Chapter One
CHAPTER ONE
1258 A.D.
Isenhall Castle
“H e is in Coventry being pursued by de Montfort’s agents. We must ride.”
The quietly muttered statement came from Tiberius de Shera. Extremely tall, with a crown of soft, dark curls and enormous shoulders, he was the youngest of the de Shera brother trio. He spoke to his brothers, Maximus and Gallus, as they gathered in the small, vaulted-ceilinged solar of Isenhall’s enormous block-shaped keep. Tiberius’ brothers, however, seemed a bit perplexed at Tiberius’ hurried statement.
“ Who is in Coventry?” Gallus, the eldest of the three, asked. “Whom do you speak of?”
Tiberius appeared quite serious, unusual for the usually jovial knight. He was young, that was true– five years younger than middle brother Maximus, who himself had seen thirty-two years– but Tiberius had always been a mixture of knightly maturity and boyish charm. It was an unusual combination because the knight in him was the best England had to offer. The boy in him was one who could easily find himself on the painful end of a brotherly beating. But the older de Shera brothers had learned long ago to trust Tiberius’ knightly instincts, which is why when he spoke of a serious matter, they listened closely.
“De Moray,” Tiberius answered. “There is a young man in the bailey who has raced all the way from Coventry. Garran sent a boy with a message– Garran, his father, and a sister were traveling south to their home in Dorset and realized they were being followed by de Montfort men. Now they are barricaded at Coventry and we must save them. They are in trouble.”
De Moray is in trouble . That brief explanation clarified the situation quite a bit and the older de Shera brothers began to move. Already, they were heading to the entry of the keep where beyond, in the small and crowded bailey, were located the stables and the armory. There was a sense of urgency as the battle lords, men known as the Lords of Thunder, moved with purpose.
“Were they traveling alone?” Maximus de Shera, the middle brother, demanded. He was a forceful man, curt and to the point at times. “De Moray knows better than to travel without an escort, especially in these times and especially that close to Kenilworth. Did he not think de Montfort men would be about and not recognize him?”
Tiberius was concerned for his close friend, Garran de Moray, son of the great knight Bose de Moray. Up until a few months ago, Garran had been sworn to the House of de Shera and, consequently, Simon de Montfort’s cause as the man wrested the power of the nation from Henry III during these dark and turbulent times. But Garran’s father, Bose, had been the Captain of the Guard for Henry when the king had been very young. It was a bond that had formed way back then. Henry had even saved Bose’s life once.
Therefore, during this conflict, there was no question which side the great de Moray would support and the father had asked the son to ride with him, as he did not want to lift a sword against his own son in battle. Garran, even though he disagreed with Henry’s politics, agreed to support his father. It had been a sad parting with the House of de Shera. But Garran was still one of their knights as far as the de Shera brothers were concerned, which meant that they would ride to his aid no matter what.
“I have no idea what Bose de Moray was thinking as he passed through Coventry,” Tiberius answered his brother’s question. “Mayhap he was coming to Isenhall to visit us or mayhap he was simply heading home. Whatever the reason, we must put our questions aside and extract the man and his family from Coventry before de Montfort’s assassins get to them.”
They all agreed on that point. Out in the tightly-packed bailey, it was early morning and the sky above was already crisp and blue. The past week had been rather warm and this day promised to be no different. The weather had been quite wonderful and the ground was dry, free from the usual mud that plagued it. As Maximus headed to the knights’ quarters to rouse the stable of de Shera knights, Gallus and Tiberius headed to the armory to dress for the occasion.
The air in the armory was stale and warm, so by the time Gallus and Tiberius finished dressing in their usual protection of mail and pieces of plate, they were sweating rivers. Tiberius also smelled rather bad because he tended to sweat quite a bit and he hadn’t bathed in a while, so he was sure that noxious odor wafting upon the air was him. He kept sniffing the air and making faces, which eventually prompted his brother to push him out of the armory altogether. Stumbling out of the door, Tiberius turned to his brother, perplexed and insulted.
“Why did you do that?” he demanded.
Gallus shook his head, waving a hand at him. “Because you smell like a rotted corpse,” he said. “Why do you not bathe once in a while?”
Tiberius cocked a dark eyebrow. “What for?” he asked. “I do not have a woman in my bed like you and Max do. I do not need to smell sweet for anyone.”
Gallus fought off a grin. “Someday you may want to attract a woman,” he said as he pulled on his heavy gloves. “All you will manage to do is chase her off with that terrible stench. Besides, you know that certain smells make my wife nauseous in her current state. If you make her vomit because you refuse to bathe, I will take a stick to you.”
