Chapter Fifteen #2
Maximus drew in a long, deep breath, coming to grips with the power on both sides of the battle lines. It was truly quite remarkable. “I had better go inside and hear what de Montfort has to say,” he said. “Are you coming?”
“In a moment.”
Maximus threw a thumb out in the general direction of his encampment. “When you see Tiberius, send him on to me.”
Paeton nodded his head. “It will be my pleasure.”
“And no planning nasty tricks with him, at least until this skirmish is over and I can fight back.”
Paeton started to laugh, thinking on all of the rotten things they had done to each other over the years all in the name of good humor.
Once, they’d fixed Maximus’ saddle so that it slid off his horse and Maximus with it.
In retaliation, Maximus had tossed a hive full of angry bees into Paeton’s tent and sealed the flap shut so the man couldn’t escape.
Pranks that had been good-natured but, in some cases, rather painful.
Paeton still had an unnatural fear of bees as a result.
“I promise, no tricks,” he said, holding up his hand to honorably vow. “I cannot think of any good ones, anyway. I fear I am all out of ideas.”
Maximus rolled his eyes. “Then that is excellent news,” he declared. “That being said, I am going inside. It is good to see you again, my friend, tricks or no.”
Paeton waved him away, watching Maximus disappear inside de Montfort’s tent. There were already barons in there, gathering, although there was no formal meeting. That would come soon enough now that the Lords of Thunder had arrived. Now, they could start planning in earnest.
The fate of a nation was hanging in the balance and legends on both sides of the battle lines would soon be at war.
There could only be one victor.
*
It had been a difficult morning.
More than that, it had been a difficult night.
Maximus, Gallus, Tiberius, and their men had left at midnight under a bright and full moon, heavily armed and confident that they could reach Wallingford by morning.
Gallus and Jeniver had said tender farewells, with Gallus keeping his hand on Jeniver’s gently rounded belly, while Maximus and Courtly simply clung together.
But they were soon forced to separate, necessary if they were to make de Montfort’s rendezvous by morning, so Maximus and Gallus left the women in their chambers, safe behind locked doors, as they headed out into the night.
Courtly had hardly slept at all after that.
She kept seeing Maximus, dressed in full battle armor, prepared for a fight, and it made her sick to remember him like that.
Although she knew the man was a warrior, and the very best England had to offer, she still didn’t like the thought of him heading into battle where men would be aiming to cut him down.
She wanted him here, with her, safe and warm. But that was not meant to be.
Morning dawned misty and cold, but once the fog of the morning had lifted, Courtly and Jeniver had taken their small escort and had gone for a walk down the avenue and then back up again.
Both women were edgy, nervous, and Jeniver seemed to feel much better when she could move around a bit, and Gallus had permitted her to walk up and down the street that The One-Eyed Raven was located on.
On this morning after the men had gone, Jeniver saw no reason to deviate from her usual schedule.
Therefore, she and Courtly walked up and down the street, observing their surroundings with interest and trying not to think of their husbands as they headed into battle.
The inn was located on a street with two other hostels and residences, and people moved about their business in a great rush.
Children and dogs ran about in the street, one of the dogs being quite friendly with the ladies.
It was a very big dog, scruffy and underfed, but it seemed to take to Courtly a great deal.
Never having a pet, she tried to leave the dog behind at first but it kept following her, so she brought it along and back to the inn with her, mostly because she couldn’t get rid of it if she tried. And she had.
In truth, she needed the distraction, something to focus on other than the fact her husband was waging war, possibly this very minute.
This was all so new and unfamiliar to her, a new world of worries that she’d never experienced before, so it was difficult to know how to deal with the emotions the situation invited.
Jeniver wasn’t much better, but at least she’d had some experience with it, and she approved of the dog as a distraction.
At least it would give Courtly something to do other than sit and worry.
Therefore, Courtly focused on tending the scraggly mutt.
The innkeeper, now having become very familiar with his best guests, provided Courtly with a big, wooden tub to wash the dog in because it was so matted and dirty.
