Chapter Five
“I think we’ve had too much to drink.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because the chamber is sparkling.”
Christopher started laughing. He was sitting in his solar with Harald de Efford, Lord Eckington, and the older man had him in hysterics.
Harald was congenial, wise, and humorous to the bone, something Christopher had always liked about him.
He wasn’t any good in battle or with a sword any longer, though he’d never been particularly talented with either, but he was very astute when it came to politics.
Christopher had relied on his counsel in the past and the man had never failed him.
But more than anything, he simply enjoyed the man’s company from time to time.
He’d long learned not to enjoy a man’s company for fear he’d turn on him.
But not Harald.
He was loyal to the bone.
“Is it sparkling?” Christopher said, looking around at the old walls, the stacks of books, the big black cat that liked to nap on the shelves. “Harald, I do not think it is sparkling. I think there is something wrong with your eyes.”
Harald was looking around, too. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. “Nay,” he said. “It is definitely sparkling. Do you think God is trying to speak to me?”
“I think you would hear Him if He was.”
Harald frowned. “Chris, he appeared to Moses as a burning bush,” he pointed out. “Why can he not appear to me in a shower of sparkles?”
Christopher scratched his chin and continued to look around. “I think you are right,” he said. “Wait… I am hearing something now.”
Harald looked at him, wide-eyed. “What do you hear?”
Christopher cocked an ear. “He is saying that if we do not go into the great hall soon, my wife will come looking for us here and we shall both be in trouble,” he said. “I have an entire hall full of guests, and as much as I would like to remain here with you, I cannot, but you will not let me go.”
“That is because…” Harald said, using exaggerated hand gestures. “Because God wishes for me to speak to you about something most urgent. The sparkles in the room are encouraging me to do so.”
“I see,” Christopher said, grinning. “Now the sparkles are speaking to you?”
“Verily.”
“What are they saying?”
“That I wish for you to help me find a husband for my daughter.”
The light of realization came to Christopher’s face. “Ah,” he said. “The lovely Catalina.”
“That would be her.”
Christopher sat back in his chair. “Well?” he said.
“What do you want from me? Suggestions on eligible husbands? I will tell you right now that my sons are too young to marry. Curtis and Roi are the only ones even remotely eligible by age, but they are still too young. Your lovely daughter cannot have one of my sons.”
Harald waved him off impatiently. “I did not set my sights for Catalina so high that I was hoping for a de Lohr son,” he said. “But you know people. Who do you know that has eligible sons?”
Christopher poured himself more wine whilst he was thinking. “Almost everyone I know has younger sons or sons that are already married,” he said. “Does it have to be a son of an ally?”
Harald shook his head. “It only has to be a decent man with some means,” he said. “Age-appropriate, of course. My daughter has seen twenty years and six. That is very old for a bride.”
Christopher eyed him. “Very,” he said, though he didn’t really mean it. He happened to think that women in their twenties were perfectly acceptable as brides because it distressed him to see very young women being bartered as wives. “As I recall, she has two children, correct?”
Harald nodded. “She does,” she said. “Girl children, unfortunately. But given my daughter is my heir, I would like her to marry and produce a few sons.”
“Of course you would. That is reasonable.”
“Do you have anyone in mind?”
Christopher took a drink of his wine, pondering the question and hearing strains of music, very faint, coming from the great hall in the bailey.
The evening around them was cold and clear, and he could see the stars in the sky through the lancet windows that had not yet been covered for the night.
This wasn’t the first time Harald had brought up finding a husband for his widowed daughter, and it wouldn’t be the last unless Christopher gave the man some help.
Harald spent his time at his homes, with his solitary hobbies, and tended to socialize with the old guard and old friends rather than everyone else, newcomers included, so he was pleading for Christopher’s knowledge and assistance outside of the scope of his tightly knit circle.
The truth was that Christopher did have some ideas.
“Your family descends from Cnut the Great, do they not?” he asked.
Harald nodded. “Through my mother,” he said. “The kings of Mercia are in my blood.”
“And, as I recall, your wife was from Catalonia.”
“She was,” Harald confirmed. “The House of Trastamara, though her family was from a cadet branch, the House of Antequera. My wife’s uncle ruled Catalonia for years. She married me because I held the Earldom of Mercia, or her father would not have allowed it.”
There it was. The ancient and prestigious title that the House of de Efford had held for centuries.
Harald didn’t go by that, however, as it came through his mother’s family.
He went by Lord Eckington because he didn’t have the army to support the Earldom of Mercia title—such an old and grand collection of ancient lands that had a history of warfare, but Harald wasn’t grand, nor was he truly a warlord.
He was actually very simple, a modest man with ancient royal bloodlines and a grandiose title.
Christopher held Hereford and Worcester, and he also held other titles, including Baron Magnis, an ancient title related to Mercia.
But Mercia royalty wasn’t his bloodline.
It was Harald’s bloodline.
“When your daughter married de Barenton, did he know of the Mercia title?” Christopher asked.
Harald nodded. “He did,” he said. “Alfred was a good man. He may not have been the handsomest, or the wittiest, but he was wise and steady. That is why I selected him for Catalina. She needed wise and steady at the time. Oddly enough, now she is the wise and steady one. Alfred must have taught her that.”
Christopher smiled faintly. “I remember him,” he said. “A quiet man, but respected. He was close to Richard FitzRoy.”
