Chapter Three
Redcliffe Hill Manor
Bristol
“That’s quite a townhome, Jareth. Congratulations.”
Aidric was gesturing to a large manse, with a big curtain wall, that was perched on the riverbank.
With the blue, breezy sky as a backdrop and birds riding the drafts overhead, Jareth paused to get a good look at what his uncle had left him.
A big, gray-stoned edifice with some sections that were wattle and daub, with whitewashed walls and brown-stained beams in patterns, like quatrefoil, which looked like a four-leaf clover.
There were other designs, too, carefully carved and then applied to the wall with plaster.
Truthfully, it was a stunning piece of architecture.
“Given the fact that my uncle was wealthy, I suppose I should not be surprised,” he finally said. “But… damnation, I am. I truly am.”
Those around him started laughing because he was showing genuine shock.
Along with Aidric, Stefan and Orion had accompanied him with the rest of the Guard of Six, as Henry had allowed.
It was a full complement of some of the most powerful men in England, and exactly nine days after leaving London, they were standing in front of Redcliffe.
It seemed like a dream.
Britt de Garr came over and slapped Jareth on the shoulder, beaming at him. The man had red hair, blue eyes, and the flaming temper to match those vibrant colors. He was big and menacing when he wanted to be, but no man was more loyal to king or country or his companions.
Jareth liked Britt a great deal.
Rounding out the Six was Dirk d’Vant, from the Cornwall d’Vants, a family that had made its name in war and piracy and shipping.
He was an enormous blond god of a man, more fearsome with a sword than any of them.
He was congenial, and had an air of command about him, but tended to be rather quiet because he spoke with a slight lisp.
A very deep voice with a barely noticeable lazy tongue, but Dirk had been self-conscious about it since he was a child, so he tended to be a man of action more than words.
But even Dirk was awed by his friend’s good fortune.
“God’s Blood,” he said. “You could rule quite an empire from that home, Jareth. Well deserved, old man.”
Jareth was trying to keep the smile off his face.
Now that the shock of seeing such a place was wearing off, he could feel the thrill of pleasure filling him.
Pleasure in the fact that his uncle’s empire was still here, or at least his primary residence was still here, a fine example of a rich man’s legacy.
They were outside of the gates, in an open area where three roads converged, and there were other cottages around, all of them well kept.
It was evidently the higher rent district of Bristol.
Everything appeared rather nice and neat.
Orion and Stefan were already up by the gate leading into the manse’s yard, trying to peer through the slats, when Jareth walked up and pulled on a piece of rope poking through a hole next to the gate.
Somewhere, a bell rang.
Curious, the men gathered around the gate, waiting to see who would appear.
No one answered right away, so Jareth rang again.
And a third time. Finally, they could hear someone chattering as they came closer to the gate, a running conversation about the virtue of patience or something like it.
Whoever it was sounded irritated. The gate on the right had a small window cut into it, and that little wooden square was yanked open.
An eye appeared.
“What are ye wanting?” came the demand.
Jareth put himself in front of the bloodshot eye. “My name is Jareth de Leybourne,” he said. “Chester de Long was my uncle. I have a document from him naming me the heir to his properties and I am here to stake my claim. Open the gate and let me in.”
The eye widened as it looked him up and down. “Ye?”
“Me.”
“Show me the letter!”
Jareth went back over to his horse, digging in his saddlebag before pulling forth the missive. He went back over to the eye, unfolding the vellum to show him the letter.
“See?” he said. “From my Uncle Chester. Now will you open the gate?”
The eye could see the document, and the familiar seal, but he only looked at it briefly before looking at the other men standing around. All of them big and heavily armed.
“Who are the others?” he demanded.
Jareth was quickly running out of patience. “I have told you my name,” he said. “I have shown you the document sent to me by my uncle. You will open the gate or the six of us will kick it down and throw you into the river. Do you understand?”
The eye disappeared. Jareth looked at Aidric and the others, a wry expression on his face as he wondered if he was going to have to make good on his threat. But he was saved from a decision when the bolt to the gate was thrown and the panel on the right lurched open.
An old man with dirty white hair stood in the gap.
“My name is Henbury,” he said. “I have been the majordomo at Redhill since I was a young man. Ye must understand that men will do or say anything to come inside and rob us.”
