Chapter Twenty-One #4
With that, the four of them headed into the southern section of the gatehouse. They entered the guard room, a big room with a dirt floor and a blazing hearth, and then passed through a sturdy wooden door that led to a narrow staircase leading down to the vault below.
The iron sconces in the stairwell were fitted with blazing tapers, casting light and black smoke into the air.
The fat of the candles burned dirty. They had to be careful going down the steps because they were stone, and damp, and one slip would send them straight to the bottom.
Christopher went down first, followed by David, Addax, and finally Essien.
The main area of the vault below was vast, hard-packed earth that had been lined with stone, and it was built under the wall rather than the gatehouse because the constant traffic on the ground above could make the vault itself unstable.
There were five different cells—four smaller ones and then a larger one that was tucked into a corner.
Christopher had had the vault dug out several years ago after he converted the abbey portion of the castle to the knights’ quarters, so as far as vaults went, this one was newer and relatively nice. It was low-ceilinged, however, so Christopher and Essien had to be careful not to hit their heads.
William, Paris, Kieran, and Maddoc were waiting for them as they reached the bottom.
“My lord,” William greeted Christopher. “The prisoner is conscious.”
Christopher peered past the young knight, seeing a figure in the cell behind him, but he was unable to see much more than a dark figure until he took the fish-oil lamp that Maddoc was holding and held it up so he could see Lance better.
The man had been beaten within an inch of his life.
Given what Christopher had been told about Lance’s purpose in the de Efford tent, it was clear that the man hadn’t deliberately done anything to Harald, nor had he touched Catalina.
Events out of his control had made him appear guilty of murder.
Of course, the younger knights didn’t know that and had treated him accordingly.
Christopher couldn’t fault them for that, really.
They were young and eager and very highly trained, keen on a world of right and wrong.
That was the knighthood, and they were knights.
Justice was their vocation.
Especially against a wicked knight.
“Thank you, de Wolfe,” he said. “I will deal with the prisoner in my own way, but I thank you for taking charge of him.”
“My lord, you may need us,” Paris said seriously. “Le Kerque is a fighter. Kieran could barely subdue him. It took William and I to help get him down to the vault.”
Christopher looked at Kieran, quite possibly the most muscular young knight he’d ever seen, and the man didn’t have a fraction of de Norville’s arrogance. He seriously doubted that Kieran would have trouble with any man alive. Therefore, he tried to keep a straight face in the wake of Paris’ boast.
“I understand,” he said steadily. “But, as you can see, I’ve brought reinforcements. If the four of us cannot handle him, we’ll send for you.”
Paris looked at David, at Addax and Essien, and nodded reluctantly. “If you are certain, my lord,” he said.
“I am,” Christopher said. “In fact, you need to get over to the competition field. I know my sons are already over there, preparing, and they will be starting the event soon, so you do not want to miss it. You are on their team, are you not? You must hurry.”
“And you are certain that you can handle le Kerque alone?” Paris said, giving it one last try.
“I am,” Christopher said decisively. “Maddoc, you go with them. They’ll need your strength.”
Maddoc was already heading for the stairs. “Do you know where my father is, my lord?” he asked.
Christopher gestured up the stairs. “The last I saw him, he was in the de Efford tent, trying to separate Harald from the weaponry through his head,” he said. “Go, now. All of you.”
Kieran and Paris were now following Maddoc up the stairs, but William remained. His gaze was on Christopher.
“I was rather hoping you would be in the competition, my lord,” he said. “My father used to tell stories of you back in the day. He said you were unbeatable.”
“I still am,” Christopher said, his eyes glimmering. “Be glad that you do not have to face me.”
“I would like to, my lord. Very much.”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
“Mayhap someday?”
“Mayhap.”
William grinned, as did Christopher. After patting the young knight affectionately on the cheek, Christopher turned back to the cell as William ran to catch up with his friends. Handing the lamp off to David, he took the key off the wall and unlocked the cell.
“Le Kerque, we have some questions,” Christopher said as he stepped in.
Lance was sitting on the straw, his back against the cold, stone wall. His face was battered, one eye nearly swollen shut.