Harald nodded again. “He served the Crown in that capacity,” he said. “FitzRoy, being the bastard son of King John, was afforded Crown support. He’s hotheaded like his father.”
“I know, all too well.”
Harald looked at him, grinning. “I forget that you know the kings and princes better than anyone alive,” he said.
“I do believe Alfred was sent to watch FitzRoy more than actually serve him, but that was John’s directive.
I did not hold it against him. His family came to England with the Duke of Normandy, you know.
He had an uncle or a cousin that was the Duc de Saint Hilaire.
He had noble blood in him, but mostly, I simply liked him.
This time… this time, Catalina deserves someone more prestigious, more powerful.
The blood of Mercia flows through her veins and into the veins of any sons she has. They must have a prestigious father.”
“Would a prince do?”
Harald’s expression grew curious. “You know of an eligible prince?”
Christopher did, but he wasn’t sure why he’d even said that.
Perhaps it was because Catalina de Efford de Barenton brought a good deal with her, including an ancient and coveted title.
In fact, the Mercia earldom had lands that surrounded Christopher’s own, and he wanted an ally or relative as a neighbor.
It was true that his sons were too young for Lady de Barenton, but he knew of another trusted ally that wasn’t too young.
Moreover, his royal bloodlines would be more than suitable for the Earl of Mercia title.
Maybe that was why the idea came to him on a whim.
Essien al-Kort would be perfect.
“I do,” he said after a moment. “But not an English prince. Not even a French or Saxon prince. Nay, this prince comes from bloodlines a thousand years old, and his brother is the hereditary king of his people. He has royal blood that an English prince could only hope for, and the bride he takes should also have such impressive lines. Catalina does. She deserves a prince, don’t you think? ”
Harald couldn’t contain his excitement. “Who, man, who?”
“You do know him, but you must trust me that he is a good man.”
“I believe you,” he said. “Is he a cousin?”
Christopher shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “A sworn knight who also happens to be an English lord. His brother, though king to his own people, is the Earl of Deira. The knight holds the title Lord Binchester.”
Harald absorbed the information. “Lord Binchester,” he repeated. “I do not know him.”
Christopher snorted. “Aye, you do,” he said. “You have seen him today, in fact, on the tournament field. You have heard me speak of the princes of Kitara before.”
That seemed to bring a light of recognition. “Kitara,” Harald said. Then realization dawned. “The knight with the dark hair in braids?”
Christopher nodded. “Sometimes,” he said. “But that is Addax, the older brother.”
“The king.”
“The Earl of Deira.”
“And you are speaking of the younger brother?”
“The God of Vengeance.”
Now, Harald knew who he was speaking of. His eyes widened. “The tall lad with the dark hair and dark eyes?” he said. “The big lad with the loud voice?”
Christopher snorted. “Loud, indeed,” he said.
“He is at an age where he must take a wife or his brother will force him into a marriage that will more than likely not be nearly as impressive as one with Catalina will be. He is an excellent knight, a good friend, and intelligent. He is a man of good character. I would not tell you so if it were not true. He would make a good husband for Catalina.”
Harald’s features lit up. “Think of their children,” he said. “Lads of royal blood inheriting the Earldom of Mercia. Chris, we must make this happen. We must!”
He was becoming quite eager, and Christopher held up a hand to ease him.
“We shall,” he assured him. “Let me speak with his older brother, who I am certain will be agreeable. But our God of Vengeance will more than likely not be at first, so tell me of your daughter’s dowry aside from the earldom. What else shall she inherit?”
Harald was thinking quickly, so eager that he was nearly overwhelmed with it.
“Her dowry is everything that comes from de Barenton,” he said.
“I gave the man five hundred pounds gold for her dowry, and when he died, I received it back and more besides. There is eight hundred and seventy-three pounds gold, plus another five hundred pounds sterling. Al-Kort can have it all if he marries her.”
“Plus the earldom.”
“Plus the earldom when I die.”
Christopher nodded with satisfaction. “That will make Essien very, very rich,” he said. “I will send for his brother and we will explain it to him.”
That made Harald anxious. “Do you think he will agree?”
Christopher stood up, opening the solar door to send a servant to fetch Addax before he answered.
“I think he will,” he said quietly as he came back over to the table where the wine was located. “I think he will be very eager for a marriage such as this for his brother.”
He wiped out a nearby cup and poured a measure of wine into it as Harald stood up, staggering over to the table and collecting more wine for himself.
Christopher eyed him.
“If you have any more of that, the room will only continue to sparkle,” he warned him. “It might even go up in flame. God presented himself as a burning bush once. He may do it again.”
Harald took a long drink before answering. “I do not care,” he said. “If God burns down this room in a divine moment that convinces Addax al-Kort that his brother should wed my daughter, I will make the sacrifice.”
“It’ll burn down with you in it.”
“As I said, I’ll make the sacrifice.”
With that, he drained the cup and poured himself another.
Christopher decided to put the wine out of his reach at that point, because they had to go through a rather serious conversation with Addax and the man was already drunk enough.
In fact, by the time Addax arrived about a half-hour later, Harald was asleep in his chair, snoring loudly enough to rattle the walls.
Christopher proceeded to tell Addax what had been proposed, pausing to awaken Harald, who was drunk and groggy but very agreeable. Not strangely, so was Addax.
Everyone was agreeable but the groom himself.
And that was a job for Christopher.