Chapter Nineteen
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“N ay,” Tiberius gasped when he saw the de Winter emblem, pounded into the muddy earth. “Dear God… nay!”
He screamed to the de Shera men to call them off but they couldn’t hear him over the rush of the wind and the pounding of the rain. They were feeding on bloodlust, determined to eradicate the enemy, and they didn’t hear his frantic yelling. Maximus however, did hear him, and he saw with horror the muddy standard that declared de Winter’s army. He was the first one to see the de Moray standard, too, sopping with wet with the colors running. The weather had been so bad that they hadn’t seen either of these banners until they were on top of them. Horrified, Maximus looked around to see that his men were slaughtering the de Winter men, who seemed to be in some disarray. The de Moray men were fighting back a bit more, an effort that increased when a big knight rushed into the skirmish.
Tiberius and Maximus recognized Garran’s horse right away. Kicking aside men, shoving and pushing, they made their way towards Garran, who seemed to be the lone knight in a sea of infantry. It seemed odd, so very odd, and Tiberius began shouting to Garran as soon as he drew near.
“Garran!” he roared. “Garran, hear me!”
Garran saw Tiberius and Maximus as they made their way towards him. He, too, began to kick through the mass of fighting men as he struggled to make his way to them.
“Stop!” Garran shouted. “The men have been instructed not to fight! Stop it or you will slaughter them all!”
Bewildered, Maximus and Tiberius began to shout to the men to stand down. More of de Montfort’s knights heard their cries and, without question, they also began to call for the men to stand down and back off. The storm was now wild overhead, dumping rain in buckets and creating a great swamp that men were slugging around in. Even the chargers were getting stuck in certain spots. As the cry to cease fighting rolled through the ranks, Gallus came riding up, utter confusion and outrage on his features.
“What in the name of Great Bleeding Christ is happening?” he demanded. “Why are you calling for a cessation?”
Tiberius pointed to the mashed de Winter standard. “This is a de Moray and de Winter army,” he said, feeling sickened. “The men have been ordered not to fight, Gallus. We are simply slaughtering them where they stand!”
Gallus was livid. “What do you mean they have been ordered not to fight?” he demanded, looking to Garran, in the slop a few feet away. “What is happening?”
Garran motioned for the de Shera brothers to follow. “Come with me,” he said. “You must come with me.”
Tiberius started to follow but Gallus was not so easy. “Why?” he bellowed across the storm. “Why must we come?”
Garran didn’t have time to explain. “You must come!” he begged. “Please!”
With that, he spurred his charger towards the east, back where the provisions wagons and surgeon were gathered. Horses were corralled and tethered, and someone had hastily erected a tent. Because of the random copse of trees throughout the field they were fighting on, the de Montfort army coming in from the east hadn’t been able to see the tent and the gathered wagons near the crest of the hill. Moreover, the blinding rain had fairly well obscured everything, including all other identifying standards.
With the fighting dying down, Gallus, Maximus, and Tiberius spurred their animals after Garran. The man came to a halt near the half-erected tent, bailing from his charger. He bolted into the tent and the de Shera brothers followed.
The tent was dark and cold but it provided some shelter from the storm. There were two lit tapers throwing weak light into the darkness and as Gallus, Maximus, and Tiberius entered the tent, the first thing they saw was Grayson de Winter on his back. Davyss and Bose were next to him, and Grayson’s youngest son, Hugh, stood at his father’s feet and openly wept. Stricken, Gallus pushed forward, getting water all over the bedroll that Grayson was laying on.
“God’s Bones,” he said, stricken by the sight. “What has happened? Uncle Grayson, what is wrong?”
Bose looked up at him. “I heard the fighting,” he said. “You attacked, did you not?”
Gallus looked at the man, baffled. “We did,” he said simply. “We did not know it was you. We assumed it was Henry’s forces, and correctly so, but we did not know it was only de Winter and de Moray men. Bose, what in the hell is happening?”
Bose sighed heavily. He looked as if he had aged ten years since the last time Gallus had seen him. Rather than answer the question, however, Bose moved his attention to Tiberius. In fact, it seemed as if Tiberius was all he could focus on for the moment.
“Douglass,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Is she well?”
Tiberius nodded. “She is, my lord. Healthy and happy.”
Bose closed his eyes briefly in thanks. “Have you married her?”
“I have.”
Bose accepted that information “Excellent,” he muttered. “Her mother will be delighted.”
