Chapter Fifteen
Wallingford
Arriving the following morning, mist was hovering over the ground just as sunrise began to turn the land shades of blue and pink.
The de Shera banners were hanging heavy and wet in the new day but there was no mistaking the de Shera crimson and black, distinctive, with a great eagle in the center of it that reflected upon the House of de Shera’s Roman origins.
It was said that the family descended from a lost Roman legion somewhere up near Chester.
Therefore, the family crest was an eagle.
Gallus, and his forefathers, flew the standard proudly.
The camp was mostly awake at this time and word began to spread that the Lords of Thunder had arrived.
Men began to rouse, to stand up and take notice, as the crimson and black standard moved through camp, heading for de Montfort’s tent.
The thunder of horses filled the air as Gallus and his brothers announced themselves as only they were capable of doing.
The entire camp paid attention. The muscle had arrived.
Bigod. Fitzgeoffrey. Gloucester. De Lara.
Canterbury. De Ferrers. Fitzalan. De Wolfe.
All of these standards came to notice as Gallus, Maximus, and Tiberius came to a halt near de Montfort’s big yellow tent.
One of de Montfort’s soldiers greeted them and directed them to set up camp directly to the east of de Montfort’s cluster.
Tiberius went with the men to establish their camp while Gallus and Maximus, along with their knights, dismounted.
As men took the horses away, Maximus turned to Scott and Troy.
“I saw your father’s standard,” he said. “I am relieved that he is here. Things should go much smoother with The Wolfe leading the charge.”
The de Wolfe brothers nodded. “Indeed,” Scott said. “I should like to go to my father, with your permission.”
Maximus waved him off. “Go,” he said. “But do not be gone over-long. We intend to meet with de Montfort directly and find out what his plans are, so I will have need of you shortly.”
The de Wolfe brothers nodded, heading off towards the distant standard bearing de Wolfe’s dark green and black colors. Maximus was about to turn around but noticed that Stefan was standing beside him, his young face excited.
“I saw the Canterbury standards, my lord,” he said. “May I go and see if my father has arrived?”
Maximus nodded. “The great Maddoc du Bois,” he said, smiling at the young knight.
“He is one of the few men left that are directly connected to the legends – your grandfather, your granduncle, Rhys du Bois, and Gart Forbes among them. Please give your father best regards from the House of de Shera and tell him that I look forward to seeing him again.”
Stefan nodded eagerly and bolted off into the faint morning mist. With his knights off to visit family, Maximus turned in the direction of the de Lara banner.
He’d seen it when they’d arrived, a red and white banner that had been mingled with others.
He knew it was Kellen and he certainly wasn’t surprised to see that he had arrived.
And he was positive that Kellen had either seen the House of de Shera arrive or, at least by now, been told of it.
Given that Kellen believed his daughter was on her way back to Trelystan and far away from Maximus de Shera, the man was probably feeling just the least bit victorious.
At least, that’s what Maximus thought. He would let the man feel that way, at least for the time being, and he had no intention of seeking him out or having any manner of conversation with him.
In fact, he would make a point of avoiding the man as much as he could.
He was fairly certain that, at this point, any conversation between them would come to no good end.
It was best to avoid it altogether, at least until time had passed and Kellen had been lured into a false sense of security, thinking he’d managed to keep Courtly away from her suitor.
Maximus knew he’d have to face the man at some point with what he’d done, but that moment would have to wait. Now was not the time.
With his thoughts lingering on how to avoid Kellen de Lara in the near future, Maximus caught sight of Gallus, who was standing in conference with one of de Montfort’s knights.
Maximus recognized the warrior immediately, the right hand and champion of de Montfort, a knight by the name of Sir Paeton de Royans who was, perhaps, more formidable than almost any man in England.
Even Maximus, as seasoned he was, had a healthy respect for de Royans’ abilities.
He was a tall man, although they were taller, but the sheer breadth and muscle on the man was an impressive and intimidating sight.
He was brawny, blond, handsome as hell, and he knew it.
A humble man, de Royans was not, but he had every reason not to be.
Maximus liked the man a great deal. He was brilliant, humorous, and they’d seen battle together many times.
