Chapter Fourteen
Winchester Castle
Several days later
He wasn’t throwing things this time, but it was clear that he was devastated.
Henry sported a full beard to go along with his dark red hair that tended to look like straw at times, unkempt and uneven.
But the man didn’t give a hang about his appearance so the hair remained dirty and on end, as did the beard at times.
At the moment, that scruffy beard covered up a ruddy complexion that was red with fury and distress as he listened to reports from Canterbury soldiers who had only just arrived at Winchester.
Spouting tales of murder and mayhem, the soldiers had worked their way through four different men at the castle, from the gatehouse guards to the king’s Captain of the Guard, repeating the same story until they were finally permitted to see the king.
It was a tale that no man under Henry’s command wanted to repeat to him.
Therefore, the soldiers were thrust at Henry like sacrificial lambs to take the brunt of the king’s distress for the news they bore.
In the hall of Winchester and surrounded by some of his advisors, at least the ones who had gone hunting with him after Christmas and had only just returned, Henry had listened to a shocking tale of the murder of Thomas Becket.
According to the soldiers from Canterbury Castle, a royal garrison for Henry, witnesses spoke of men cornering the archbishop before Vespers before proceeding to kill him.
The witnesses were traumatized, naturally, but more than one swore that the archbishop was murdered by four knights before being joined by two more and about ten soldiers, most of them wearing tunics of the Itinerant Justice of Hampshire.
De Nerra.
By the time the soldiers were finished delivering their message, Henry’s face was so red that those nearest him thought he truly might burst. It wasn’t enough that the king had suffered years of long battle with Becket; what mattered was that a man who had once been as a brother to him had been murdered by an itinerant justice loyal to the king.
Henry was beside himself at the news, as if he’d never had a quarrel with Canterbury in his life.
He was shattered.
“This cannot be,” he said when the soldiers finished their story. Then, louder. “This cannot be! It is not possible!”
The soldiers from Canterbury, three of them, cowered at the sound of Henry’s booming voice. The king’s tendency to rage was well-known.
“Our garrison commander, Sir Owen Hampton, interviewed many monks who claimed to have seen the murder, my lord,” the older of the three said steadily.
“We were told that four knights instigated it and had killed the archbishop by the time more de Nerra men arrived. In fact, the men that arrived later stopped what could have been an utter butchering of the archbishop, so his body remained intact for burial.”
Henry was quivering with emotion, both rage and disbelief. “But he is surely dead?”
“Aye, my lord, Canterbury is dead.”
Henry just stared at them after that, unmoving, seemingly paralyzed.
It was difficult to know just how the man was going to react, but everyone in the room was trying to gauge him.
Such terrible news would surely have consequences.
There were several senior nobles around him, watching him closely for his eventual reaction, including Tevin du Reims.
The Earl of East Anglia had gone hunting with the king when they’d arrived at Winchester right after Christmas simply to appease the man, but he had intended to return home on the morrow.
He had a wife and children and grandchildren who were demanding his return.
But after hearing the shocking news from the Canterbury soldiers, Tevin was quickly starting to reconsider his plans to leave.
Being one of the king’s most trusted men, he had privileges in speaking and action that others did not. Henry seemed to tolerate almost anything from him. Therefore, Tevin didn’t give thought to stepping into the conversation about something that had the entire chamber reeling.
“It makes no sense that Val de Nerra should go to Canterbury to assassinate Becket,” he said in disbelief, mostly speaking to Henry but in part to the soldiers who had accused de Nerra of precisely that. “Did anyone see de Nerra there? Can anyone place him at the scene?”
The three soldiers shrugged, shaking their heads, looking at each other in confusion. “If he was, no one has identified him, my lord,” the older soldier said. “But witnesses place his men there. They described men bearing his colors.”
Tevin didn’t like the sound of that at all.
“His colors, aye, but not him,” he pointed out.
“It is possible these men were acting without de Nerra’s knowledge.
And you said that only some of the men were wearing de Nerra colors?
What about the others? It is entirely possible that there are other lords involved in this… this disgrace.”
The older soldier, a man with a dirty face and a bushy beard, simply shook his head. “We were not there, my lord, and did not see the men who killed the archbishop,” he said. “All I can tell you is what witnesses have told us.”
“Then how did you know it was de Nerra?”
“A crimson and white tunic with a gold lion, my lord. It was identified by Owen Hampton as a de Nerra standard, as he has many dealings with the Itinerant Justice of Hampshire because of the close proximity of Hampshire’s jurisdiction to Canterbury.”
Tevin stared at the man a moment, realizing the identification had been true. He knew de Nerra’s colors and they were as the soldier said. He was starting to get a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he looked at Henry.
“This makes no sense, my lord,” he said. “You know that Val de Nerra would not have done such a thing unless you ordered it. He is not an unreasonable man. He would not act on his own in such matters.”
Henry was still trembling, still red in the face. His dark-eyed gaze was on the soldiers who had come bearing such awful news but, after a moment, he turned away, a desolate mood that had him staggering.
“My God,” Henry breathed. “It is possible? Is it truly possible that my brother has been murdered by a rogue knight?”
It was clear from his words that he was not considering Tevin’s words about de Nerra.
He didn’t want to entertain logic at the moment, only facts.
As he wandered aimlessly, men moved away from him.
No one wanted to be near when the legendary Plantagenet temper let loose.
No matter what the differences between Henry and his former friend, an assassination somehow made men forget about their quarrels.
