Chapter Six #4
William grunted unhappily. “Nay,” he said. “But you can watch the trees. Send men into them to keep them clear. That would be a normal procedure for the protection of the king, in any case, so there should not be anything unusual about that directive.”
Sean didn’t say what he was thinking – it wasn’t as simple as that.
John didn’t like men in his forests, even if it was to protect him.
He felt that it scared away the game. But he didn’t argue the point with William; there was little reason to because William would tell him to do it anyway. And he would.
He would do as he was told.
Resigned, he simply nodded his head. “If John does decide to hunt tomorrow, I will send you word later tonight.”
“See that you do,” William replied. “And, Sean… know that we are depending on you a great deal for any information you can provide. Know that I have complete and utter faith in you.”
Sean’s gaze lingered on William a moment, perhaps surprised by a statement that sounded suspiciously like praise, before departing the chamber, his boot falls fading as he took the stairs down to the ground floor.
When the sounds of his footsteps were gone and the world around them was silent, Maxton turned to William.
“He has a very difficult job ahead of him,” he said. “How good is he, my lord?”
William lifted an eyebrow. “As good as I have ever seen,” he assured Loxbeare.
“Have no fear, Maxton – I know how to judge a man. Sean de Lara is destined for greatness, mark my words. As are you. Now, I also intend to head to the Palace at Westminster, as that is where we shall be meeting with the king. Keep me informed.”
He put a hand on Maxton’s shoulder as he walked away, followed by Gart, who had remained silent during the entire meeting.
He had been lurking on the outskirts, watching everything, absorbing.
It was an important moment for him because he was the one who had recommended Maxton and Kress and Achilles for this task.
So more than anything, his reputation was on the line as well.
He could see that he hadn’t been wrong.
“I will be shadowing The Marshal, but send word if you need me,” Gart said as he moved past Maxton and headed for the door.
But he paused just shy of it, turning to look at the three men still remaining in the chamber.
“This is your moment, gentle knights. If ever the fate of a country rested with only three men, this is the time. You were sprung from the bowels of Les Baux-de-Provence for a reason, and that reason is upon you now. Bonne chance, my friends. You will need it.”
With that, he departed, leaving Maxton and Kress and Achilles in the vast solar with his words hanging in the air. Maxton’s gaze was on the vacated doorway but when he turned to his friends, he found that they were looking at him rather intensely.
“We never spoke of the approach to this situation in between pitchers of ale last night,” Kress muttered. “But I am impressed with what you told them, Max. If that was a scheme without any true thought given to it, then it was a good one. Is that what you really want to do?”
Maxton ran a hand through his dark hair, letting his guard down for the first time. All of the alcohol he’d ingested from the night before had worn off completely and his head was beginning to throb.
“Aye,” he said. “I think it is as good a plan as any. Did you two sleep last night?”
Kress nodded, glancing to Achilles. “A little,” he said. “Did you?”
“Nay.”
“Then what would you have us do today while you get some sleep?”
Maxton put his fingers to his temple, feeling the pain coming on.
“Get out into the city by the docks,” he said.
“I want you to study every street, every hovel. Find the taverns. Watch the people along the docks. We may need eyes on that dock at all times. Mayhap, there is a man who would keep track of the comings and goings of ships and their places of origin for a few coins.”
Kress nodded. “We shall,” he said. “You will meet us there later?”
Maxton closed his eyes, feeling very weary all of a sudden. “I shall,” he said. “I plan to sleep for an hour or two and then join you, because I will admit that I am starting to second-guess my brilliant idea of remaining awake all night. At this moment, it does not seem quite so brilliant.”
Kress smirked. “There are quiet chambers on the top floor,” he said. “Find a bed up there.”
Maxton nodded, but his attention moved to Achilles.
“No fights,” he said to the man. “And leave the women alone. I realize that fistfights and wenches are your natural inclination, but you do not need the distraction. And in speaking of women, remind me to tell you of the pledge from St. Blitha I came into contact with this morning. A rather harrowing tale.”
Achilles, who had been rather incensed with the directive to stay away from women and anything violent involving his fists, appeared puzzled by the mention of a postulate.