Tiberius eyed his beloved eldest brother. Gallus de Shera was the Earl of Coventry and the Lord Sheriff of Worcester, a title he had worked hard to achieve. He was a man in his prime, the eldest of the most powerful trio of brothers, and Tiberius adored him. More than that, he believed him when Gallus said he would take a stick to him if he upset his pregnant wife. With a grin, Tiberius moved away from the armory.
“Then I shall stay away from her,” he said to Gallus as he walked away, “but I will stick close to you to make sure you smell me until the bitter end.”
He could hear Gallus calling after him. “You shall drive the enemy away without even lifting your sword,” he shouted. “One smell of you will knock them on their arses!”
Tiberius laughed softly as he headed towards the stables. His middle brother, Maximus, was just emerging. Baron Allesley, otherwise known as Maximus de Shera, was a very big, very powerful man who had recently married. His wife was a lovely woman who seemed to have the ability to tame the savage beast in Maximus because Tiberius had never seen his brother so content or so happy. Or calm, for that matter. The usually curt, rude, and aggressive man he’d known all of these years was now tempered by a slip of a woman. But the fighter in him, that warrior that men feared so much, was still as deadly as ever.
“We are taking a light force with us,” Maximus said as he drew near Tiberius. “Both de Wolfe brothers and du Bois are already saddling their horses and I’m having twenty soldiers mount up and ride with us. That should be enough.”
Tiberius moved past the man, heading into the stables. “The sooner, the better,” he said. “There is no time to waste.”
Maximus, who was heading towards the keep, kept walking as he let out a hissing sound. “God’s Bones, Ty,” he said, putting his fingers to his nose. “There is a cloud of lethal odor following behind you, engulfing everything in its wake. If you do not bathe upon our return, I will put you in the tub myself and scrub you until you can no longer offend anyone.”
Tiberius didn’t say anything but he made a face at his brother as he entered the stable, his stench mingling with the smell of horses and hay. He was coming to think that, perhaps, he should bathe at some point soon because he knew Maximus would follow through on his threat. But he pushed those thoughts aside as a groom brought forth his big, gray dappled, Belgian charger. In a time when war horses were not commonly used for travel, Tiberius rode one horse and one horse only, even though he personally owned several. But the big Belgian stallion had two attributes that Tiberius liked best– he was oddly calm for a war horse until he was in the heat of battle and he had a pleasing traveling gait that was quite comfortable. Those two factors made him Tiberius’ favorite horse. He affectionately greeted the big gray steed with the black mane and tail.
“Storm,” he addressed the horse, scratching the animal on the ears because he liked it. “Did you have your morning gruel, old man?”
The groom who had brought the horse nodded to the question. “He likes his cold gruel, my lord,” he agreed. “He ate a bucketful of the stuff.”
Tiberius grinned and slapped the animal on the neck before mounting the beast. The horse loped from the stables and out into the bailey where men were gathering and Tiberius quieted the soldiers down, explaining what they would soon be doing. Garran de Moray was in trouble and needed assistance. Tiberius presented the boy who had brought the news and had the young man repeat the message, his youthful voice echoing off the old, circular perimeter walls of Isenhall Castle as he told the hardened de Shera men of the situation.
Tiberius was usually the brother to handle the men while Gallus and Maximus would handle other aspects of their warring life; with Gallus, it was leadership and politics and with Maximus, it was logistics and tactics. Tiberius was the brother who had the ear of the men, the one who allowed himself to become friendly with the soldiers and knights. He had a bit of an unprotected heart which, in his profession, could be a problem at times, but Tiberius never let it interfere with his sense of duty. He was a de Shera to the core and a de Shera always knew his duty.
Maximus soon joined him, coming out of the armory along with Gallus, but Gallus headed into the keep as Maximus went to join the men. They gathered near the gatehouse of Isenhall, a squat, box-like structure that was impenetrable. It had double portcullises and enough murder holes from the second floor above the gatehouse passage to effectively kill anyone trying to enter through the gatehouse. Those old stones had seen decades, even centuries, of death and peace. As the heavily-armed group awaited the earl, Gallus emerged from the keep being trailed by several women and two big dogs.
