Prologue #2
While Tristan was looking for normal threats, Alexander kept thinking of the man he’d seen back at The Pox.
He was guilty of patronizing The Pox as much as any of the other Executioner Knights, even though the Marshal told them to stay well clear of it, and so did his wife, but the man he’d seen wasn’t part of the normal rabble.
He’d never seen him there before. He wasn’t particularly concerned, but he was curious.
Knowing that the king kept his own stable of murderers and assassins, he was always curious when he saw a king’s man.
It made him wonder what the man was up to.
Unfortunately, he was about to find out.
The first sign of trouble was when they came through the street of brothels and made the turn west onto the wide avenue of Trinity Road.
The boulevard ran east to west in London, one of the larger avenues, and they could hear something behind them.
By the time Tristan and Alexander turned around, a lone man appeared, shuffling his feet as he walked.
The very man Alexander had been pondering.
Somewhat shocked to see the man behind them, he didn’t say anything. He simply turned around and kept walking, which encouraged Tristan to do the same. But the man behind them had other ideas.
“I’ve not seen the prince for many years,” he said in a heavy Occitan accent. “I was not sure it was him, but the fact that he looks so much like his father tells me it is true.”
No one knew whom he was talking to or talking about because he was alone, several feet behind them, and talking into the air. There was no one around, so they were starting to think he was simply mad.
But Alexander knew better.
God help him.
“Keep walking,” he told Tristan when the man turned around to look at the fool behind them. “Pay no attention to a madman unless he produces a sword.”
Tristan did as Alexander suggested. He kept walking as the four knights in front of them slowed their pace, eyeing the lone man with curiosity and concern. Alexander motioned to them to continue walking, and they did, but the man trailing after them didn’t shut his mouth.
“We’ve been looking for you, prince,” he said. “We heard rumor that you were in the north and then on the marches. Someone then told us that you were in the retinue of the Earl of Pembroke. I was not expecting to see you in London, but here you are. What a mighty stroke of fortune.”
Tristan started to turn around again, but Alexander thumped him on the chest, silently indicating he continue walking. They were all walking, heading for the junction of Trinity Road and Bread Street, which would take them up to the main thoroughfare where Farringdon House was located.
“Given that this encounter is most fortuitous, I must insist that you come with me,” the man said. “Someone wants to speak with you. Do you not hear me? I would be grateful if you would accompany me to Westminster. Your brother wishes to see you. He longs to know you.”
Alexander finally came to a halt, and his men with him. Slowly, he turned around.
“Crawl back into that bottle that clearly has you in its grip,” he said. “No one knows what you are speaking of.”
The man snorted. “I think you do,” he said.
“In fact, I know you do. You know that your companion is the most prized man in England and France. Royal bloodlines on both sides makes him quite… special. Do you hear me? His brother, the king, wishes to speak with him. Prince Philip? Do you comprehend me?”
Alexander was shaking his head, as if the situation was ridiculous, but Tristan didn’t react one way or the other.
He had no idea whom the man was addressing or what he was talking about, but it occurred to him that his first name was Philip.
A common enough name, that was true, so he didn’t give it further thought.
Now, he was simply annoyed.
“Leave us or you’ll feel my wrath,” he growled loudly. “We’ve no time for your madness.”
The man grinned, his teeth glimmering in the moonlight. “You sound just like your father,” he said. “You favor him a little, although you are much larger than he ever was. Henry never had the size and strength you clearly have.”
Tristan looked at Alexander and rolled his eyes. “When we get to Farringdon House, we’ll turn the dogs on him,” he said.
He began walking away, with Alexander and the young knights moving with him. “Agreed,” Alexander replied. “But the truth is that there’s aways one madman roaming the streets of London on any given night.”
“True enough,” Tristan said. “And he had to find us.”
“Exactly.”
Tristan continued their walk, his focus on the darkened street around them. “Have you heard why de Lohr has come?” he asked.
