Chapter Fourteen
Sixteen Miles southeast of Oxford
Village of Watlington
He could see the army on the horizon, clear as day. Under skies that were clouding up, promising rain, Garran could see a good-sized army encamped near the village of Watlington. Riding with his father and his father’s four men-at-arms, Garran eyed the gathering in the distance suspiciously.
“What is that?” he asked his father, pointing. “Can you see it?”
Bose, calm and collected and dressed in full battle armor, nodded. “I do indeed.”
Garran was still looking at the cluster on the horizon but he couldn’t help noticing his father hadn’t answered his entire question.
“Papa,” he said, turning to look at him. “What is that?”
Bose didn’t answer for a moment. His black eyes were riveted to the same thing his son was looking at. Finally, he spoke.
“It looks to be an army,” he said. “In fact, that is the army we shall be joining shortly.”
Garran’s eyes narrowed. “Henry’s army?” he asked. “Are we traveling with them to London?”
Bose shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “At least, we are not going to London at this moment. We have a task to accomplish first. That is what the army is for.”
Garran didn’t like the sound of that. “What is the army for?”
Bose looked to his son. “The army is to retrieve something that belongs to Henry,” he said. “Hughston de Russe’s cousin, Christon de Russe, is claiming Warborough Castle for his own. Henry wants it back.”
Garran was stumped by the entire conversation. “Christon de Russe has been constable at Warborough for years,” he said. “Moreover, he is a great supporter of Henry and, if I recall correctly, also his treasurer. Why are we going to Warborough?”
Bose flicked a drop of sweat from his eyes.
“Christon de Russe has decided to side with his cousin and, subsequently, de Montfort,” he said.
“The man has turned against the king and not only has he switched allegiances, he has taken some of the king’s money with him.
Henry wants his money, and his castle, back. ”
Garran was starting to understand quite clearly now. A battle. His heart sank. “How long have you known about this?” he asked.
Bose returned his focus to the army in the distance.
“Since before I arrived at Oxford,” he said.
“Why do you think I came to Oxford, Garran? I have been called to fight with Henry’s army against Warborough and I can promise you that all of de Montfort’s supporters in Oxford, including the House of de Shera, will be arriving shortly to prevent Henry from regaining his castle.
I knew we would be fighting on opposing sides, my son. That is why I wanted you with me.”
Garran grunted with disbelief. Aye, he understood everything now. A battle had been looming for quite some time and Bose had used the opportunity to remove Garran from the de Shera stable. He did not want to fight against his son.
“I see,” he finally said, sounding disgusted. “You could have told me. You did not have to make it seem as if you had come to Oxford for me alone.”
“I did,” Bose countered in a tone that left no room for debate. “I came to collect my son.”
Garran simply rolled his eyes and looked away.
Now, so much of this was making sense. Still, it was concerning.
He was fairly certain that Gallus, Maximus, and Tiberius knew nothing about Warborough Castle because they surely would have said something.
Their only concerns had been to resolve Maximus’ issue with Lady Courtly and then move on to London for the king’s council.
It concerned him that the king’s army was going to be laying a trap for those who would come to defend Warborough.
But he said nothing as they plodded along the road, heading for the army in the distance which soon became quite a large group.
Hundreds at the very least, perhaps even a thousand or more.
They were met by sentries on the outskirts of the encampment and when Bose announced himself, he was taken directly to a large tent bearing the de Winter crest. Garran recognized it, he knew it well.
The House of de Winter and the House of de Shera, before the madness with Henry and Simon, were close allies and friends.
In fact, they still were. But the divisions of state had their public loyalties known to opposite sides.
Grayson de Winter came out of his tent as Bose and Garran rode up.
A muscular man for his advanced age, he smiled at Bose as the man pulled his steed to a halt and dismounted.
As Grayson moved for Bose, a younger knight emerged from the tent and Garran immediately recognized Davyss de Winter.
He was Gallus’ best friend and had been since they had been children.
Davyss de Winter was a legendary knight with legendary skill, even at his young age.
