Chapter Eighteen #2
“I know what he is doing,” Achilles said. “He is making prayer cards for Lady Cadelyn. That is what Susanna told me.”
Kress almost laughed. “That is not entirely true,” he said. “Do you recall the card Lady Cadelyn handed to me in Lynn, the one with the lewd poem on it?”
The three of them nodded. “Aye,” Alexander said.
“The priest is making those cards. And he is not a priest, either. He is a simple cleric and he makes them for profit.”
Three sets of eyes looked at him in surprise. “What?” Alexander said, aghast. “That… that cleric produces those shocking poems?”
Kress nodded. “Lady Cadelyn writes them and the cleric produces the cards,” he said, watching even more shock fill his friends.
He did laugh, then. “Do not look so surprised. She is very industrious. She sells the cards for two pence each and she splits that with the cleric. She is bringing him with her to The Paladin so he can continue producing those cards and she can continue making money. She is a very astute businesswoman.”
The three knights were looking at each other in astonishment. “How long have you known?” Achilles demanded.
Kress was grinning as he looked to him. “Almost from the start,” he said. “I caught her sneaking into Lynn to speak to the cleric about coming with her to The Paladin and she was forced to confess to me.”
“And you let the cleric come along?”
Kress shrugged. “Why not?’ he said. “It is not as if they are hurting anyone. It’s not subversive or rebellious, even if it is a little naughty.”
Achilles was beside himself. “Don’t tell me that you actually approve of this?”
Achilles was the most pious one out of the group so, naturally, his outrage was more than the others. He looked at the man.
“Achilles, it is not as if she is plotting to murder someone,” he said. “She is not drinking to excess or beating her servants. She likes to write titillating poetry and if it makes her happy, so be it. She could have worse vices.”
Achilles frowned but he didn’t argue with him. “When you put it like that, I suppose there is nothing more I can say,” he said. “But why did you tell us this?”
Kress’ smile faded. “Because she will want to keep the cleric with her when she goes to The Paladin and I want you to know why,” he said.
“Do not let them deny her the man she calls her personal priest. She is going to be miserable enough married to a man she does not know. Do not let them take that bit of comfort away from her. Please.”
It sounded very sad the way he said it. He was looking out for her, wanting her to be happy even if he couldn’t be with her.
That told every man at that table that he was beyond smitten with the woman.
If he was thinking of her first, and putting her happiness first, then it had to be something more than a whim.
There was deeper emotion involved.
Love.
“I shall do my best,” Alexander said. Then, he looked to Bric. “Go and knock on the lady’s door. Tell her… tell her that her betrothed has arrived and we shall send for her when we are ready.”
Bric stood up and headed up the stairs to the floor above.
As he walked away, Alexander signaled Jude, standing over by the kitchens, for some drink.
As the innkeeper’s daughter went about preparing refreshment for her patrons, whom she had come to know a little, Alexander turned to the entry door which, so far, had not moved.
“And now,” he muttered. “We wait.”
Not surprisingly, it wasn’t a long one.
As the three knights sat in silence, simply looking at each other and knowing what was to come, the door to the inn lurched open. Blinding white light from outside spilled into the darkened common room as figures began to enter inside, silhouetted by the light behind them.
Kress, Alexander, and Achilles looked up and they could see black forms making their way into the dimness of the chamber. Kress was on his feet first, followed by Alexander and Achilles in short succession.
The moment had arrived.
“I am seeking William Marshal’s escort,” a male said.
Kress couldn’t really see who had spoken because of the white backlight. He let Alexander respond, since he was in charge of the escort.
“Who is asking, my lord?” Alexander said politely. “Identify yourself, please.”
The man stepped further into the room, followed by another male figure. Further behind them, a small figure wrapped in a cloak came into the chamber, followed by a few armed men, who shut the door.
At that point, the lighting in the room balanced out and the knights could see who they were talking to.
The first man was tall and fair-haired, dressed in exquisite armor that looked as if it hadn’t seen a day of fighting.
Everything about it, and him, screamed of wealth.
The man behind him was shorter, pale-skinned and dark-haired, and dressed in nearly the same fashion.
Two extraordinarily-dressed knights in something not usually seen – something called a muscle cuirass.
It was a heavy vest that covered the chest area, sometimes leather but sometimes even steel, and not something that was usual to the fighting men of this time.