Tiberius was comforted that Bose was pleased with his marriage to Douglass but he was also rather edgy as he looked about the tent, peering into dark corners.
“Where is d’Vant?” he asked. “Is he here also?”
Bose shook his head. “Nay,” he said quietly. “He went back to London to inform Henry of Edward’s defection to de Montfort. They should be a few days behind us.”
Tiberius was relieved to hear that but it did nothing to ease his sense of confusion at the entire circumstance. He looked from Bose to Grayson to Davyss and Hugh.
“I see,” he said. “But what is happening? Why was your army ordered to stand down? We charged into them before we saw any standards and I am sorry to say that you have lost men. What in the hell is going on?”
Bose lifted his head, drawing in a deep breath. Exhausted, he scratched his dark head. “We left Wintercroft and headed north to Erith Castle shortly after you left for Isenhall,” he said. He sounded so very weary. “We were outside of Cambridge when we picked up about two thousand French mercenaries who had recently landed to the north of Canvey Island, at the mouth of the Thames. They were traveling east on the orders of Henry. They attacked us at first until we were able to convince them that we are allies of Henry, but we suffered some injury, the results of which you see with Grayson.”
Gallus, Maximus, and Tiberius were listening carefully. “Where are the French?” Gallus wanted to know. “They did not come with you?”
Bose shook his head, throwing a thumb in a southerly direction. “Nottingham,” he said. “We convinced them to wait there for the bulk of Henry’s army coming up from the south. But we knew that de Montfort would be riding hard for Erith and we had to come ahead to tell you that d’Vant’s information was wrong. It is not only the ten thousand French he spoke of. We were told, by the mercenary commanders, that there will be thousands of Teutonic and Irish mercenaries as well, more mercenaries than we believed possible. They are coming soon, Gallus. We cannot stop them.”
Gallus felt rather sickened by the news. “So why are you telling me?” he asked. “You are allied with Henry. He will not like that you have told me this.”
“Is de Montfort with you?”
“He is.”
“Then we will tell him together,” Bose said, sounding defeated. “The truth of the matter is this, de Shera. I owe Henry my very life. I have supported the man under any circumstance, even to the point of being pit against my friends and former allies. But what he is doing is encouraging an invasion of England by foreign forces and this I cannot support. There will soon be more French and Irish and Teutonic men on these shores than Englishmen and it is not something I will tolerate. If only to give England back to the English, I will no longer support Henry and Grayson feels the same way. We are therefore here to join you, Gallus. Will you accept our support?”
Gallus was stunned. He never thought he would hear such words coming from de Moray and the realization was overwhelming. But one thing was abundantly clear. Even though de Moray and de Winter were staunch supporters of the king, and ever had been, he believed de Moray without question. This was not a trap or a ruse. This was a man realizing that England as a country was more important than a king and his foolish whims.
Bose was English and he wanted to protect his country. That fact was as clear as the rain that was falling from the sky. As the wind howled and the thunder rolled, Gallus could only think of one answer.
“With the greatest of pleasure I will accept your fealty, my lord,” he said softly. Then, his gaze moved to Grayson. “Both of you, in fact. Now, tell me what is wrong with Uncle Grayson? How can we help?”
Grayson, hearing his name, rolled his eyes open. He was extremely pale, his skin the color of paste, and his lips had a sickly, blue tinge to them. The man looked like death.
“Where is Maximus?” Grayson asked softly.
Maximus, who had been standing back with Tiberius and absorbing the stunning turn of events, took a few steps forward into the weak light of the taper.
“I am here, Uncle Grayson,” he said. “What may I do for you?”
Grayson’s gaze fell upon the big de Shera knight and his features seemed to relax a bit. “I am glad you are here,” he muttered. Then he groaned a bit, shifting, as if something greatly pained him. “I took a mercenary sword to the back. The wound itself was not terribly bad but a day later, my chest began to hurt terribly. Now, I can hardly draw a breath and it feels as if my entire chest is in a vise. I have had pains in my chest since I was a young man but never like this. This time, it is different and I fear I shall not survive long. I asked de Moray to find you and that is why we are here. I would not let him leave me behind with the rest of the wounded because this is too important. We are here to support de Montfort in the hopes he can give England back to the English but we are also here because I need to speak with all of you. Particularly, I need to speak with you, Maximus.”
Maximus’ brow furrowed. “Why?” he asked. “What may I do for you? Whatever it is, I shall do it.”
