Chapter Eleven #3
George and Aimery watched Keller stagger from the hall, heading out through the darkened bailey towards the keep. As they stood there and wondered what more they should do to make amends to Lady de Poyer, from across the room, William, Rhys, and Gart were watching.
The older knights were fairly drunk themselves.
Gart, in fact, was having a difficult time remaining upright.
The tabletop kept trying to rise up and hit him in the face.
Rhys was more exhausted than anything, but William was just plain liquidated.
Everything about him was liquidated and sloshy.
He watched Keller rough up George before leaving the hall.
When the man was gone, he turned to Gart.
“I think that I should follow him to make sure all is well,” he muttered, putting his feet under him in the hopes of being able to stand up and not tip over. “He does not do well when he has had too much to drink.”
Gart was holding on to the tabletop for balance, even though he was seated. “Before you go, tell us the truth of the matter now that de Poyer is out of earshot,” he said. “I have been wanting to ask you this since we arrived. Was it true that Keller was betrothed to Garren le Mon’s widow?”
William nodded gingerly. Too much movement would have him toppling over.
“The Marshal gifted de Poyer with le Mon’s widow,” he confirmed.
“It was reported the le Mon perished in the battle for Lincoln Castle, but that was erroneous information, for Garren le Mon did not die. From what I was told, Keller was fairly in love with the Lady le Mon and her two children. He was looking forward to a beautiful family and when le Mon returned, it nearly destroyed him.”
Gart grunted in response to the sorrowful story.
“I know Garren,” he said quietly. “I, too, was at the battle at Lincoln Castle. Garren was in command of Richard’s troops during the siege, in fact.
But then someone stole le Mon’s armor and got himself killed, so it was naturally assumed that it was le Mon himself.
Thank God it was not true. Garren is a good man. ”
“Indeed he is,” Rhys agreed. “I was at that battle, also, and well remember the rumors of le Mon’s death.
Garren is a much decorated and much respected knight, but then again, so is Keller.
The man should have never let his feelings get involved with a marital contract. Wives are not meant to be loved.”
Gart eyed his blue-eyed friend. “So you do not plan to love your wife when you marry?”
Rhys was stalwart. “I do not plan to marry,” he said firmly. “In our profession, wives are a hindrance.”
“Keller has a wife,” Gart reminded him.
Rhys was firm in his opinion. “The wife came with the castle,” he said. “If I was gifted with such a castle, then I’d take the wife, too. That does not mean I have to fall all over myself, fawning with adoration for the woman. ’Tis foolish, I say. It is demeaning to a man.”
Gart grinned, unusual for the usually stone-faced knight. “I will remind you of that the day you marry,” he said. “I will tell your wife not to expect any affection from you.”
Rhys could see that Gart was teasing him. “The woman would be wise to simply do what I told her to do, when I told her to do it,” he said, feigning a rigid manner. “That is all a woman is good for, anyway.”
Gart opened his mouth but William stopped him from replying. “Idiots, both of you,” he said. “I have a wife whom I adore and I would not have it any other way. Now, if you two louts will excuse me, I am going to make sure Keller doesn’t make an arse out of himself in front of his new wife.”
Gart reached up to grab him before he could move away. “De Poyer must make his own way in this marriage,” he said. “He cannot have you bailing him out of trouble at every turn. He must learn on his own.”
William sighed heavily. “Under normal circumstances I would agree with you,” he said, “but you sat here all afternoon listening to de Poyer tell you about his wife’s brother and how the man beat both of the sisters and abused the family.
Furthermore, you saw what just happened – everyone is very sensitive about the situation in general and Keller is so socially inept that I’m not entirely sure he knows how to deal with skittish women.
He might send them off into fits and then we would have a disaster on our hands. ”
Gart looked up at him, lifting his eyebrows. “I will repeat what I just said,” he muttered. “The man must learn. You must let him find his own way in this marriage.”
He was right. Reluctantly, William sat back down but refused Gart’s offer of more cider.
He’d had enough. So the three knights sat there, reliving memories from when they had all served King Richard in The Levant, telling story after story, laughing at the humorous situations and reveling in the glory of others.
Odd how the death, disease, and destruction of the Third Crusade didn’t enter in to their conversation; at the moment, they could only remember the good times.
Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps not.
Fond memories and warm sands were all they could seem to recall.
It was a good evening of proud and touching recollection.