“A pledge?” he repeated. “What were you doing at St. Blitha?”
But Maxton shook his head. “I was nowhere near St. Blitha,” he said. “I came across her in the street, stealing food. But I will tell you of it later. At the moment, I must find a bed before I collapse, and you two must head out to the docks. I’ll join you there in a couple of hours.”
That was the cue to depart for Kress and Achilles, and depart they did.
Maxton watched them head out of the solar, leaving him standing alone.
Instead of seeking a bed, however, he found himself lingering on the meeting that had just taken place and thinking of everything that had been discussed.
He’d been surprisingly pleased to see the de Lohr brothers, definitely pleased to see Cullen, and amused by the rabid dog Irish knight.
He was also intrigued by Sean de Lara, the plant by William Marshal in the king’s entourage.
But all of that seemed to pale by comparison to thoughts of the lovely, starving pledge from St. Blitha.
He’d essentially forgotten about her once he’d reached Farringdon House and during the course of the meeting.
But now that he’d mentioned her to Kress and Achilles, she was filling his mind like a fog.
Now that he was alone, with no men or conversation distracting him, thoughts of the woman were heavy upon him.
That lovely, pale face and swan-like neck that was so very elegant.
He just couldn’t dispel the images of her flitting through his brain and something told him that even if he tried to sleep, he wouldn’t be able to.
Not with thoughts of her dancing in his head.
But he would have to force himself, knowing that after some sleep, he might see things a bit more clearly.
He was a man with much on his mind.
Maxton was about to head from the chamber when he caught sight of a hulking figure coming up the darkened stairwell.
The shape looked oddly familiar and, as he watched, the face of someone he knew very well came into view, but it wasn’t just any face.
It was a face he hadn’t seen in years, perhaps a man he thought he would never see again.
His eyes widened.
“Sherry?” he gasped. “Bloody Christ… Sherry is that you?”
Sir Alexander de Sherrington gave a rather cocky grin as he came off the stairs and entered the chamber, his arms wide open as he sucked Maxton into a powerful embrace.
Alexander, or Sherry as he was known to his friends, was an enigma, a man unto himself, and an elite knight that was squarely in the same league as Maxton, Kress, Achilles, Gart, and the de Lohr brothers, to name a few.
They didn’t come any greater or any smarter.
And he was utterly, completely delighted to see Maxton.
“Max,” he breathed as he hugged the man tightly.
Releasing him, he stood back so he could take a good look at Loxbeare.
“I saw everyone downstairs and they told me you were up here. It is good to see you, my friend. Thank God you and Kress and Achilles survived the Lords of Baux. I will admit that I had my doubts.”
Maxton drank in the sight of the man who could be considered the fourth Executioner Knight.
Alexander had worked with him and Kress and Achilles, many times, in The Levant.
They’d accomplished some harrowing missions together.
After leaving The Levant, they had spent time at the Lateran Palace together, as well.
The four of them had been as thick as thieves.
Alexander was dark, with dark eyes and dark hair, and a beard covering his jaw.
He was also enormously built and had the brightest smile Maxton had ever seen.
When he grinned, framed by that black beard, Maxton swore he could see every tooth in the man’s head.
It was an infectious grin, in truth, and completely deceptive.
When he looked friendly, even jolly, the truth was that Alexander de Sherrington was a killer beyond the talent of most mortal men.
He was Death personified.
“So did I,” Maxton admitted after a moment. “But we survived purely on the grace of Eleanor and William. Had they not ransomed us, we would still be there. My God, Sherry, I still can’t believe it. What are you doing here? No one ever mentioned you were in London.”
Alexander nodded, patting the man on the shoulder.
“That is because I only just arrived,” he said.
Then, he quickly sobered. “I heard about your tribulations after leaving Rome, Max. It is a shame, really, to have ended your time in Rome with such a terrible happening. Personally, I have fond memories of the place”
Maxton wasn’t hard pressed to agree. “I do, also. It may have ended badly, but while we were there, it was a debaucherously good time. Stories I will never be able to tell my children, anyway.”