Chapter Three #2
“Honey knows how we feel,” Maximus murmured as Tiberius took a very large drink of wine.
Tiberius was more emotional than the rest of them and tended to weep at the mention of his dying mother.
Maximus eyed his younger brother before continuing.
“She knew about de Montfort’s gathering in Oxford, the parliament that he is convening.
She has known about it for months, before she fell terribly ill.
When she awoke from her deep sleep and asked me what I was doing praying beside her bed, I told her that we would remain with her until the very end.
Jeniver heard me, and your wife further heard when Honey told me that the world would not stop because of her.
She told me that we had a responsibility to England and that we had to go with de Montfort.
There was no arguing with her about it.”
Tiberius, unable to contain his emotion, wiped at his eyes. “So we left her with only a physic for comfort,” he said, grieved. “I did not want to come to Oxford. I told all of you as much. I wanted to remain with my mother.”
Gallus and Maximus looked at their brother, not unsympathetic.
“And risk Honey waking up to your face, seeing that you had not continued with your commitment to de Montfort and to England?” Gallus pointed out.
“She would climb out of her deathbed and beat you with a switch, and you know it. We discussed this before we left, Ty. We can do nothing to help her. Our mother’s fate is consigned to God.
We are doing what she wants us to do. We are securing England’s future, for us and for our children. ”
Tiberius wasn’t happy but he understood.
It was what their mother wanted, and no one disobeyed Honey and lived to tell the tale.
With a heavy sigh, he poured himself more wine.
Maximus watched his brother, knowing the man was hurting like they all were.
There was nothing they could do for their mother and, for the powerful de Shera brothers, it was a difficult fact to accept.
Resigned, he moved to pour himself more wine also, noting the expression of his knights across the leaning table. His gaze fell upon Scott.
“Your father should be in town,” he said to the brawny knight, changing the subject away from the gloom of Honey de Shera. “He said he would meet us here from when we last saw him at Kenilworth. Has he contacted you yet?”
Drawn into the conversation, Scott shook his head. “He has not,” he replied. “I am sure he will be here any day now.”
Gallus nodded. “I have sent men out to scour the town, leaving word for him at other inns,” he said. “He will know where to find us when he arrives.”
“I expect my father to arrive shortly, also,” Stefan spoke up from the end of the table. “You know he will want to be a part of this, on behalf of the Earl of Canterbury. David de Lohr is a very, very old man and does not travel, so he will send my father in his stead.”
Gallus lifted his eyebrows. “I have not seen my uncle in many years,” he said wistfully. “He is, in truth, my mother’s uncle, but David is a living legend. I remember him well from my childhood, visiting Canterbury on two occasions. The man is well into his eighties by now.”
Stefan grinned. “He is my great-grandfather,” he said.
“I grew up with the man. He celebrated his eighty-eighth year this past March but I would wager he could still take all of us on in a sword fight. Old de Lohrs never die. They live on and on until someone finally digs a hole in the ground and forces them into it. Even then, they will not go easily.”
Gallus smiled knowingly at the knight who was his distant cousin. “My grandfather, Christopher de Lohr, passed away eleven years ago,” he said. “The man lived a very long and very full life. His was a great loss.”
Stefan’s smile faded. “I do not believe my great-grandfather has gotten over it,” he said. “I can still hear him sitting in his solar at Canterbury, speaking to an empty chair. My mother told me that he was speaking to his brother. He did that for years. He probably does it still.”
Gallus thought on the legendary de Lohrs, as his mother was Christopher de Lohr’s youngest daughter.
He was very proud to carry those legendary bloodlines.
As his thoughts lingered on his very big and very wise grandfather, a man he had much admired, Maximus finished what was left in his wine cup and set the empty cup on the table.
“As much as I would like to reminisce about our grandfather, I have other plans for this evening,” he said, changing the subject back to the focus at hand. Then, he looked around the table. “Who is going with me to de Lara’s table?”
The knights were already standing up, as was Tiberius, eager to experience something other than the stale food and stuffy atmosphere of The One-Eyed Raven. But Gallus remained seated, looking up at the group on their feet.
