Chapter Six
Farringdon House
It was a chamber filled with knights.
In fact, the very walls reeked of power… swords… and blood. They had absorbed such things over the years, walls that had seen much of the politics of England.
The first floor solar of Farringdon House was a meeting place, one that William Marshal used to summon the great and powerful of England.
It covered nearly half of the floor, and it was a very big floor, so there was easily room for fifty or more men in the solar with its great stone hearth, exposed beams overhead, and painted walls.
The floor was made from wide slats of wood, heavy, but pocked from men who had walked upon it with their spurs and heavy boots.
It was a spectacular room, meant for men of greatness.
This morning was no exception.
After his encounter with Andressa, Maxton had returned to Farringdon House, entering through an arched and secured gate built into the house itself and protected by several guards.
Once inside, he passed through a tunnel that led into a damp, enclosed courtyard.
To his right were stalls for the horses and a small corral, but stretching above that were four stories of a great stone house.
Windows faced into the interior courtyard and he could hear voices coming from the open panels – servants, people moving around, and the smells of baking bread.
To his left was another arched doorway, heavily fortified, and there was another guard standing at it.
He passed through with ease, entering the ground floor of the house, which was mostly servants’ quarters, a big armory, and the kitchens.
It was low-ceilinged and dark. A stone walkway through the ground floor led to a large mural staircase, and he took the stairs two at a time as he made his way to the first floor above.
This floor was bigger, with higher ceilings, and bright with windows.
It was also the floor with the enormous solar.
Maxton could hear men in the solar and as he entered the room, which was lit by the morning sun because the windows facing west were all wide open and the sun was filling up the sky, he could hear Kress’ voice.
“Finally!” Kress declared. “We were about to send a search part out for you, Max. Where have you been all night?”
Maxton quickly realized there were several powerful knights in the chamber, all of them turning to look at him as he sauntered in.
In fact, his reply to Kress caught in his throat as he looked at the familiar faces, some men he’d known for years, and men he’d served with in The Levant and even before.
He was, in truth, shocked to see such a collection, and it looked as if they were all waiting for him. Every eye was on him, including The Marshal, who was sitting near the window with a cup of something steaming in his hand.
“Well?” William said, gesturing with his cup. “Answer de Rhydian. Where have you been all night? We have been waiting for you.”
Maxton’s attention was drawn to The Marshal, but he was distracted by several grinning faces of men he considered his friends, for the most part. “I was not tired last night,” he said evenly. “I sought to enjoy all that London has to offer.”
“To indulge?”
“To think.”
William came away from the window and approached him; he didn’t appear genuinely perturbed at Maxton’s disappearing act, merely curious. “Good,” he said. “I hope you have been thinking a good deal. That is why I have brought these men with me. Some are friends of yours, I believe.”
Maxton nodded, now looking at some of the men who were starting to crowd around him. “You said you had a meeting with the king and the marcher lords,” he said. “I did not realize that you meant they were gathering here, at Farringdon House.”
William was rather humored by the man’s surprise.
“They weren’t until last night,” he said.
“I sent word to them and asked them to join me here this morning. And not all of these men serve marcher lords, either, but are simply men loyal to England. I will come to the point, Maxton – I have told them of the threat against the king. They know of your mission. That is why they are here. They want to hear of your plan to keep the king alive and they want to know how they can help.”
Looking at the group, Maxton respected those he knew a great deal, but he really didn’t want or need their help.
Moreover, there were a few men he didn’t know and he wasn’t pleased that they were in on his mission.
Too many men with that knowledge and he might not have the edge he hoped because men, even trustworthy ones, had been known to talk.
That was the truth. Nay, he wasn’t pleased at all.
But that irritation was pushed aside when he focused on Christopher de Lohr, the very same knight he had told William he wanted no interference from.
Odd how the usual resentment and even annoyance he usually felt for the man wasn’t there at the moment. All he saw was a fellow knight, someone he’d been allied with for years, for better or for worse.
In truth, he was actually glad to see him.
