Chapter Nineteen
Ramsbury Castle
Wiltshire
Dashiell was sitting in the very large solar of Ramsbury Castle, one used by the Dukes of Savernake for generations. Presently, it belonged to the current duke, Bentley de Vaston, and the man was seated at one end of a very large, cluttered table whilst Dashiell was seated at the other.
Dogs milled about the solar, looking for any scraps of food left over from the night before, while two servants tried to unblock the hearth that was billowing clouds of smoke into the chamber.
But Dashiell and Bentley weren’t paying attention to the distractions; they were both working on tasks, with Bentley scribing a missive to William Marshal and Dashiell studying a map that showed the entire southern portion of England.
He was studying it with a purpose because the day before, they’d received a message from William Marshal that was about to shape the course of their next few months.
Another battle was on the horizon.
It would seem the rebels, still reeling from the defeat at Lincoln, had moved south and were starting to converge near Dover in Kent, shores that could easily receive supply ships from France.
It was serious news because it meant they weren’t defeated, or even finished as far as that went.
It meant the French intended to stay. As Dashiell studied the map and the roads that would become the Savernake army’s path into Kent, another figure entered the solar.
Enormous, with dark blond hair and eyes of the clearest blue, Sir Sean de Lara was the man who had brought the news of the rebel movements from William Marshal.
Sean was part of the de Lara family, the Lords of the Trilateral castles along the Welsh Marches, but Sean’s status in the annals of England’s politics went far beyond being a mere member of a prestigious family.
He was one of William Marshal’s most trusted spies.
A spy who had been placed with King John for many years, earning the king’s trust and becoming the man known as Lord of the Shadows – the bodyguard for the king, whom all men feared.
Sean had earned himself a terrible reputation during his tenure as John’s bodyguard, becoming known as someone who would do anything the king told him to do – kill, abduct, or anything else that came from John’s twisted mind.
It had been a horrific assignment for the moral and ethical de Lara, who’d had to put all of that aside in order to earn that terrible reputation so he could spy on the king for William Marshal.
The information he’d killed, begged, or stolen to obtain had saved the rebel cause against John too many times to count.
His position had been invaluable and he knew it, but the personal cost to him had been great.
Sean de Lara had become a monster.
But that monster had been slain two years ago when his true identity had been discovered and he’d nearly been killed by John’s assassins because of it.
Yet, for a man as strong and seasoned as de Lara, it hadn’t ended him.
He’d come back into William Marshal’s fold as the Marshal’s greatest spy and advisor, only now he was actually working with those he was allied with rather than pretending he was against them.
“So you have finally decided to rise this morning,” Dashiell said as the man approached the table. “You’ve become lazy in your old age.”
Sean snorted. “And you’ve become foolish in yours,” he returned. “It was not you who rode forty-three miles yesterday. I have earned my rest, du Reims.”
Dashiell pulled up a stool for the man. “So you have,” he said. “Bent is writing a missive to Marshal as we speak, but I did not ask you last night how soon you will be returning to the Marshal. Will you be leaving today so that you may take the missive with you?”
Sean sat down on the stool but not before sending the nearest manservant for food and drink. He grunted wearily as he planted his backside on the wooden seat, his gaze moving to the map Dashiell had laid out on the table.
“Nay,” he said. “I only stopped at Ramsbury because I was on my way home to see my wife. I’ve not seen her or my children in two months, so the Marshal gave me permission to see them before I am tied down to the army in Kent.
God’s Bones, I would like for this to be the last time for a very long while.
I am tired of spending all of my time with the army while my children grow up. ”
Dashiell understood his position. With his own wife pregnant with their first child, leaving her now did not thrill him. “My wife is due to deliver our child in the next month,” he said. “I do not wish to be with the army in Kent, fighting off the damnable French, when my son is born.”
“Hopefully, you will not be.”’
“Tell me of your children, Sean. We’ve not had a chance to talk about them.”
Sean smiled faintly, a big dimple carving into his left cheek.
