father, at the head of the de Winter army, accepted his orders from Henry without question and his sons had been livid about the entire circumstance.

Still, Grayson, a calm and even-tempered man, had spoken with the king at length about a siege on Isenhall Castle. Henry had received word, from de Montfort no less, that Gallus de Shera had carried out the ambush on Jacques Honore and de Montfort had gone on to stress that de Shera was allying himself with the Welsh these days because of his recent marriage to a Welsh princess. Based on that missive alone, Henry had summoned his army to move against Isenhall. He intended to confiscate the property for the crown, fearful it would become a base for the Welsh in England. The king didn’t need any more trouble than he already had.

Davyss knew that Gallus wasn’t allied with the Welsh, as did his brother, Hugh. They both knew that Gallus was not a traitor but every time they tried to bring it up with their father, Grayson would silence them both and encourage them to go about their duties. That went on for the three-day preparation period after they’d received de Montfort’s missive, and now, as they marched to Isenhall, Grayson still remained silent on the issue. Davyss had eventually stopped trying to speak to his father on the matter because it was evident that Grayson did not wish to discuss it.

Davyss knew the directive had to be affecting his father deeply, but Grayson was stoic. The man never let on what he was feeling, unlike his young and emotional sons. He also had a keen sense of duty. Whatever the king ordered, he would do. The de Winters had served the crown for generations, even during this politically difficult time.

So they moved the army northwest, out of London, heading for Isenhall. The weather had been decent and they had moved quickly, making the trek north in a little over a week. Davyss knew they were nearing Isenhall but he wasn’t certain how close they were until later in the afternoon of the eighth day, scouts who had been sent forth to ascertain their position returned and reported in. The first group of scouts to return pointed out that Isenhall was less than five miles to the northwest and based on that information, Grayson called a halt to the army. He didn’t want to get any closer to their target, not with night falling. There was a grove of trees a half-mile directly north and he ordered his men to seek shelter there. The de Winter army moved off the road and headed for the distant tree line.

As night fell and the gentle flicker of campfires created ghostly halos of light within the darkened grove of trees, Grayson and his sons had their great de Winter tent set up away from the bulk of the men. Hugh built a fire and, after a brief sunset hunt, secured three fat rabbits to eat. With the rabbits roasting over an open fire, Grayson sat down next to the fire on a folding sling-bottom chair and sharpened his sword on a pumice stone. A battle was approaching and he would be ready.

But it was a reluctant battle for all concerned. Davyss, the owner of the sword of his forefathers, was carefully rubbing out a few scratches on the steel blade as Hugh managed the cooking rabbits. The air smelled of roasting meat, greasy and pungent. When the last of the soldiers who had set up their camp wandered away, heading through the trees to where the bulk of the army was set up, Grayson cleared his throat softly.

“Davyss,” he said to his eldest. “I want you to do something for me.”

Davyss’ head came up from his great sword. “Anything, Father.”

Grayson carefully sharpened the already-sharp edge of his two-handed broadsword. “Isenhall is not far from here,” he said. “I want you to send word to Gallus. Tell him we are here, camped over the rise. Ask him to meet us outside of Isenhall’s walls tomorrow at sunrise. Tell him we must speak with him.”

Davyss stopped rubbing his sword. “Why?” he asked. “What are you going to say to him?”

Grayson’s focus was still on his blade. “I am not keen on laying siege to Isenhall,” he said quietly. “I have spent many happy hours in that fortress. I want to hear from Gallus’ own lips what is going on with him and his allegiance to the Welsh. Something is not right here and I want to know what it is.”

Davyss let out a sigh of relief. “God be praised,” he muttered. “I
knew
you would not attack Isenhall without contacting Gallus first. But why wouldn’t you speak of it before now? I tried to talk to you about it but you would not respond. Why now?”

Grayson glanced at his son. “Because I have been mulling over the reasons behind Henry’s assault on Isenhall,” he said. “Henry said de Montfort sent him word that not only was Gallus behind the destruction of Jacques Honore, but also that he took a Welsh bride and has allied himself with his new family. Gallus is a favorite of de Montfort. Why would the man betray him like that? I have spent days trying to figure that out and have come to the conclusion that de Montfort is up to something. It may even be a trap, luring Henry’s army into an ambush. We could all be walking into our deaths. Therefore, we will send word to Gallus to find out what is really happening.”

Davyss nodded firmly. “I absolutely agree with you,” he said. “But didn’t the king question whether or not de Montfort’s missive was a trap?”

Grayson shrugged. “He did not,” he said, somewhat regretfully. “Simon is married to his sister so I did not suggest it, either. Mayhap the king does not want to believe such a thing. Even though they oppose one another, there is still a familial relationship there.”

Davyss thought on the complicated connections of the royal family, something they had been dealing with for years. “Mayhap,” he said. Then, he eyed his father. “I will ride to Isenhall myself tonight and see what I can discover. Why wait until the morrow to speak with Gallus? Let me do it tonight.”