As they approached, Paeton caught sight of Maximus and lifted a hand.
“And the God of War in the flesh arrives,” he said, his blue eyes glimmering. “I have not seen you in months, my friend. I have heard all manner of wild tales over the past several months, mostly with you and your brothers involved in them.”
Maximus laughed softly. “I have not been involved in anything,” he stressed. “And even if you think so, you cannot prove it. Where have you been, Pete? We literally have not seen you in months.”
Paeton smiled. “Drumming up support for de Montfort in the north,” he said quietly. “The north is very fickle. If de Montfort cannot bring in a few of the more powerful barons, then we may have real trouble on our hands.”
Maximus thought on that statement for a time.
After a moment, he shrugged. “We are, after all, leading a rebellion against the king,” he said.
“I am not surprised that you have had difficulty finding allies. Speaking of allies, tell us what has happened with Christon de Russe. Has he really pledged to de Montfort?”
Paeton nodded his head. “Indeed he has,” he said.
“Henry is none too pleased with it, either. He has convened a large army about seven miles from here and not a straggler army, either. Our scouts have seen de Winter banners and, they suspect, there are mercenaries involved. It is de Montfort’s intention to move his army to intercept them before they can reach Warborough. ”
Gallus and Maximus were listening closely. “When?” Maximus asked.
Paeton shrugged, glancing back at the big yellow tent, damp and somewhat sagging from the heavy dew of the morning air. “Soon,” he said. “We are simply awaiting word from our scouts. When they arrive to tell us de Winter is on the move, then we will intercept them.”
De Winter. That was not what Gallus or Maximus wanted to hear.
Fighting Davyss de Winter and his father was like fighting a beloved brother and uncle, although they knew that whenever Henry was convening an army that the de Winter troops would be there.
Still, there was little choice. They had committed to de Montfort and would do as they were told.
Paeton, who had been fighting de Montfort’s battles a very long time, must have sensed their thoughts because he knew, much as most of those close to the House of de Shera knew, that the de Sheras and the de Winters had very close ties. He could detect their melancholy.
“I am sorry about this,” he said softly, looking to both Gallus and Maximus. “You know it is not easy on de Montfort, either. He is Davyss de Winter’s godfather.”
Maximus and Gallus knew as much. Gallus waved the man off. “Such things happen in war,” he said, unwilling to elaborate. In fact, he changed the subject completely, mostly because he simply didn’t want to talk about it. “Where is de Montfort?”
Paeton pointed to the tent. “Inside.”
Thanking Paeton, Gallus headed into the tent but Maximus lingered behind.
It had been a great while since he’d seen his friend and he wanted a few cordial words with him, perhaps to even tell him about Courtly.
He found that he was proud and eager to speak of his new wife. However, Paeton spoke first.
“What will you do if Davyss lifts a sword to you?” he asked softly.
Maximus shrugged. “He will not.”
“Would you stake your life on it?”
“I would.”
Paeton didn’t have the heart to dispute him. “If he does and you do not lift yours,” he confided, “I will be there. I will not let him strike you down.”
Maximus looked at him. “Davyss will not strike any de Shera down and neither will his father,” he said.
“But I appreciate your concern, Pete, I sincerely do. However, there is something else you should know, something I am sure my brother is telling de Montfort right now. We lost Garran de Moray to Henry’s cause because the king has asked Garran’s father, Bose de Moray, for his sword.
Garran has chosen to support his father in this matter.
Although I hate to even voice such a thing, it is my suspicion that Bose and Garran are with the de Winter army.
They were both in Oxford and have since left, so I can only imagine that they have gone straight for Henry’s army. ”
Paeton’s blond eyebrows lifted. “De Moray?” he repeated, aghast. Mulling over the revelation, he simply shook his head.
“Then this will be a battle of legends because we have William de Wolfe and Maddoc du Bois among us. These men are beyond legend, Max. They are the immortals. And now they face each other in battle? I never thought I would live to see such a thing.”
Maximus put out a hand to the man, shaking his head firmly. “Do not curse them so by calling them immortals,” he said. “They are men of flesh and blood, just like us. They can die just as easily.”
“Let us hope not.”