Chapter Nineteen
The night was deep and still outside of Farringdon House.
But inside, it was full of men who were concerned with the turn of events.
The latest drama had been the escaped spy trying to strangle the pledge within shouting distance of Farringdon House, and once the unconscious woman had been brought back to the house and put to bed, Christopher had summoned the remaining men in their tight little circle.
Much had happened, and much needed to be discussed, and they had little time in which to do it.
Events were happening too quickly.
Gathered in William’s great solar, it was the same group who had been there at daybreak – Gart, the de Lohr brothers, both de Lara brothers, Cullen, Kress, Achilles, Alexander, and Maxton.
Bric MacRohan and Dashiell du Reims, who had still been in London, arrived within an hour of the attempted strangling to round out the group.
There was a sense of expectation now, knowing that the situation was quite fluid.
Christopher filled Bric and Dashiell in on the information from Andressa’s first visit to tell Maxton of the nuns’ intentions, which was shocking in and of itself.
That made her second appearance at Farringdon House rather worrisome for all concerned.
The first time she’d come, it had been with a great revelation to aid their cause, so this second visit had them somewhat anxious.
Why had she been traveling the streets in darkness?
Was there more evil on the horizon?
It was the exact questions lingering in Maxton’s mind as he stood by the hearth, gazing into the yellow flames.
He was reliving Douglas’ death over and over, feeling great satisfaction in the man’s ghastly demise.
In truth, there had never been any possibility of a different outcome once Maxton saw the man with his hands wrapped around Andressa’s throat.
Although Maxton had been killing men in unsavory ways for a very long time, this specific death had been particularly brutal.
There had been something more behind it than simple duty or simple anger.
As Maxton stood there and stewed, the last person to enter the solar made an appearance.
William had just come from an unrelated discussion with his advisors, the retinue of men that formed his inner circle.
Oddly enough, they were not involved in these proceedings, mostly because William only wanted to deal with a hand-selected group of men and not a gang of followers.
He needed knights for this task, not politicians, which most of his inner circle was.
For this, he needed killers.
“Maxton,” he said as he entered the chamber. “I am informed that our guest has returned again.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Where is she now?”
“In bed. After we saved her life, she fainted.”
“And she said nothing to you before she collapsed? No hint of why she has come again?”
Maxton shook his head. “She said nothing,” he said. “By the time we got to her, Douglas had thrashed her fairly well. She was quite shaken.”
“Did you have my physic look at her?”
“He said she is only sleeping now,” Maxton said. “She suffered no lasting damage in the attack.”
William seemed to look at him rather strangely.
Then, he chuckled, though it was an ironic sound.
“If she did not, the Scotsman certainly did,” he said.
“I saw your handiwork, Maxton. Very brutal. You sliced the man from his throat to his groin, then you dismembered him out on the street for all to see. For the first time, I am starting to see why you are called the Executioner Knight. That was an impressive execution.”
Maxton wasn’t thinking of it in those terms. He simply did what he had to do.
In truth, he was still angry, still filled with rage at what he’d seen.
What he did to Douglas wasn’t half of what he wanted to do, and he’d only stopped because Alexander had prevented him from doing anything more.
Alexander had merely slit the man’s throat; Maxton had chopped him into mincemeat, and quite happily so.
He was unapologetic.
“I sent the pieces back to St. Blitha,” he growled. “Kress and Achilles dumped them right on the street outside of the abbey. Mayhap they will think again before they send spies out into the world.”
“You mean after the girl.”
“Take it as you will.”
William could hear the unrepentant tone. “I would be willing to agree with that,” he said. “But the truth is that until we talk to the pledge, we do not even know if they sent him after her in the first place.”
“Of course they sent him after her,” Maxton said, irritated. “There is little doubt that when Douglas escaped from Farringdon House, he went straight to the sisters at St. Blitha and told them that we are aware of their plans. Where else would the man go?”
“So why was he following your pledge?”
Maxton threw his hands up. “Because he probably saw her leave the abbey,” he said as if it were obvious.
“The man was a spy, my lord. He thinks like a spy, meaning he believes everyone in the world is spying, too. You know this; you have been in the politics of England a very long time. You know how men of that vocation think. I am certain he saw Andressa leave and he followed her, thinking that, mayhap, she was the one who told us of the Holy Father’s plans and St. Blitha’s involvement. ”
William nodded faintly; it wasn’t as if he disagreed with Maxton.
In fact, Douglas’ grisly death showed William what Maxton was truly capable of and that action, strangely enough, erased much of the doubt William was feeling about the man.
Maxton was a man without hesitation when it came to killing, up to and including making a statement from how badly the body was desecrated, and that impressed William.
It was beginning to lend credence to what Gart had been telling him all along – that Maxton of Loxbeare was born to kill.
And he was born to prevent the death of a king from assassins who, more than likely, thought just like he did.
“I will agree with you on that point,” he finally said, turning to glance at the roomful of men who were standing around, listening to the conversation.
“But I am further concerned that leaving Douglas’ body at St. Blitha will cause the nuns to suspect he was killed on the pledge’s behalf.
I am concerned they will know we will do anything to protect our spy and she is not finished there, Maxton.
Not until the feast is over and the king is safe.
You could very well have jeopardized her by killing Douglas and returning the body to St. Blitha. ”
Maxton knew that. “There are a thousand murderers running about on the streets of London,” he said, though he didn’t want to admit that William might have a point – the death, and dumping, of Douglas had been made in anger. “Anyone could have killed the man.”
“And put the body on the doorstep of St. Blitha?”
Maxton’s jaw ticked faintly. “There is still no way of knowing who did it, or why.”
William wasn’t going to argue with him because he suspected, deep down, Maxton knew what he’d done. He’d taken a risk. So, he let the subject drop because there was no going back now.
What was done, was done.
“I shall not debate it with you,” he said, “for I have stated my concern. In any case, we should discuss what is to happen the day of the feast so that each man knows his role. Have you given thought to such things, Maxton?”
In fact, Maxton had, though very little.
Much like the first time William asked him of his plan where it came to the king’s protection, which had only been that morning, Maxton began to concoct a plan as he went.
Shifting his focus away from the dismembered spy, he looked to Sean, the king’s shadow, standing over with his brother by the windows.
“Sean, does the king still plan to hunt tomorrow?” he asked.
Sean nodded. “He does,” he said. “But now that we know it is the nuns of St. Blitha that we should beware of, do you still intend to shadow the king through the forests?”
Maxton looked at William, who lifted his shoulders. “Let us decide that depending on what your pledge says,” he said. “I cannot imagine that the nuns would venture into the woods to kill the king, but we cannot be certain. Make your determination after you speak with her.”
Maxton nodded. “Agreed,” he said, but he returned his attention to Sean. “Then let us speak of the day of the feast. Do you know when the king intends to arrive at St. Blitha?”
Sean stepped forward, closer to Maxton and William. “The feast is to take place at the nooning hour, the traditional time of a hunt,” he said. “John still plans to arrive at that time.”
Maxton thought on that. “How many in the king’s personal guard?”
“Twelve, including me.”
“And these are guards of the body?”
“Aye.”
“What of regular men-at-arms?”
“He will take a small contingent. At least fifty men because they will block off the streets and surround the abbey, most likely. But that is usual with him. The king is cautious, if nothing else. Something I suppose he learned from a father and brothers who were constantly trying to kill one another.”
Maxton lifted his eyebrows in utter agreement with that statement.
“Then it would be a simple matter to add extra men to the contingent of men-at-arms,” he said.
“A few more men would not matter. But we also need to place men inside the abbey; that is the most important factor. But we do not know the layout of the place.”
“I do.”