Prologue #3
As Sean shook his head, the second Marshal knight came to stand next to him.
Maxton of Loxbeare was one of the original Executioner Knights, a specialty group of assassins within The Marshal’s stable.
A big man with dark hair and dark eyes, he was unpredictable and dangerous, which made him the perfect assassin.
He was also deeply loyal to his fellow knights and a man of great command ability.
He came alongside the table, his focus on Caius.
“We thought we’d find you here,” Maxton said, looking with some disapproval around the table. “Don’t you lot know better than this? If The Marshal finds out, there will be hell to pay.”
A lecture from Maxton was not meant to be taken lightly and those at the table tried not to look guilty. Except for Caius; he and Maxton were very old and very good friends. Maxton was the perfect assassin, but Caius could match him and then some. There was great mutual respect.
He grunted at the man.
“You and I and Kress and Achilles have been in worse places than this,” he muttered, mentioning the names of the other Executioner Knights. “Do you recall that place in Iskenderun? The one by the sea where all of the Black Sea pirates would haunt?”
The corner of Maxton’s mouth twitched with a smile at the memory. “We are not speaking of Iskenderun.”
Caius reached up and grabbed his arm, shaking it as if to pull the man in on the humorous and frightening memories.
“Aye, we are,” he said deliberately. “Remember the woman who wandered the place in her big, dark robes and would strike up a conversation with a man only to have her children emerge from under her robes and rob the man blind? She did it to Achilles and he thought her children were midgets. Remember? He tried to fight one of them and then realized he was doing battle with a ten-year-old boy who nearly bested him.”
Maxton couldn’t hold back the grin. “Shut your lips, you drunkard. We are not here to discuss Achilles’ failings as a warrior.”
When it came to their friend and comrade, Achilles de Dere, no insult was too great. Caius burst into laughter as Sean watched with mild amusement.
“Cai,” he said. “If I were you, I would sober up quickly. The Marshal has asked to see you.”
They were back on the subject of Sean and Maxton’s appearance. Caius looked at him. “Sean, my beauteous lad,” he said. “I see two of you and you are twice as gorgeous. But you can see that I am clearly in no position to face The Marshal.”
Sean looked at Maxton, who shook his head and looked away, grinning. “How did you get so drunk?” Sean demanded. “I’ve seen you drink bottle after bottle of wine and feel nothing. What in the hell is the matter with you?”
Caius cocked a dark eyebrow and pointed to the men around the table. “You have these jackasses to thank,” he said. “They bet a man rumored to be the heir to the House of de Wrenville that I could outdrink him. Well, I did. I won. Now we are all richer for it.”
The smiles vanished off the faces of Maxton and Sean.
“The de Wrenville heir,” Maxton repeated hesitantly. “Marius de Wrenville?”
Caius lifted his shoulders. “I do not know his name,” he said. “And I do not care. So long as I have his money.”
Maxton began to look around the room, over the sea of human filth. “Where is he?”
Caius shrugged. “I do not know,” he said. “He could not hold his drink and his men dragged him away.”
Maxton and Sean looked at each other. Then, they moved to sit down around the table, pulling up chairs and calling for more food.
“Cai, eat what you can,” Maxton said, sighing heavily. “We need to sober you up before you see The Marshal.”
Caius lifted his cup of juice. “I am already ahead of you,” he said. But even drunk, he could see the expressions on their faces and there was concern there. “Why? What is the matter that The Marshal needs to speak with me about?”
Maxton simply shook his head as Sean answered. “I am not sure how to tell you this, but Marius de Wrenville is a favored of the king.”
Caius’ eyebrows lifted. “That arrogant little pup?”
“The same.”
Caius went back to his food. “No offense to you, Sean, but the king is not known for his taste in companions.”
Sean accepted a cup of the strong Portuguese wine from his brother. “True enough, but de Wrenville is having trouble with a neighbor and he has the king’s ear.”
“Why should that concern me?”
“That is what The Marshal wishes to speak with you about.”
Something in that statement seemed to sober Caius up dramatically. His head was still swimming, but something in the way Sean had said it seemed to bring forth his reasoning side without benefit of the drink wearing off. Suddenly, he was quite serious.
Something was afoot.
“I am not returning to Richmond Castle, am I?”
Sean shook his head. “Not right away,” he said. “But you have not lost your command if that is what you are asking.”
“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
At that moment, more food was put on the table and the knights began to grab at it. Sean didn’t answer right away, waiting for the wenches to depart. But Caius was watching Sean and Maxton over the tabletop, his black eyes fixed on them, unblinking.
The viper’s stare.
“Answer me, Sean. What is amiss?”
“Eat your food,” Maxton said, taking his attention off Sean. “The sooner you eat, the sooner you will sober up and the sooner you will find out. Do not ask us again to tell you; that must come from The Marshal and you know it. We do not have permission to speak of it.”
Caius did know it, but it didn’t make him happy. “But you know.”
“We know.”
“Describe the situation in one word and I’ll not ask again.”
Sean sighed heavily, looking to Maxton, who was fixed on Caius.
“Trouble.”