Grayson agreed without much deliberation at all. “Very well,” he said. “Be swift and be careful. Find out why de Montfort would betray Gallus by sending Henry a missive. But if you approach Isenhall and see an army camped around it, then do not try to contact him. Come back and we will decide on a course of action from there.”

Davyss stood up from the stump he had been sitting on. “Gallus would never be part of an ambush against us and you know it,” he said quietly. “He would not betray us.”

Grayson shook his head. “Not knowingly, no,” he concurred. “Moreover, he would not know that Henry would send the de Winters to this battle. There are other commanders that Henry could send.”

Davyss pondered that statement. “That is true,” he said, “but much as Gallus is de Montfort’s might, we are Henry’s. It would make sense that he should send us on a mission such as this.”

Grayson was forced to agree. “It would,” he said. Then, he shook his head as if perplexed. “Something is odd with this situation and I suspect that de Montfort is at the heart of it. I never have trusted that man. Ride to Isenhall and see what you can find out.”

“I will.”

“And, Davyss?”

“Aye, Father?”

“If Lady Honey is in residence, you will give her my regards. Tell her I have missed her.”

Davyss cocked a dark eyebrow. “I will, but if she has any honey and cheese pie, I will eat it all and not share a lick of it with you.”

Grayson cracked a grin. “You are a wicked lad. I thought I raised you better than that.”

“You did not.”

Grayson grinned, waving his son on as Davyss moved out. Leaving his father and Hugh cooking rabbits and sharpening swords, Davyss rode off on his charcoal-gray stallion, into the dark and mild night beneath a three-quarter moon. It was quite bright, casting a silver pallor over the landscape. With Isenhall just a few miles away, he was there in little time.

Much hinged on his conversation with Gallus this night. Although Davyss tried not to feel apprehension, try as he might, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling.

Betrayal was in the wind.

The round, squat fortress with the big walls was illuminated by the moonlight as Davyss drew near but he could see quite clearly that there was no great army encamped around it waiting to ambush Henry’s incoming legion. In fact, everything seemed very peaceful and quiet. Clouds were rolling in from the east but they were far enough away that any rain wouldn’t reach them until morning. It was, in truth, a perfect night for a siege. One could see the target clearly.

Davyss lingered in a copse of distant trees for several minutes, viewing Isenhall on the horizon, wondering what would happen when he simply went up to the gatehouse and demanded entry. He and his family were fairly well known throughout England and he wondered if any of Gallus’ sentries would recognize him. He had been able to sneak in to Westbourne because an old servant knew him, but this was different. This was the Earl of Coventry’s seat and likely to be better protected than a townhome. Still, he had little choice. He was on a mission, with a good deal hanging in the balance. Taking a deep breath for courage, and praying a nervous archer didn’t take aim at him, he spurred his rouncey stud across the moonlit fields.

The castle was buttoned up tightly as he approached. Isenhall didn’t have a moat but it had a wide, cleared field all around it, making it easier for the sentries to spy danger. They saw Davyss coming from fairly far away because he could hear their cries as he loped across a field in their direction. By the time he reached the gatehouse, there was a cluster of men upon the battlements, waiting and watching. Davyss came to a halt just outside of the archer’s range, which meant he would have to shout to be heard. He wasted no time because he knew the men on watch would be suspicious and nervous.

“I would speak to Gallus de Shera,” he bellowed. “You will produce the man.”

There was some conversation on the battlements, Davyss could hear it. Irritated at the lack of response, he tried again. “I will speak with Gallus de Shera,” he yelled. “Tell him I have a message from the king that I may only deliver to him personally.”

That seemed to prompt more of a response. Men were shuffling above and Davyss was growing impatient. He debated whether or not to announce who he was because it could have a dual effect; either they would try to shoot him with crossbows or they would, indeed, produce Gallus. Gazing up at the battlements, he was preparing to shout again when someone called back to him.

“Announce yourself,” came the bellow. “Who are you?”

Davyss wasn’t ready to reveal himself yet. “I come from Henry,” he said. “I am a messenger.”

The cold, deep voice came back. “You are a knight of the highest order,” was the reply. “I can tell by your horse and by your equipment. Give me a name, Sir Knight.”

Davyss didn’t reply for a moment. He figured he could outrun them should they open the gates and men came pouring forth, so he was brave enough to reveal his name.

“De Winter,” he said.

There was a long pause. “Davyss?”

“Aye.”

No reply. Davyss sat there on his nervous horse, waiting, suspecting that his name was being relayed to Gallus. The wait was becoming excessive when the gates to Isenhall suddenly lurched and one gate rolled open, spilling forth a horse and rider. Davyss remained in position but he was bracing himself. He wasn’t sure it was Gallus. Even though the moon was bright, it was still difficult to make out features but as the rider drew close, recognition dawned. Davyss’ mouth popped open in surprise.

“De Wolfe,” he breathed as the knight came near. “God’s Bones, I have not seen you in years.”