It was, however, usual to ancient warriors, like the Romans, whom the de Shera’s descended from.
Their cuirass was made from metal with the de Shera bird of prey on it.
In fact, Kress found himself seriously studying what the two de Shera men were wearing.
He’d fought with them before, in the past, but he didn’t remember seeing this ceremonial finery on them. The craftsmanship was remarkable.
“I am Atilius de Shera,” the first man said, pointing to the man right behind him. “My brother, Fabius.”
Recognizing the pair now that they’d come into the light, Kress spoke first. “I am Kress de Rhydian,” he said. “We have fought battles together, in the past.”
Atilius eyed him as if trying very hard to remember him. “When was this?”
“The last time was in Wexford,” Kress said. “This was about sixteen years ago when de Clare and Marshal were fighting in Ireland. Your father supported de Clare. I was in the service of The Marshal. We’d taken the town by force and celebrated by stripping the merchant district of their goods.”
After a moment, the light of recognition went on in Atilius’ eyes. “Aye, I recall now,” he said slowly. “In fact, I think I lost a horse to you in a gambling game while on that campaign.”
A smile tugged at Kress’ lips. “The money I sold him for kept me supplied for an entire year.”
Atilius tried to keep a stern face but he ended up laughing. “He was a good horse,” he said. “Only the finest for the House of de Shera.”
“Indeed, my lord.”
“Then you know me. You know we have come for my brother’s bride.”
Kress lost all humor in that small statement. He simply looked at Alexander, who spoke on behalf of the escort.
“We sent word that we would bring her to you, my lord,” he said. “In fact, the lady has been ill with a cough and a fever, which is why we have not yet come to The Paladin. We are giving the lady time to recover.”
“She is ill?”
The question of concern came from a small woman who, when she stepped into the light, had the same dark eyes and pale blonde hair that Cadelyn had; they could all see it. A relative, mayhap? Kress thought. In fact, the woman seemed quite worried as she stepped forward, fixed on Alexander.
“How ill is she?” she asked. “Has there been a physic to tend her?”
The woman spoke with a heavy Welsh accent. “She is feeling much better, my lady,” Alexander said. “It is nothing to worry over, but she did not wish to meet her betrothed with a red nose, as you can understand.”
The woman didn’t seem convinced. She looked at Atilius and Fabius as if silently demanding they do something about this. Atilius, noting the wrought on the woman’s face, spoke quietly.
“Where is the lady, then?” he asked. “May we see to her health for ourselves?”
Alexander didn’t give permission, not yet. “Where is your brother?” he asked, changing the subject slightly. “Should not the earl be here to greet his bride?”
Atilius nodded. “He should, except he does not leave the safe confines of The Paladin,” he said, looking to Fabius behind him. “Ask my brother, Fabius; he will tell you. Tatius awaits his betrothed at The Paladin and has asked us to bring her to him.”
“I assume you have a missive to us to that regard, signed by the earl?”
Atilius stiffened slightly. “There is no need. I am his brother and you have my word.”
That wasn’t good enough for Alexander. He looked at Fabius, at the woman who had spoken, and the armed soldiers back by the door.
“Who are the rest of the people who accompanied you?” he finally asked.
“Welsh relatives of Cadelyn of Vendotia,” Atilius said. “In fact, the woman in front of you is her mother, Nesta ferch Madog.”
Kress looked at the woman in shock as Alexander turned to her, mildly confused by the introduction.
“We were not told to expect her mother,” he said, realizing now why the woman looked so familiar – she looked exactly like Cadelyn.
“In fact, William Marshal made no mention of the lady’s mother at all. ”
Nesta spoke before Atilius could reply. “That is because William Marshal knows nothing of me,” she said. “You see, my daughter was taken as an infant by my husband and given over to William Marshal to protect. I have not seen her in eighteen years.”
She even sounded like Cadelyn did, with the same slight lisp. But Alexander’s confusion was turning into suspicion. “My lady, forgive me, but this is unexpected,” he said. “William Marshal made mention of you only to say that you were gone, which I assumed to mean dead.”
Nesta shook her head. “Not dead, Saesneg,” she said. “I am quite alive.”
“Then why did The Marshal say you were gone?” Alexander asked. He wasn’t trying to be difficult, but her presence – and the arrival of de Shera – had him on edge. “And why did your husband give your daughter over to him to protect?”