Grayson reached out a hand to Maximus and the man took it, holding it tightly. “You can listen to me,” Grayson said, his words soft and nearly slurred. “All I ask is that you listen.”
Maximus nodded, glancing at Davyss as he did. The eldest de Winter son was pale with sorrow. Davyss idolized his father and was undoubtedly crushed by what had happened. When he met Maximus’ gaze, the man could feel the impact of sorrow. He had to look away or be caught up in it.
“I am listening,” Maximus said softly.
Grayson tried to draw in a deep breath but it was nearly impossible. He ended up coughing and causing himself tremendous pain. When the coughing spasms died down, he spoke in raspy tones.
“You are aware that your father, Antoninus, and I were the best of friends,” he said. “We grew up together and we fostered together. Antoninus met your mother, Honey, at a banquet. I was at the same banquet but I did not meet her until hours later and by that time, she was already smitten with your father. Unfortunately, I was smitten with her .”
Maximus glanced at Gallus. They both knew this story. They had heard it before. They had discovered right after Honey’s death that Grayson had always been in love with the woman. He’d said as much. This information was nothing new and they did not want him to distress himself.
“We know,” Maximus said, squeezing Grayson’s hand. “It does not matter to us. You are still Uncle Grayson, a treasured member of our family.”
Grayson looked at Maximus, his old eyes glimmering dully. “Mayhap that his true,” he murmured. “But there is something more you should know, something only your mother and I knew. Maximus, your father was a good man. The best. But, much like Tiberius, he had a wandering eye. In his younger years, there were rumors about him and other women, rumors that your mother chose to ignore. I do not believe she ever told you that about Antoninus. She wanted his sons to view him with the worship of a son. She did not want to taint your view of him with the humiliation of a wife. I am sorry to tell you this, but the rumors of him were true. I saw evidence of it with my own eyes.”
Maximus glanced at Gallus again before looking over his shoulder at Tiberius to see what their reactions were and, as he had suspected, they had none. He returned his attention to Grayson.
“I will not dispute you if you say it is true,” he said, “but I fail to see why you are telling us this now. Our father has been dead for nearly ten years.”
Grayson nodded faintly, closing his eyes because his chest hurt terribly and talking made it worse. But he had to finish what he was about to say. If he died, then the truth died with him. He did not want that to happen. It was selfish of him and he knew it, but he had to speak. The truth had to be known to those it would affect.
“Right after Gallus was born, your father fancied a woman from London, the daughter of a wealthy merchant,” he muttered. “Although he loved Honey a great deal and was very proud of his first son, he could not resist this woman’s charms. He swore that she would be the last mistress in a long line of them, but as time passed and he spent more time in London, Honey became quite distressed about it, enough so that she wrote to her father. Christopher de Lohr, as you know, is not a warlord one would want as an enemy. Christopher told Honey that he would go to London and settle the situation with Antoninus once and for all and while he was in London, I went to Isenhall to comfort Honey. I will admit that it was purely for my own selfish reasons. I was also quite bitter that Antoninus had married the woman I loved yet he treated her very poorly. Your mother was distraught and I comforted her. I also seduced her. She was weak and I took advantage of it. I bedded her and I am not sorry I did it, not in the least. I loved her, Maximus. I loved her very much.”
By this time, Maximus was looking at the man with a mixture of loathing and shock. He was still holding Grayson’s hand and he dropped it, struggling not to become enraged.
“Why do you tell us this?” he demanded. “Is it a death bed confession you give? Do you seek our absolution for your sins against our mother? I will tell you now that I will not forgive you for that, not in the least.”
Gallus wasn’t in control of himself much more than Maximus was but he put his hands on his brother to settle the man down. Maximus tended to get violent when angered and now was not the time. Gallus, too, was looking at Grayson with a good deal of shock and loathing, but he also sensed there was something more to this. He didn’t imagine the man was telling them simply to clear his conscience. There was something more to this confession and that suspicion had him on edge.
“Quiet, Max,” he hissed, settling his brother down. He returned his attention to Grayson. “Why are you telling us this, Grayson? What is your purpose?”
Grayson could see that Gallus and Maximus were outraged by what they’d been told. Behind them, Tiberius simply hung his head and it was difficult to see what his reaction was other than deep sorrow. Saddened to burden these men he loved with such knowledge but spurred onward by an innate need to spill the truth, Grayson continued.