It only brought forth the realization that apologies and reconciliations would never come.
It was the moment that men such as Henry would live with regrets of a relationship and brother lost.
Tevin knew that; he’d seen men lose brothers and suffer for it. But he didn’t want a possibly innocent man to be accused of such a terrible crime, especially a man he didn’t believe capable of such a thing. There had to be another truth behind all of this.
“My lord, allow me to question the witnesses myself,” Tevin implored. “I must go to my home at Rochester and it is very close to Canterbury. Permit me to get to the bottom of this situation and seek justice for all.”
Henry had wandered to a lancet window, his gaze moving across the bailey of Winchester as the lines of grief crept into his face. “Val has been identified, Tevin,” he said with unusual calm. “Men saw his colors and identified him.”
Tevin watched the king as the man leaned against the window. In truth, Henry was showing far too much calm for Tevin’s taste. It made him nervous.
“But you cannot believe de Nerra is behind this,” he said. “That is not the Val you know and love; it is not the Val any of us knows. There are a hundred other men I would suspect of an assassination before I would suspect Val de Nerra.”
The redness to Henry’s cheeks seemed to be fading as the reality of the situation settled in. More than anything, he seemed to be particularly shaken above all – not angry, not wildly grief stricken. Simply shaken.
“Then mayhap the questions you have should not be for the witnesses,” he said. “Mayhap they should be for Val. In fact, I want to ask him myself. I want to find out why he killed my old friend.”
Tevin was starting to think that there may not be justice for Val de Nerra at all.
His colors had been identified at the scene and Henry seemed to be fixed on it, but the Val de Nerra they all knew, including Tevin, was a man of supreme character and restraint, a seasoned knight with great wisdom.
That was why Henry appointed him as his itinerant justice.
What the Canterbury soldiers were telling them just didn’t seem to make sense.
“Let me speak with him before you bring him here, my lord,” Tevin asked. “If I feel he is guilty, then I shall bring him back to Winchester myself.”
Henry acted as if he didn’t hear him. “Send my knights for him,” he said. “Where is de Morville, in fact? He did not accompany us in our hunting and I’ve not seen him since my return to Winchester. Where is the man?”
Tevin didn’t know the answer to that but he turned to one of Henry’s knights who had, in fact, remained behind in command of Winchester while the king was away. Sir Dacian d’Vant, a tall and competent man, was standing near the entrance to the solar.
“D’Vant,” Tevin said sharply. “Where is de Morville?”
D’Vant shook his head. “In truth, he and FitzUrse, le Breton, and de Tracy disappeared after our stay at Saltwood Castle,” he said.
“We did not realize that until a few days later. At first I thought they had gone on ahead to Winchester, but they did not and no one has seen them. I have sent men to look for them.”
Tevin’s brow furrowed as he pondered that, turning to Henry with a rather puzzled expression. “That seems odd,” he said. “De Morville is quite loyal to you, my lord, as are the others. They are most wanting for royal favor. So it seems very strange that they would simply disappear.”
Henry wasn’t particularly interested in four missing knights. At the moment, he was fighting off crippling grief.
“Mayhap, they have been murdered as well,” he said.
“Mayhap, they have fallen victim to de Nerra’s sword.
My God, du Reims, what if de Nerra is systematically attempting to destroy everything that is precious to me?
What if I am next? Send men to bring him to me immediately.
If I have a viper within my household, then I would know of it. ”
Tevin knew he couldn’t disobey a direct order from the king. He could see that Henry was becoming paranoid in his grief and that would not be a healthy thing for anyone. But rather than argue with him about it, he simply agreed.
He had to find out what really happened before the king did.
“Aye, my lord,” he said. “I shall see to it personally.”
Henry didn’t even respond; the grief he’d been struggling against overwhelmed him and he slumped against the window, a hand over his face.
Tevin chose that moment to quit the chamber, but not before pausing to pull d’Vant along with him.
He had something to say to the man. Once they were alone in the corridor outside the solar, he came to a halt.
“Listen to me,” he hissed at Dacian. “Give me a day before you gather your army to bring Val de Nerra to Henry. Something is not right about this entire situation and I must speak to Val before Henry’s men throw him in chains and drag him to Winchester. Will you do this?”
Dacian nodded, his fair face tight with concern. “I know Val,” he muttered. “He is not capable of doing what he has been accused of. He is a decent man, more than most.”
Tevin was relieved to find an ally in Henry’s Captain of the Guard. “I agree,” he said quietly. “A day, Dacian. Give me at least that.”
Dacian simply nodded. “I will do my best, my lord.”
Tevin nodded his thanks, dashing into the darkness of the corridor and taking the stairs down to the entry level of the keep.
Beyond were the vast bailey and the stables where his horse was tethered.
It took him little time to gather his belongings and depart Winchester for Selborne, a fortress that was less than twenty miles away, something that would take him most of the day to reach if he pushed his horse.
He had to make it to Selborne to discover if Val knew anything about the assassination of Becket.
As Tevin cantered from the gates of Winchester, there were two predominant thoughts on his mind – if Val was, indeed, involved, he wanted to know the reasons behind it.
And if he wasn’t, then someone was going to a great deal of trouble to implicate an innocent man.
Surely Val, as an itinerant justice, had his fair share of enemies.
Perhaps one was finally seeking revenge against him in a most audacious way.
But if that wasn’t the case and Val had truly acted on his own… God help him.
God help them all.