Taranis, the massive black dog that belonged to Gallus’ young daughters, trotted out with his companion, Henry, a very large, leggy mutt that Maximus’ wife had adopted during their stay in Oxford a few months prior. The two dogs were good friends and excellent protectors for the women, whom they were very attached to. Henry even had a penchant for sleeping on Maximus’ side of the bed, next to his wife, and then growling at Maximus when the man tried to claim his place. There had been a few nights since their marriage back in May when Maximus had been forced to endure the dog sleeping between them.
But it didn’t matter, truthfully. Dog or no, Maximus was deeply and endlessly in love with his wife, Lady Courtly. He caught sight of the woman as she emerged from the keep with Gallus’ youngest daughter, Lily, on her hip and he immediately headed in her direction to bid her a sweet farewell.
Gallus already had his pregnant wife in one hand and was leading his oldest daughter, Violet, with the other. The children were Gallus’ from his first marriage but the girls were young enough that they had taken to Jeniver right away. It was a happy collection of women, girls, and dogs who had come to bid the de Shera men a farewell, but there was one obvious omission– the de Shera brothers’ mother, the Lady Honey.
“It seems odd,” Tiberius muttered to Sir Stefan du Bois, on a horse next to him, “not to see my mother here, giving us a speech about accomplishing our task because we are de Sheras. She was as much a part of this army as any of us are.”
Stefan, son of the great knight Maddoc du Bois, looked away from Gallus and Maximus and their wives and focused on the man who was his distant cousin as well as his friend.
“It will seem strange for a while, I suppose,” he said quietly. Young and very brilliant, he had a deep and succinct voice. “It certainly is not the same without her.”
Tiberius’ gaze drifted over the collection of de Shera men and women. “Honey was only able to meet Jeniver,” he said. “I believe she would have loved Courtly very much. It saddens me that she will never see all of this, this empire she helped create and the decent people within it. I have never felt her loss more strongly than I do at this moment.”
Stefan nodded in agreement. “She is here,” he spoke confidently. “You simply cannot see her. She is here, as she has always been, overseeing the bailey. Watch, now say something foolish and see if a bird does not drop shite on your head in punishment. That is Lady Honey showing you her disapproval.”
Tiberius laughed softly, turning to look at his young cousin. “You know exactly how to cheer me up, do you not?” he said. Then he sighed heavily and spurred his charger forward. “No more delays, Stefan. Move the men out of the gatehouse and find de Moray’s messenger. He will ride with us. I will go and collect my brothers.”
Stefan immediately took up the command, as did the other two knights. Sir Scott de Wolfe and his twin, Sir Troy de Wolfe, took up the cry as well and soon the collection of heavily-armed de Shera men were moving out of the gatehouse, squeezing through the narrowed passage and beneath the twin portcullises, emerging on the other side. Meanwhile, Tiberius was separating his brothers from their wives and children, which proved to be a bigger task than he had anticipated.
“Lovers and ladies,” he said in his usual flippant tone, “there are men who will not wait for you and men who mayhap cannot wait for you, so it is with great regret that I encourage you to mount your horses and come with me quickly. De Moray is in need of us.”
Gallus kissed his daughters and his wife, in that order, before swiftly mounting his steed. “We should not be gone too long,” he told his wife, who was gazing up at him, gingerly rubbing her rounded belly. “I would anticipate we shall be home by sup. Make sure you prepare for guests.”
“Ty!” Lily, Gallus’ youngest, was calling from Courtly’s arms. “Ty, I come with you!”
Lily has just seen her fourth year, a feisty, little girl who was rather attached to her Uncle Tiberius, but Tiberius sadly shook his head.
“Nay, Lee Lee, my dearest love,” he said regretfully. “You cannot come. If you do, who will stay with Taranis?”
Lily, or “Lee Lee”, as she was known to the family, immediately looked to the dog that was bigger than she was, sitting patiently a few feet away. Thankfully distracted, she slithered out of Courtly’s arms and went to the dog, putting her arms around his neck and hugging him. But just as Lily was diverted, Violet spoke up.
“We are strong,” she informed her uncle. “I have a pony. I can ride with you!”
Again, Tiberius shook his head as if deeply saddened that he had to deny her. “Not this time, my lovely Vi,” he said. “Mayhap another time. You still do not have a sword. You cannot fight without a sword.”
Five-year-old Violet knew that it was true. She looked at Jeniver, bewildered, and Jeniver took her hand and smiled.
“Let them go this time,” Jeniver said in her sweet, gentle voice. “I would be happy if you would stay here with me. Let us go back inside and draw. Remember that we were drawing flowers yesterday? Let us continue. We will draw a beautiful picture for your Papa by the time he returns home.”