“Hate me if you will,” he said. “I do not blame you. But my purpose in telling you is this. Maximus, you were born nine months after I bedded your mother. Although she is not sure I am your father because she and Antoninus reconciled shortly after my time with her, she long suspected that you are a de Winter and not a de Shera. Look around you, boy. Look at Davyss and Hugh. See how you favor them? Gallus and Tiberius are fair whilst you are darker and meatier. You also carry the supreme de Winter trait of a temper. Davyss has it, as does Hugh. It is entirely possible that you are my son, Maximus, and I wanted you to know that. Before I die, I had to tell you that I have loved you since the moment you were born as my son. Antoninus loved you as his own and he never knew what had happened between Honey and me. You were a de Shera in his eyes and he was proud of you as such, but I was proud of you for another reason. I believe you are my first born son, Maximus. I am sorry to tell you this now, but I must. I pray you do not hate me overly for it.”
Maximus rocked back onto his heels as if he’d been struck. His mouth popped open and he slapped a hand over it as if to keep the scream that was rising in his throat from bursting forth. He was utterly overcome with emotion; shock, dismay, disbelief, sorrow, and grief. Everything he could possibly feel was raining down over him and he bolted up, rushing blindly from the tent before anyone could stop him.
Maximus staggered out into the storm but he didn’t get far. Gallus and Tiberius were behind him, grabbing hold of him, preventing him from running off. Maximus tried to pull away from them but he was unable to. He hadn’t the strength. The shock running through his veins had sapped all of his energy. He could only stand there and hang his head and quiver.
“Max, listen to me,” Gallus said urgently. “He is not sure it is the truth. Even if it is the truth and you are his son, it does not matter. Do you hear? It does not matter in the least!”
Maximus was nearly in tears. “It does matter,” he bellowed. “Did you hear him? I am not a de Shera. I am a de Winter. God, so many things make sense now. I never looked like either of you. I never acted like either of you. It never occurred to me that there was a reason behind the fact that I am different from you and Tiberius. I am and you know it.”
Gallus shook him, gently, but Tiberius pushed Gallus out of the way and grabbed hold of his middle brother. There was so much grief swirling around them, grief mixed up with the wind and the storm, and they were all trying to make sense out of it. Too much had happened on this night, too much to process. But they were trying. God help them, they were trying.
“Max,” Tiberius said. “It does not matter what he said. It does not matter if you have de Winter blood or de Shera blood because we are brothers, do you hear? We are brothers in the heart and in the mind and in the soul, and the words of a dying old man cannot take that away from us. I look at you and I see a man I have admired my entire life. You are The Thunder Warrior, the fighter that all men hope to be. I was born five years after you, enough of an age gap that I was just far enough behind you to be an annoying little brother who worshiped you. I still do. Whatever Grayson said in there can never take that away. Regardless of who your real father is, you are my brother. You are a de Shera and our bond, our brotherhood, is unbreakable. That will never change.”
By this time, Maximus was looking at Tiberius, digesting his words, letting them stop the bleeding of the wound that Grayson had so recently inflicted upon him. Gazing at Gallus and Tiberius as the rain poured and the lightning flashed, he struggled to calm himself.
“Nay,” he finally said. “It will never change. I do not want a dying man’s words to destroy my entire life but I cannot un-hear what I have heard. I cannot erase those words from my head.”
Tiberius still had his hands on him. “If you discovered that I had another father, would it make you feel differently towards me?” he asked. “Would you cease to think of me as your brother?”
Maximus shook his head. “Of course not,” he said. “We are bound by our bonds of love and loyalty. Nothing can ever change that.”
Tiberius shook him gently. “Exactly,” he said quietly. “Nothing can ever change our brotherhood, Max. We are bound for eternity by the de Shera name and our love for one another. As long as we have that, we are invincible.”
Maximus took a deep breath, laboring for calm, laboring to settle Grayson’s words in his mind and the words of Tiberius. His younger brother, the man who was at times so glib and so annoying, was also infinitely wise in his view of the world. His words made so much sense, quenching the sorrow that had filled Maximus. There was still a shadow of sorrow there, a phantom of grief, but Tiberius had managed to tame them. At least, somewhat. Maximus was grateful for that. After a moment, he smiled weakly.
“I have never given you much credit for being so wise,” he said to Tiberius. “You surprise me sometimes.”
Tiberius grinned. “That is a good thing, is it not?” he said. Then, he grasped Maximus’ hand and lifted it up, glove against glove. He held Maximus hand tightly. “We are unbreakable. You are a de Shera, Max, no matter what. Say it with me– I am a de Shera .”
