Prologue #2
Bric was still grinning as he motioned to Morgan and Gareth, who charged off towards the rear of the crowded place in search of a meal for Caius.
Then, Bric, Dashiell, Peter, and Kevin sat down at the table, stealing a chair from a nearby table by pushing a man off of it.
The man plummeted to the dirt floor, leaping to his feet as if ready for a fight, but the sight of Dashiell and Kevin posturing threateningly dampened his sense of revenge.
Triumphant over the stolen chair, Kevin sat down upon it.
“Alice, my sweet, what joys you teach,
With some wine and a good deal of piffle.
My love for you grew,
Until the time that I knew
That Alice had a phallus, ’tis true!”
It was Caius at the end of the table, drunkenly singing a song in his surprisingly glorious baritone.
It was a song only suitable for taverns and when he sang it a second time, they all joined in.
Kevin’s off-key rendition made Bric clap his hand over the man’s mouth midway through.
They’d barely finished the second round when another group of knights neared their table, calling out to Caius as the man sat there and tried to stay upright.
“A wager!” a knight in the gold and green colors of the House of de Rydal called out. As his friends tried to stop him, he brushed them off. “I’ll wager my drunken friend can walk a straight line better than you can, Giant.”
Caius heaved a heavy sigh as he looked over at the knight. He was laughing, indicating a half-unconscious knight he was supporting. Before he could brush them off, Bric was on his feet, kicking the raucous pair away.
“Get out of here, you filthy rats,” he said, shoving at them and slapping one man in the head. “You are no match for The Britannia Viper, so be gone with you.”
Those within ear shot were laughing, including those at the table with Caius.
The challenge had been in good fun and in a place like this, everything was up for a wager.
Earlier in the evening, they’d seen men bet on who would vomit first from all of the ale they’d been drinking.
Then it was a bet on how far the vomit would go.
That’s what made a place like this so much fun and, in truth, so very dangerous.
William Marshal didn’t like his men to visit the place.
There were no rules at The Pox.
Bric turned back to the table, grinning.
“Idiots,” he muttered.
Peter de Lohr looked at him, exasperated. “Why did you chase them off?” he demanded. “It would have been certain money!”
As Bric snorted at him, Caius held up a hand. “Mayhap not,” he said. “I am not entirely sure I can stand right now, much less walk a straight line, so mayhap it is best we do not tempt fate. Let us eat our meal and be done with this place. I have a strong urge to find my bed and stay there.”
Peter grinned at a man he’d not known a long time, but someone he had come to admire a great deal.
He knew that Caius had served Richard the Lionheart in The Levant, part of the close circle of the king’s trusted men that included Peter’s father, Christopher de Lohr.
Caius was jovial and witty at times, and great fun to be around, but that was deceiving.
He was also one of the most brilliant, deadly tacticians around, and in battle he was unmatched.
His reputation was so well-known that the Saracen commanders called him Britania Faybr –
The Britannia Viper.
He was big, fast, and deadly.
“If you are bedding down at The Marshal’s townhome, then you must tell him you got drunk somewhere other than The Pox,” Peter said.
“And you must not, under any circumstances, tell him that I was with you. He will tell my father and the man will ride all the way from the Welsh Marches to take a stick to me. You remember what happened last year when he found out I had come here. With my sister, no less.”
Caius grunted with humor. In fact, they all did.
“You mean Lady de Sherrington?” Caius said, referring to Peter’s younger sister, Christin, who had enjoyed a stellar career as part of William Marshal’s spy ring until she married one of the best agents The Marshal had in Alexander de Sherrington.
“I hear your father has made her remain at Lioncross Abbey Castle and refuses to let her out.”
Peter smirked. “I believe it has more to do with the fact that she has just had a child and not because he is trying to cage her,” he said.
“Sherry agrees with him, though he has remained with my father in command of his army since the passing of my father’s captain, Jeffrey Kessler.
In any case, when my father found out I permitted Christin to come to The Pox, he yelled at me for two days. ”
Caius snorted. “You survived.”
“Barely. Being scolded by my father is not pleasant, Cai.”