Handsome and well-built with dark, curly hair, he looked very surprised to see Garran standing with Bose.
Davyss knew that Garran was a de Shera knight and his confusion was understandable.
He also appeared as if he very much wanted to say something but he kept his mouth shut, his hazel eyes fixed on Garran in a most perplexing way. Garran stared back.
“De Moray,” Grayson said with pleasure, putting a hand on Bose’s broad shoulder. “I was told to expect you soon. Your men arrived two days ago and told me you had business in Oxford.”
Garran’s attention moved away from Davyss, now focusing on his father with some shock on his features.
It was occurring to him that his father had somehow duped him, playing on family sympathies in order to obtain his son’s fealty.
But Garran knew his father wasn’t manipulative.
He was a very truthful man. Still, he felt as if he had somehow been lied to by omission of certain truths.
He felt as if his father hadn’t been completely honest about the situation. But he said nothing as Bose spoke.
“Indeed I did,” Bose said, looking into the face of an old acquaintance. “I had to go and retrieve my son. He was in Oxford.”
Grayson turned his attention to Garran, a mirror image of his father, and the smile on his face faded somewhat. “Garran,” he murmured, as if remembering things about the young knight. “You are a de Shera knight.”
Garran shook his head. “I have pledged to my father, my lord,” he said. “I have been released from my de Shera bond.”
Grayson lifted his eyebrows. “That could not have been an easy thing,” he said. “Once a de Shera, always a de Shera. You know the saying.”
Garran looked at his father. “De Moray blood supersedes de Shera friendship.”
Bose detected some bitterness there and he could imagine why. His son wasn’t happy about committing to the king’s cause. But he would get over it. He returned his attention to de Winter.
“You have quite an army assembled,” he said. “How many men?”
Grayson looked out over his military empire.
“Almost two thousand,” he said. “Henry has provided French mercenary troops. I have told the English troops to keep watch on them because they like to raid and steal from the countryside. I will not permit the French to run amuck even if Henry did send them. But now that de Moray has arrived, they will be forced to behave themselves.”
He said it in jest and Bose smiled thinly. He didn’t like the thought of French mercenaries on English soil, either, but he had to go along with what the king dictated. He would never admit to anyone that supporting the king these days had him the slightest bit disgruntled. He gestured to the tent.
“Let us retreat inside and discuss strategy,” he said. “Warborough cannot be more than a few miles away. What are the plans?”
Grayson began to lead Bose into the tent. “Warborough is approximately seven miles away,” he said. “Now that you have arrived, we have orders to move swiftly. De Montfort is distracted with the rumors of Henry’s council convening in London so the time to move is now.”
Bose looked at him, a light of understanding coming to his eye. “Are those rumors, then?” he asked. “Henry is not convening his council?”
Grayson nodded. “Not so soon, at any rate,” he said.
“We spread those rumors that the meeting was imminent because we knew de Montfort was in Oxford. It is a ruse to turn his focus away from Warborough, at least for now. There are many barons in Oxford and if they gather to defend Warborough, it could be very bad indeed. These French mercenaries would like nothing better than to kill English barons.”
Bose sighed heavily. He couldn’t help but look at his son now, realizing that he had not realized the full scope of the move against Warborough.
But Garran was emotionless as he gazed at his father and Bose turned back to Grayson, realizing he might have some damage control to do with his son after all of this was over.
Garran did not appear happy in the least in spite of his impassive stance.
The man was heading straight into a battle against men he considered brothers.
Nay, Garran didn’t like it in the least.
As Bose and Grayson moved into the big de Winter tent, Davyss put out a hand and stopped Garran before the man could follow. In fact, he pulled him away from the tent flap so their fathers could not overhear their conversation. When they were a safe distance away, Davyss turned to Garran.
“What are you doing here?” Davyss hissed at him. “I thought you were with Gallus.”
Garran cleared his throat uncomfortably.
“I was until my father came to town and begged for my fealty,” he said.
“He told me he did not want to lift a sword against me in battle and that was what this entire situation was coming down to. What he did not tell me was that there was already a battle on the horizon that he knew about.”