Maximus grunted, reluctantly, but he did as he was asked. “I am a de Shera.”
“Say it louder.”
Maximus grunted again. “I am a de Shera.”
“Louder!”
Maximus lifted his face to the heavens, shouting it into the storm. “I am a de Shera!”
The words were drowned out by the storm but it didn’t matter. Maximus felt better for having said them. He looked at Tiberius again, seeing the man through different eyes.
“You have grown up, Ty,” he muttered, putting a big hand on Tiberius’ cheek. “Somewhere in the past few weeks, you have grown up. I rather like this man you have become.”
Tiberius chuckled, looking between Maximus and Gallus. “I have had the best examples in the world set for me,” he said. Then, he sobered. “What Uncle Grayson said in there about father… mayhap the man had his unsavory traits. I think we all do at some point in our lives. But he is still my father and I still miss him every day.”
Gallus nodded strongly, with feeling. “As do I,” he said. “Nothing Grayson said has changed my mind about Father, or Honey for that matter. Sometimes… well, sometimes we do things in moments of weakness that we never do again. I would like to think that Honey was not a weak woman, at any point in her life. Whatever happened… it does not truly matter.”
As they stood in the rain, pondering their mother’s relationship with Grayson de Winter, they caught movement out of the corner of their eye and saw Davyss standing a few feet away. The knight appeared uneasy, nervous even, as he eyed the de Shera brothers.
“Maximus,” he said, rain dripping off his dark lashes. “I just wanted to say that I am sorry for what my father said. I hope that does not change how you view the House of de Winter. I still view you all as my family. I would be shattered if that is now ruined.”
Gallus shook his head. “It does not change anything,” he said. “We are still strong, Davyss, mayhap now more than ever.”
Davyss was visibly relieved. “Then I am grateful,” he said. “Truly… thank you for your graciousness. But you must forgive me now, as I have also come at the request of my father. He has asked me to ask you if you will grant him a favor.”
Gallus glanced at Maximus before replying. His brother had no discernable reaction so Gallus continued.
“What is it?” he asked.
Davyss appeared uncomfortable again but he responded. “My father wishes to be buried near your mother when he finally passes,” he said. “He has asked if you will consider his request.”
Gallus sighed heavily and looked at Maximus and Tiberius. His brothers were visibly dubious, a reflection of Gallus’ own feelings on the request. It was clear what they all thought about it. Gallus returned his attention to Davyss.
“Although I understand that your father had feelings for my mother, I think it would be disrespectful to my father and your mother to allow it,” Gallus said quietly. “Tell your father I will consider it, but know that, when the time comes, he will be buried in the de Winter crypt and your mother, when she passes, will be buried alongside him. I think you will agree that is the best thing to do.”
Davyss nodded, rather ashamed that deep family secrets had come out this night. “I do,” he said. Then, he hesitated a moment before continuing. “My mother and father have always been cordial to one another but it was not a true love match. Max, I am so sorry about all of this. I had no idea he was going to say what he did. To all of you, again, I am very sorry.”
Gallus held out a hand to the man and he came close, taking the outstretched hand and holding it tightly.
“Davyss, you are not to blame for the passions and indiscretions of our parents in their youth,” Gallus said. “What matters now is that we stay true and honorable to our family names. No matter what your father has said, Maximus is still a de Shera and you are still very close in our hearts. We will fight alongside you now that the winds of loyalty seem to be shifting and we are proud to do so. Now, if you will excuse us, we need to find de Montfort and tell him what de Moray told us. We will continue on to Erith and we will continue to fight to keep England for the English. That is all we can do.”
With that, Gallus, Maximus, and Tiberius turned and headed for their horses as Garran, Bose, and finally Hugh wandered out of the haphazardly-pitched tent, watching as the de Shera brothers mounted their mighty steeds and rode off into the night, off to find de Montfort and off to plan the course of England’s future. For them, family loyalty and the bonds of men who called themselves brothers were stronger than bloodlines. For them, nothing– not even the words of dying men or the mention of past infidelities– could break that bond.
For the men who tamed the lightning, the Lords of Thunder, their bond and their strength would live on into legend. With wives acquired, children to be born, and new children discovered, the House of de Shera was guaranteed to live on from generation to generation, but the greatest generation of the family came in the form of three brothers with an unbreakable connection to one another. Their lives, and their loves, were deeply entrenched in one another and would be forever more.
The de Shera Brotherhood would live on.