Caius wagged a finger at him. “You forget that I served with your father in The Levant,” he said. “Christopher de Lohr is terrifying in any shape or form. And why are you not in command of your father’s army? Why Sherry? Aren’t you his heir?”
Peter shook his head. “Nay, I’m not.”
“But you are his eldest son.”
Peter nodded. “I am, but I’m his bastard,” he said quietly. When Caius gave him a blank expression, he smiled wryly. “Did you not know that?”
Caius was trying to think on that, but his alcohol-soaked brain refused to work properly. “I do not know,” he said. “Mayhap I heard that, once, but I cannot recall.”
Peter became mildly subdued from his boisterous behavior just moments before.
“He did not even know of me until I was eight years of age,” he said.
“My mother, the woman who gave birth to me, died in an accident and I came to live with him. My father’s earldom will go to my brother, Curtis.
He is the eldest son of my father and his wife, Dustin. ”
Caius cocked his head, curious, trying not to fall over when he did so. “You call Lady de Lohr your mother. I suppose I did not realize that she was not.”
Peter shook his head. “She is not, but she has raised me as her own,” he said. “She never treated me any differently. To me, she is my mother. I was fortunate enough to have two.”
Caius stared at him a moment before shrugging. “I have known your father for many years and now I feel like a fool,” he said. “Forgive me, Peter. If I was told this, I do not recall.”
Peter remained subdued a moment longer as if reflecting on the lot life had dealt him, as the bastard son – and eldest child – of a great earl, before forcing a smile.
“It does not matter,” he said. “Even though I do not inherit the earldom, my father has made it so that I will inherit property, so I will certainly not be destitute. Curt will make an excellent earl when the time comes.”
They were cut off from further conversation as the food began to arrive.
Morgan and Gareth were followed by a veritable parade of servants who began to put all manner of food on the table before them.
Big trenchers full of boiled beef and carrots, and crispy cakes made from diced parsnips, onions, and egg, fried in fat until they were golden-brown were laid out.
There were also smaller bowls with onions and gravy poured over chunks of stale bread.
In all, it was quite a feast and the knights dug into the food.
Everyone at the table had more wine with their meal except for Caius, who had boiled apple juice with cinnamon and cloves and honey in it.
A serving wench brought a big pitcher of it and he drank liberally as he stuffed his face with the succulent beef.
In truth, he wasn’t feeling much like eating and his head was swimming, but he knew the food and fruit juice would help him get his equilibrium back enough so that he could walk the half-mile back to William Marshal’s townhome of Farringdon House.
He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to tell The Marshal about where he’d been – where they’d all been – but he’d think of something. He was, if nothing else, resourceful.
Unfortunately, time was not on his side.
As Caius and the other men devoured the meal and the good bread that a wench had brought to the table, the front door of the tavern lurched open and the moldy, stale smell of the river wafted in on the evening breeze.
It pushed aside the smoke of the place, mingling with it to create a nauseating stench.
But the open tavern door revealed two more of The Marshal’s men, pushing through the crowd. They were clearly searching for their own kind and spied them just about the time Caius glanced up from his meal. Before he could react, Kevin, sitting next to him, was on his feet.
“Over here!” he said, lifting an arm to wave the pair of knights over. “Have my seat, Sean. I’ll get another.”
Sir Sean de Lara was Kevin’s older brother.
An enormous man with a fearsome reputation, he was wearing a cloak with a hood up over his head because, unlike The Marshal’s men who moved about freely, Sean was not privileged enough to do that.
He did, indeed, serve William Marshal, but he served the man in the capacity of the personal bodyguard to the king, keeping an eye on the king and being privy to the king’s inner circle, so moments when he publicly mingled with The Marshal’s men were rare.
Normally, Sean kept tightly to John’s side as a terrifying henchman known as the Lord of the Shadows, whose loyalties publicly were with John.
Whatever dirty deed the king wished, Sean would do.
But privately, he was a spy who served William Marshal and as a mole to the king, his work was invaluable.
Invaluable and reputation-destroying.
But tonight, he had come away from his post, and it was a moment not lost on Caius. In fact, it concerned him to simply see the man.
“Wait,” he said, stopping Kevin as he went to throw another man off a chair and confiscate it. He turned to Sean. “I am assuming you’ve not come to join us.”