“I am certain you do, my lord,” he said with a battered mouth. “I will tell you what I told those idiots who just left. I did not kill Harald de Efford.”
“I know,” Christopher said. “Lady Mercia has absolved you, but I want to hear it from you. What happened?”
Lance shrugged, perhaps with some relief to hear that Catalina had defended him. “I am not entirely sure,” he said, shifting painfully where he sat because he had a cracked rib or two. “I went to speak with Lady al-Kort, but I suppose we are calling her Lady Mercia now?”
Christopher nodded. “That is what she is,” he said. “Essien is the Earl of Mercia with Harald’s death. Now, proceed.”
Lance did. “I went to speak with her,” he said.
“During our conversation, she became upset and stumbled back onto the ground. I was moving to help her up when Lord Eckington entered and… and the man went mad. I do not know why, but he shouted at me and swung an iron sconce at my head. I put up my arm to block it, but the force of my raised arm knocked Eckington sideways and he fell into the weapon stand. I swear upon my oath that is all that happened. There was nothing more.”
“You did not push him?”
“Nay,” Lance said firmly. “All I did was put my arm up, though I may have pushed at the sconce to keep it away from my head. I do not remember if I did, but whatever I did was enough to send Eckington falling into the weapon stand. His daughter screamed, Lord Mercia came into the tent, and after that… there was a row.”
Christopher grunted. “I would say so,” he said. “Mercia had every right to, Lance. I am certain you can see his perspective, coming into a tent where his wife is screaming and her father is dead on the floor. It is natural that he would think the worst.”
Lance fixed on Essien, then. “I do not blame him,” he said, mostly speaking to Christopher, but shifting his focus after that. “I never touched your wife, my lord. I swear it.”
Essien was trying not to become angry or agitated. “Mayhap you did not,” he said. “But you waited until I was out of the tent before approaching her.”
“That is true,” Lance admitted. “But I had something for her and I thought it would be better to deliver it to her in private.”
“You mean the cross?” Essien said. “She told me about it. What I want to know from you is where the man who gave it to you is.”
Lance sighed heavily. “I told him to wait for me in the loft of the stable next to the tournament field,” he said. “You’ve not seen this man, my lord. He looks as if he has been roasted alive and lived to tell the tale. Horrifying is how I would describe him, so I told him to stay out of sight.”
“Did he give you his name?”
Lance nodded. “He said it was Al,” he said. “Beyond that, he could not tell me more. He was in a terrible accident that evidently robbed him of most of his memory. If you see him, you will understand.”
Essien looked at Addax. “Al,” he whispered. “Her husband’s name was Alfred.”
Addax didn’t know what to say. He could see despair sweeping over Essien and he wanted to comfort him, but there would be no comfort until they found this man and got to the bottom of things.
“So this man wanted you to believe that he is Lady Mercia’s first husband, back from the dead?” Addax said, because Essien was quickly falling into ruin. “Did he tell you that?”
Lance shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “He did not tell me that and I did not get that impression, but it did seem to me that he was simply looking for answers. He was looking for who, and what, he was, and he was hoping Lady Mercia might be able to tell him based on that cross.”
“And out of the goodness of your heart, you are helping him?”
There was sarcasm in that question, but Lance only saw the irony of it.
“Mayhap,” he said. “I understand a little about people being lost and looking for answers. I’ve been lost and looking for answers my entire life, ever since Juston de Royans took me into foster and gave me the name of le Kerque.
It was his mother’s name, you know. He tried to give me a world to belong to, knowing I could never be part of the world that bred me.
So I carried his mother’s name, but it was not mine. I have a different one.”
The conversation had taken a huge swing, away from the man who had given him the cross and venturing into a realm of lost or found or belonging.
No one was really sure what he was talking about.
As Addax reached out to Essien, grasping the man’s arm to give him some sense of comfort, Christopher and David were still mulling over Lance’s swift turn of focus.
In fact, they were a little startled by it because of the mention of one name…
Juston de Royans.
He was a man who had fostered and mentored both Christopher and David, and a host of other great knights of their generation.
Juston de Royans was a knight’s knight, a man who’d molded the knightly sensibilities of a generation.
To discover that Lance had also been part of the men under his wing was surprising to say the least.