“I have three girls,” he said. “The twins, Lorica and Lorelle, are the eldest. They were barely a year old when my third daughter was born. Her name is Evangeline and she is a holy terror. Had she been a boy, she would have made a magnificent knight.”
Dashiell grinned. “Three girls,” he said, lifting eyebrows. “Thank God you have the de Lara wealth to support the dowries you will need.”
Sean couldn’t disagree. “If you have a son, then we must speak. Evie will need a husband someday.”
Dashiell looked at him in disbelief. “Marry my son to the Holy Terror? You must be mad.”
“I will pay you handsomely.”
Dashiell started to laugh. “Then I may consider it,” he said. “But we have time enough to discuss it later. Right now, I am more concerned about moving my army into Kent. So the Marshal is very sure that Prince Louis is bringing over a fleet from his father?”
Sean sobered as he looked at the map. “Aye,” he said.
“We have intercepted messages between Louis and his father. There is a fleet coming, supported by French nobles, and unless we want a massive war on English soil, we are calling all English warlords to Kent and to ensure that fleet never makes it to the shore. This is serious, Dash. I cannot stress it enough.”
It was a gloomy situation they were facing. Dashiell shook his head, disappointed.
“After the battle at Lincoln, I thought the Marshal was negotiating with Louis for peace,” he said. “What happened?”
Sean’s expression turned bitter. “They simply could not come to an agreement,” he said.
“Louis has too many stipulations, too many men he wants pardoned or, worse still, given lands in England. The Marshal has denied him most of his demands, and Louis has resolved to fight on. We only recently received news about the incoming fleet and we suspect it will be docking somewhere at or near Dover.”
Dashiell was looking at the map, which included most of Kent and Dover.
“I was very much hoping Lincoln would be the last of it,” he said.
“It seems as if we’ve not even seen the worst of it yet if Louis is waiting for a fleet to support him.
That means new and fresh men, Sean. Our warlords are exhausted from years of heavy fighting. ”
Sean knew that. “We will have to take a last stand at Dover,” he muttered.
“It was a chance we took inviting the French over in the first place to help us defeat John, but we have a new king and no longer any need for French support. Still, Louis cannot understand that. He wants what we have promised him and I cannot say that I blame him, but promising him the throne of England was done in desperation. We are no longer desperate and we must push the French away once and for all. If we do not, I fear we will lose our country.”
It was a terrifying thought. Bentley was listening now; he had a new son, and a new position as the Duke of Savernake, and he didn’t want to risk any of that.
Bentley was a good man and the Savernake dukedom was in good hands after he married the heiress last year.
The more he heard the conversation between Sean and Dashiell, the more concerned he became.
“Has the Marshal put out a call to everyone, Sean?” he asked from across the table. “I cannot imagine that he would not summon every warlord in England.”
Sean looked to the young and handsome duke.
“Everyone, my lord,” he said. “The de Lohr brothers, Worcester and Canterbury, are already in Kent, heading for Dover, as is Arundel and nearly everyone else from the south of England. It takes longer, of course, to send word to the far reaches of the country, which is why he asked me to stop at Ramsbury. He would like to see Savernake’s army move out within the week. ”
Dashiell was looking at Bentley; the two were close friends and had served together for many years. If they couldn’t read each other’s minds these days, then they were close to it. Dashiell said what Bentley was thinking.
“We shall be ready,” he said quietly. “Have you sent word to East Anglia and Norfolk? My father should be mobilizing his army, and Norfolk has de Winter at its head. You must have their strength.”
Before Sean could reply, a Savernake soldier appeared in the doorway of the solar, knocking on the doorjamb in the open portal.
“My lord?” the soldier said. “Beg pardon for interrupting, but we received a missive from Narborough Castle. It is for Dashiell.”
Dashiell stood up and went to the door. “Speaking of de Winter,” he said ironically.
He took the missive and sent the soldier away, breaking the seal as he headed back to the table.
“It is probably from Bric, wanting to know when our army is departing for Kent. Surely they have already been informed.”