That seemed to interest Violet enough and she took off running towards the keep with Lily and the dogs racing after her. The dogs were barking and chasing the girls as the adults watched with some relief. Courtly was the first one to speak.
“Hurry and go,” she said, waving her hands at the knights. “Violet is probably going in search of a sword to use, so hurry and leave while you can.”
With a grin, Tiberius reined his steed about and headed off towards the gatehouse. Gallus blew a kiss at his wife and followed as Maximus brought his big, black and white warhorse alongside his wife and bent over in the saddle, kissing her sweetly, before following his brothers out of the bailey. When they were finally through the gatehouse, both portcullises began to close, the chains and ropes grinding, and sentries upon the walls shouting that the walls and gatehouse were now secured.
From the noise and chaos of armed men moments earlier, the sudden silence was almost disorienting. Hollow, even, now that the men were gone. Courtly turned to Jeniver.
“Come along, my lady,” she said, holding out a hand to her sister-in-law and friend. “Let us get you inside so you may lie down and rest. Your son needs his sleep.”
Jeniver smiled as she took Courtly’s hand, the sister she never had, her beautiful blond hair wrapped up in a stylish braid encircling her head. Courtly’s blond against Jeniver’s black was about as different as it could be. From nearly the beginning of their association those months ago in Oxford, different or no, they had been inseparable best friends.
“My son is already as big as an ox,” she said, rubbing her swollen belly. “I cannot imagine that I have two more months to go. I already feel as if I am going to burst open.”
Courtly smiled, putting her hand on Jeniver’s belly as the women headed towards the keep. “Is Bhrodi kicking today?”
Jeniver nodded. “Constantly,” she said, weary. “He kicks more when he hears the horses. I do believe he wants to be a knight already.”
Courtly nodded as they took the big, wide, stone steps that led up into the keep. “He is not yet born and already a knight,” she said. “He is a de Shera. He will be born with spurs on his feet and a sword in his hand.”
Jeniver looked at her, horrified. “God’s Bones, I hope not,” she said. “That would be most painful.”
Courtly giggled. “I am afraid it will be painful in any case,” she said. Then, she sobered. “But have no fear. I will be by your side. I will not leave you.”
Jeniver squeezed her hand as they entered the dark, cool innards of the keep. “I am comforted,” she said. “I would be lying if I said that I was not apprehensive, but I do not tell Gallus that. He is more apprehensive than I am.”
The darkened interior of Isenhall’s keep drew them into the reception room, the first room one came to when entering the keep. It was low-ceilinged but very comfortable, with chairs, benches, a table, and a big, bright fire in the hearth. This is where the wealth of the de Sheras began to come evident. Courtly directed Jeniver into a chair near the hearth as the children and the dogs played several feet away.
“Men are terrified of childbirth,” Courtly said. “They fear it more than anything. Gallus wants a healthy son and a healthy wife. I will do my very best to ensure he receives both. We have already spoken to the best midwife in Coventry and the woman will be attending you this birth, so you have little to fear. All will be well.”
Jeniver gazed up at Courtly, her brown eyes unnaturally dark against her porcelain-like face. “But if it is not,” she murmured, “you will promise me something.”
Courtly didn’t like it when the conversation about the impending birth turned serious. She was secretly more terrified than any of them because, as the only woman at Isenhall, she was expected to attend to the birth. She felt as if all expectations of the entire de Shera family line were resting on her and the pressure was immense. It was difficult enough for her to keep up her courage without Jeniver growing serious and grim about it, but she allowed the woman her fear. She had every right.
“Of course I will,” she whispered. “All you need do is ask.”
Jeniver rubbed her belly, thinking on the life inside. “If I do not survive the birth,” she said softly, “promise you will take care of my son. Promise you will love him as I would have. Promise me that you will make sure he has the very best in everything.”
Courtly was struggling not to tear up. “Of course,” she assured her softly. “I already love him. He will not want for anything, I swear it.”
Jeniver’s gaze was intense. “And Gallus,” she said, struggling. “You will make sure… make sure he marries again. Make sure he loves again. I want him to be happy.”
Courtly was afraid to speak because of the lump in her throat. Without a word, she sat down beside her friend, taking her hand again and holding it tightly. They sat there, in silence, listening to the children play and thinking of babies born and of men at war. So much potential for death in their happy worlds. So much potential for grief.
It was the silent prayer of both women that neither one of them experience such sorrow anytime soon. Theirs was a wonderful world and they wanted to preserve it as long as they could.
Preserve the happy House of de Shera.