Courtly didn’t actually wash the dog herself but she stood by as a stable boy did it, and the dog seemed to begrudgingly accept the fact that it was being bathed.
He was calm enough, at any rate. He had a very big tongue and licked Courtly happily when she petted its head, assuring the dog that it was being very good and obedient as the boy scrubbed.
When the dog was finally rinsed clean, she took it into the kitchen of the inn and dried it off near the big bread oven.
Courtly ended up with the dog in the common room, sitting at the designated de Shera table, feeding it scraps from the morning meal.
The dog proved to be an excellent distraction, at least for a time, but thoughts of Maximus continued to infiltrate Courtly’s mind.
It was much like a leaky dam. She would plug up one flood of memories with a distraction, only to have the flood return greater than before.
She played the game for a while, petting and feeding the big and now, fluffy, dog, using it to keep at bay memories of Maximus, but soon she gave up the fight altogether.
As the dog lay down next to her and went to sleep, Courtly sat at the table with her chin in her hand, depressed, watching the activity of the room as patrons came and left.
She wished with all her heart that Maximus would be the next person coming through the entry door, but alas, it was not to be.
“Well?” came a voice behind her. “Did you bathe the bugs from the dog?”
Courtly turned to see Jeniver as the woman took a seat next to her. Courtly smiled weakly. “Indeed I did,” she said. “He is a very friendly dog.”
Jeniver eyed the mutt. “He is a very big dog,” she said. “I am glad that he is friendly because he could certainly eat you for sup.”
Courtly laughed, turning to pet her new friend on the head. “I have decided to name him Henry,” she said. “I can order him about to my content, make him do my bidding, and feed him scraps from my table. It is a perfect name, truly.”
Jeniver laughed. “Maximus and Gallus will love that,” she said. Then, she set a small, wooden box onto the table, something she had brought down with her from upstairs. She began to open it. “I thought you might like to play a game to pass the hours.”
Courtly looked at the box with interest. “What is it?”
Jeniver pulled forth a stack of wooden cards, elegantly painted. “These are cards that I purchased when I visited Paris a few months ago,” she said. “My father bought them for my birthday. We can play games with them.”
Courtly had played cards before. “When I fostered, the lady of the house had cards,” she said. “She taught us to play Bone Aces. Do you know that game?”
Jeniver nodded. “I do,” she said. “This is exciting. It is the first time I have been able to use my cards. Gallus will not play with me because all he wants to do is gamble and I refuse to take money from him.”
Courtly’s mood lightened as her focus shifted from thoughts of Maximus to those of a card game.
As the barkeep brought the ladies some warmed, mulled wine, Courtly and Jeniver played round after round of Bone Aces.
The object was, through accumulating numbered cards, to total thirty-one without going over that number.
One could discard and accept new cards, but if they went over the limit, then a winner was declared and a new game began.
Fortunately, both Courtly and Jeniver could count and they played the game with relish.
When their four-man escort saw what the women were doing, they showed great interest and Jeniver invited the head of the escort to join them.
The man happily accepted but was greatly displeased when he won not one hand against the women.
Insulted, the next man in the escort took over from him and he, too, lost every hand.
By this time, Courtly and Jeniver were having a grand time beating their escort at cards.
They finished soundly beating the second man and were starting in on his replacement when the door to the common room opened and a figure entered.
Courtly, who was facing the door, happened to glance up as the figure moved deeper into the room.
Recognition dawned and all humor left her face.
“Auntie!” she gasped.
It was too late to run and hide, for Ellice had already spotted her niece.
Oddly enough, she didn’t seem surprised to see her.
Pale, and wet from the intermittent rain that was striking up this day, Ellice made her way over to the table.
By the time she reached it, Courtly and Jeniver were on their feet, edgy, but Ellice only had eyes for Courtly.
“I hoped I would find you here,” Ellice said to her niece. “I had hoped you had not yet left to go to the de Shera stronghold.”
Courtly was torn between bewilderment and fear. “Oh… auntie,” she sighed, knowing her deception had just been discovered. There was great disappointment in her tone. “Why did you come here?”