“Chris,” he said evenly. “I see you made it home from The Levant in one piece.”
Christopher de Lohr, a blond god of a man, smiled at Maxton but didn’t go so far as to offer a hand in greeting; that wasn’t the kind of relationship he and Maxton shared.
They were critical of each other, perhaps far too competitive with each other, and there had always been the threat of a very nasty fight breaking out between them.
However, they were also men who would defend one another to the death.
Christopher was the light to Maxton’s darkness and they both knew it.
Even the night must have a day.
“I did,” Christopher replied after a moment. “And I see that you did as well, although it seems to have taken you a very long time to come home. I was told of your troubles, Max, and I suppose I should say that I am glad to see you made it back to England at all.”
Maxton shook his head. “Do not say that,” he said. “It would make me feel all warm and giddy, and I could not stomach it, not from you. Remember how much I detest the sight of you.”
“And I, you.”
Maxton held the man’s gaze a moment longer but couldn’t keep a straight face.
With a smirk, he turned to the man standing next to Christopher, with somewhat similar features, but shorter and smaller.
Given the size of Christopher, and he was a very big man, that wasn’t saying much.
Maxton’s eyes narrowed at David de Lohr, Christopher’s younger brother and, perhaps, an even bigger nemesis to Maxton than Christopher was.
“And you,” he said. “Those men I paid to make sure you did not make it home alive took my money and failed to do their job. I am displeased.”
David was the more hot-headed brother, quick to temper, but a hell of a fighter. Still, he knew Maxton was joking for the most part, but was quick to dish out as much as he was given. He wasn’t about to let Maxton get the upper hand with him, not even this early into the conversation.
“Be careful,” he said, holding up a finger. “You should not say such things. You are in the presence of powerful men now.”
Maxton snorted. “Who?” he said. “You? Chris?”
David’s blue eyes glimmered with mirth. He was relishing the expression on Maxton’s face when he told him the truth. “Both of us,” he said. “When you address Chris, you are now addressing the Earl of Hereford and Worcester. Show due respect.”
Maxton looked sharply at Christopher in an expression that satisfied David a great deal.
It was one of surprise and, perhaps, even disbelief.
Maxton hadn’t heard about Christopher’s titles since his return, something Gart hadn’t bothered to tell him.
Gart was deeply entrenched with the de Lohrs, as he served David, but Maxton knew why he hadn’t mentioned it – it was best that he hear it directly from Christopher and David, given his contentious relationship with them.
Still, Maxton couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealously at the news, his contemporary who had been given a glorious title.
“My congratulations,” he said to Christopher, wondering if he sounded as if he meant it. “When did this happen?”
“Shortly after my return to England,” Christopher replied. “Remember that I came home several years ago, so it has been about seven years ago. And David was made Earl of Canterbury very recently, after the death of his wife’s father.”
Another de Lohr with a title. The knowledge compounded the resentment Maxton was trying to fight down and he struggled with his reaction.
“Congratulations to you, also, my lord,” he said to David as neutrally as he could manage. “It seems that while I was off fighting other men’s wars, you and your brother were making good for yourselves here at home.”
David simply shook his head. “It hasn’t been that simple, Max,” he said as he turned away. “We’ve had a mess on our hands for the most part.”
Maxton could have questioned him, but he didn’t have the will to.
Whatever David meant, he would find out soon enough.
Instead, Maxton turned to the other men in the chamber, men who were waiting to greet him, and he found himself shaking the hand of Cullen de Nerra, a mountain of a man who was the son of the High Sheriff of Hampshire, probably the highest law position in all of southern England.
Cullen was a knight’s knight, a powerful young man with great talent, so great, in fact, that he’d been knighted before he’d seen his twentieth year.
Maxton had fought beside the skilled young knight many times, but he hadn’t seen him in ten years, since before he went to The Levant.
As he shook the man’s hand, he looked him over carefully.
“Bloody Christ, Cullen,” he said. “You’ve grown into a behemoth since the last I saw you. What happened to that giddy young knight with the big dimples?”