Jareth couldn’t fault the old man being careful. “I assure you, we are not here to rob you,” he said. “My uncle has left me this home and his property. I have come to claim my property.”
“As ye should,” the old man said. “Welcome to Redcliffe Manor.”
Everyone stepped in through the gate, looking around. Especially Jareth—he liked what he saw.
“It is well kept,” he observed. “This isn’t the only property in town, however. Am I correct in my understanding of that?”
“Ye are.”
“Then mayhap you can explain everything to me.”
The old man shook his head. “Ye must see Desdra for that,” he said. “She has been expecting ye.”
“Who is Desdra?”
“Lord Chester’s scribe.”
“Very well,” Jareth said. “Will you announce me to Desdra?”
“She is at The Feast, my lord.”
Jareth had no idea what that meant. “What feast?”
“The Feast. Aphrodite’s Feast.”
“I do not know what that is or where it is.”
The old man pointed back toward the city center, northward. “It is The Feast, my lord,” he said as if Jareth should already know. “Only the greatest enterprise the world has ever seen. Ye do not know this?”
“Tell me what The Feast is.”
The old man looked at him. Then he looked at the men around him.
“It is a place for men,” he explained. “A place where men find women to take comfort with. And food to eat. The very best food! Aphrodite’s Feast is famous for the finest food and drink in all of England.
Lord Chester would have Spanish wine brought over—great barrels of it—because the customers demand it. ”
Jareth still wasn’t clear on what he was talking about. “A tavern?” he said.
“Nay,” Orion said quietly. He’d been listening to the explanation and had a suspicion what the establishment was all about. “Henbury, is this a place where a man can pay to lie with a woman?”
Henbury nodded without hesitation. “If he wishes,” he said. “But he can also pay to dance with her or eat with her. Whatever he desires. Have ye truly not heard of it?”
Orion looked at Jareth. “It seems that your uncle has left you a brothel.”
Jareth hadn’t expected to hear that. He wasn’t na?ve by any stretch of the imagination, but Orion had figured it out before he did. Perhaps because a brothel, in his noble family, had never entered his mind. Shocked, he lifted his eyebrows.
“Is that what it is?” he said incredulously, looking at Henbury. “A strumpet house?”
He didn’t seem pleased, which puzzled Henbury. He could see that the rest of the men were a little surprised by the news, so he once again pointed toward the city center.
“Desdra is there, waiting for ye,” he said. “She will tell ye everything. Ye’ll find Aphrodite’s Feast on the Avenue of the Jews. Where the metalsmiths are.”
Jareth just stood there for a moment, astounded. Then he started to shake his head. “I cannot believe this,” he said. “My uncle kept whores?”
“We do not call them that, my lord,” Henbury said. “They are muses.”
Jareth was quickly moving beyond surprise to outrage. “It doesn’t matter what you call them,” he said. “It is all the same. God’s Bones, this cannot be true!”
Henbury was genuinely puzzled at the outrage. “The Feast has been in the de Long family for many years,” he said. “It wasn’t just yer uncle, my lord. His father before him, and his before him. Ye did not know?”
Realizing this enterprise was generational did nothing for Jareth’s shock or anger.
He looked at the men around him, feeling a great deal of embarrassment.
They’d all come to witness his shameful inheritance.
The fact that this was some family secret kept from him only made him feel more foolish.
After a moment, he closed his eyes and clapped a hand on his forehead.
“I did not know,” he muttered. “How is that even possible? Surely my mother knew. My father must have known. And no one bothered to mention it.”
Henbury wasn’t sure what to say. “Ye must find Desdra, my lord,” he said again. “She will tell you everything.”
Jareth shook his head quickly. “I am not going anywhere,” he said. “Bring this Desdra woman to me immediately. I will not go to a brothel. I certainly will not own one.”
Henbury was coming to realize that the man who identified himself as Lord Chester’s nephew was grossly unhappy with the inheritance he’d been given.
Perhaps it wasn’t the most prestigious bequest, but it was a moneymaker.
It also did good for the town. Henbury had been around it for so long that the fact it featured women meant nothing to him.
It was simply one business in Lord Chester’s empire.
But, clearly, the knight didn’t feel that way.
Perhaps Henbury needed to explain a little more than he had.
“It is not as bad as that, my lord,” he said. “Aphrodite’s Feast is well respected, even by the church. They do not mind it.”
Jareth was incredulous. “How can they not mind it?”