“I should remain with my wife,” he said, with some regret. “If she is feeling better, mayhap we will come later. Where are you going, anyway?”
Maximus pointed towards the south. “Kennington House,” he said. “Since their hostel burned, de Lara will evidently be staying there.”
Gallus’s eyebrows drew together. “Why were they staying in a hostel in the first place if they have a home outside of the city?”
Maximus snorted. “Lady Courtly told me that they do not stay there because her father’s sister resides there and they cannot stand one another,” he said, his grin breaking through. “This should be an interesting evening, then. Are you sure you do not want to come?”
“Nay.”
“Not even for the entertainment value of de Lara fighting with his sister?”
Gallus grinned. “I will think on it,” he said. “If it is a good fight, make sure to tell me about it.”
Maximus shook his head. “I will not,” he said. “If you cannot summon the will to come, why should I tell you anything? You will be left to wonder.”
Gallus waved him off. “Go, then,” he said, watching his brothers and knights turn for the door that would take them out to the livery. “And if the sister starts throwing pots, I hope you get caught in the crossfire.”
He heard Maximus laugh all the way out the door.
*
Kennington House
Courtly and Isadora sat in the massive hall, listening to their father and aunt screaming at each other in the kitchen that was across the yard from the hall.
The small servant’s door was open, the one that led to the yard, and they could hear every word spoken as the fight raged.
From the gist of what was being spoken, it was apparent that Ellice had no intention of providing a meal to her brother’s guests and Kellen was enraged.
Since he controlled the de Lara fortune, he threatened to stop his support of Kennington if Ellice didn’t produce a feast of epic proportions.
Even with the warning, Ellice was still not inclined to do so.
The girls sat at a large table, one of four large tables in the massive dining hall of Kennington, surrounded by a cold room, dead hearth, and no food.
It was dark outside, as night had fallen, so the ladies were essentially sitting in the dark and cold, wondering what was going to happen to the evening’s meal.
Guests were expected at any moment and they had nothing to offer.
At least, nothing to offer from Ellice, but Courtly had never been one to sit around and lament a situation.
If there was something that could be done, she would find it.
She was rather resourceful that way, as the bed-linen rope had proved earlier in the day.
She was a thinker, a doer, and this situation simply wasn’t acceptable.
Her aunt was being stubborn and belligerent as far as she was concerned, and she was growing nearly as frustrated as her father as she sat there, arm around Isadora, listening to the battle.
Courtly didn’t want to be embarrassed in front of a man she truly wanted to impress, but with her smoke-filled dress, she was already at a disadvantage.
No food for a feast would be the last nail in the coffin.
The man would run off and tell the world that the House of de Lara was filled with savages.
Not that she cared what the world in particular thought, but she was greatly concerned with what Sir Maximus de Shera thought.
It was an odd sensation to actually care what a man thought about her.
She’d never experienced that before. Therefore, as she listened to her father scream at her aunt, she decided to take matters into her own hands.
She would not let Aunt Ellice ruin her chance with Sir Maximus, which was exactly what would happen if she didn’t do something.
“Come along,” she said, standing up from the dark and cold table and taking Isadora by the hand. “We are going to the kitchen to see what we can do about preparing the evening meal.”
Isadora was yanked along as they crossed the floor to the servant’s entrance that led to the kitchen yard. “But what will we do?” Isadora asked, intimidated. “We cannot make Auntie change her mind!”
“I do not intend to make her change her mind. I intend to do her job.”
“What do you mean?”
“We will cook if we have to.”
“But I do not know how to cook!”
Courtly ignored her whining sister. They quit the hall, out into the cool, dark night with the kitchen directly across from them. Already, they could see Kellen and Ellice standing by the door, arguing in the dim light of the yard.
“I will tell you what to do,” Courtly said as she eyed both her father and her aunt. “I learned a great deal about cooking at the kitchens of Prudhoe Castle. Lady d’Umfraville had fostered at a great house in France and she knew a good deal about cooking and food. It is very simple, truly.”