The subject was shifting, and Alexander was glad for it. Their follower had him edgy because the man clearly knew things he shouldn’t, things that only a select few people knew, and the more they put distance between them, the better.
“I’m not entirely sure,” he said. “I’ve been away from home for about a month, much to my wife’s distress, so it could be that something new has come up.”
“A new mission?”
“Possibly.”
“Prince Philip!” The man following them would not be ignored.
“My lord, there is no need pretending that you are not Prince Philip. I know who you are. I have seen you over the years, though the Marshal has kept you well hidden. He and Richard and Eleanor protected you ably over the years, but Richard and Eleanor are gone. They’ve been gone for many years.
John has permitted you to live in obscurity, but no more.
He wishes a word with you, and you will come with me. ”
Alexander didn’t respond, though the man was becoming more detailed in his conversation. He’d already addressed Tristan twice by the name Prince Philip, which thankfully hadn’t brought a reaction from Tristan. Not yet, anyway.
He didn’t recognize it.
And that had been the plan from the start.
Before Alexander could turn around and threaten the man, however, Tristan came to a halt and spoke to him.
“I’ve no tolerance for fools,” he said. “You’re drunk and mistaking me for someone else, so be on your way. I’m not Philip.”
The man following them came to a halt as well. “You are Philip Alexander Tristan.”
“Enough,” Alexander roared, unsheathing his sword. He had to take a stand now or this would get out of hand, if it hadn’t already. He had to stop the momentum. “Get out of here, you bastard, before I remove something you treasure.”
The man shifted his gaze to Alexander, regarding him coolly. “De Sherrington,” he said in a tone that sounded as if he was visiting with an old friend. “Are you his protector now?”
“Still your tongue or I will cut it out.”
“Did you truly think you could hide him forever?”
“I will not warn you again.”
That seemed to end the conversation, and the man following them didn’t hesitate to react to the threat.
He unsheathed his own weapon and, suddenly, several men emerged from the shadows.
It was clear that he hadn’t been alone the entire time.
Tristan’s sword came out, but of the four younger knights they’d shepherded away from The Pox, only three had broadswords, while the fourth had apparently lost his earlier in the evening in a gambling game.
But those who had swords unsheathed them to the shrill sound of metal as they came free from their leather casings, and the clash was on.
It was nasty from the start.
From what Tristan and Alexander could see, there were at least six to eight men on the attack, all of them armed, all of them seemingly heading straight for Tristan.
In fact, Alexander was preparing to take one swordsman on when the man veered around him and ran at Tristan.
That had Alexander and the four younger knights jumping in to help.
Fists, as well as swords, began to fly.
It was dark on this avenue, unfortunately, and fighting in close quarters, as they were, was inherently dangerous.
The younger knight with the dagger was making short work of some of the men, grabbing them only to stab them in the kidneys or slit the tendons behind their knees.
Three of the men fell away with wounds that wouldn’t kill them, but would cripple them, as the knight with the dagger went on the attack.
More struggling, more fighting. Tristan was in a sword battle with the man who had been following them, but his size and superior skill quickly had the man retreating.
The others had disengaged, grabbing their wounded comrades and dragging them back into the shadows.
But the man who had started it all, the one who had been following, refused to leave.
“This is not the end,” he said, still holding his sword but about twenty feet away. “John knows you are here, Philip. He knows where you are. He would much rather have his brother as an ally than an enemy. Leave Pembroke and come with me. I will take you to your destiny.”
The younger knight with the dagger hurled it at the man, clipping him in the shoulder. It didn’t lodge, but rather clattered to the dirty road, but the man took off after his comrades anyway. He’d survived a battle with Pembroke knights.
He was fortunate, and he knew it.
The homes within earshot of the fighting began to stir. Dogs barked and candles began to glow as people opened their windows to peer into the darkness and see what the commotion was about. That had Alexander grabbing Tristan by the arm hurriedly.
“Come,” he said. “Quickly, Pat. Move.”
Tristan did, rushing down the road, following Alexander and the other knights.
They ran all the way back to Farringdon House.