Prologue #4
The knights fled, but as they were hastily leaving, Tristan and Alexander were entering. They very nearly knocked the pair down, who were forced to stand aside to allow for the stampede. When the young knights fled down the stairs, Alexander came into the chamber, his eyebrows raised.
“What did you say to them to make them run like that?” he said. “If there is a closed door between here and their destination, that door will be no more. They won’t even stop to open it.”
In his chair, Christopher burst into soft laughter, and even the Marshal cracked a smile. “They received nothing less than they deserved,” he said. “What must I do to keep you men out of The Pox?”
“Burn it down,” Alexander said, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “That is your only hope.”
That brought a snort from the Marshal. “I shall consider it,” he said. “But until I can get down to the river’s edge with a flint and stone, I suppose I shall continue to have nights like this. In any case, you are the first ones to return. Did you see anyone else while you were out?”
Alexander shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “Beau and Addax were heading to the north side of the city. Tristan and I headed towards the south.”
He was referring to the other two senior knights who had gone off to find the errant younger knights Beau de Russe and Addax al-Kort.
Beau was part of the prestigious de Russe family, a powerful knight who, despite his near-deafness, was quite competent and able, and Essien was a knight of great talent who was born in a land far to the east. Both of them would probably not be as kind to the younger knights as Alexander and Tristan had been, and the Marshal knew it.
With a sigh, he scratched his head.
“Did you pass through the street of the brothels?” he asked.
“Aye, but we did not see anyone we knew,” Alexander replied.
“None of my men were there?”
“That we could see.”
The Marshal finally nodded, turning away from Alexander and Tristan and moving to the hearth to warm his hands. “Sherry, send a servant for food and drink,” he said. “We may as well be comfortable. Chris has a good deal to tell us when everyone arrives.”
Alexander’s gaze moved to Christopher. “Is it serious?”
Christopher looked over his shoulder at his son-in-law, who was married to his eldest daughter, Christin. “There is a buildup on the northern marches that the marcher lords in the area are quite worried about,” he said. “We may have some trouble.”
Alexander puffed out his cheeks at the news, blowing out a heavy sigh. “We’ve been hearing word of it for over a year now,” he said. “The Welsh have been building up near Chirk Castle for just that long. Are they finally moving forward?”
Christopher half shrugged, half nodded. He didn’t want to speak any further on a subject he would simply have to repeat when the others joined them.
Therefore, he stood up, stretching himself out in front of the fire, as Alexander went to the chamber door and summoned a servant for the food and drink the Marshal had requested.
As Christopher began to throw more peat on the fire, Tristan came out of the shadows.
“Before the others come, my lord, I wonder if I may address a… situation,” he said. “I have a question. Sherry said that you would have the answer.”
Over by the chamber door, Alexander turned sharply to see Tristan addressing the Marshal, who was preparing to take a seat next to the hearth.
Before he could say anything, because he didn’t want the Marshal to think he’d put Tristan up to it, William pulled out a stool and plunked a booted foot on it.
“What situation is this?” he asked.
Alexander moved toward Tristan. “When we were at The Pox, I saw Odilo Nivard,” he said, hoping to explain a little before Tristan blindsided him with a rather serious question. “You know of whom I speak, my lord?”
The Marshal didn’t hesitate. He nodded as his gaze moved to Alexander. “I know the man,” he said. “In The Pox, you say? A rare occurrence, I should think. He does not stray from John’s side.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Alexander said. “He was sitting there, alone, as we herded the knights out of the place. I did not even think he saw me, but I was mistaken. When we were by the street of the brothels, he appeared. He followed us.”
“He brought men with him,” Tristan said, taking over the story that Alexander was telling. “We were attacked, though it was a brief fight. However, before we were attacked, there was a conversation of sorts.”
“Oh?”
Tristan was trying to find the right words, feeling foolish even as he spoke, thinking that perhaps he’d only been paranoid.
But he knew that wasn’t the case. He looked at Alexander, who was gazing back at him steadily.
There was encouragement in that expression, something that gave Tristan courage.
“The man called me by my full name,” he said after a moment.
“He called me Philip Alexander Tristan. He also called me Prince Philip. He told me that I looked like my father. I would not give the man any credence, of course, but he did call me by my full name. He also knew Sherry’s name. He spoke as if he knew us, my lord.”
By this time, the Marshal was watching him curiously.
He also had the attention of Christopher, who had stopped putting peat in the fire and was now simply watching the situation.
Without Tristan even noticing, Alexander went over to the chamber door to shut it.
He also bolted it. As he leaned against the door to prevent anyone from coming in at this particular moment, a crucial moment in the evolution of Tristan de Royans, the Marshal spoke.
“Go on,” he said steadily. “What is your question, Pat?”
Tristan took a long, deep breath. “I asked Sherry if there was any truth to what the man said,” he said. “He would not tell me. He said that I must ask you.”
There it was. The question that had been waiting thirty-seven years to be asked.
A question that the Marshal knew he would be facing at some point.
He wasn’t exactly sure how much to tell Tristan, or even how to answer him, because he’d spent nearly all of his association with Tristan poisoning him against the very family he was biologically part of.
That great secret he’d always kept from him.
Now, the doorway to that secret was threatening to open.
It wasn’t that the Marshal was caught off guard with the query.
In truth, he’d been expecting it for years.
But perhaps he hadn’t been expecting it tonight.
Not on this night when they were dealing with other important issues.
Frankly, he wasn’t sure how Tristan was going to handle the truth, but the older he became and the more people who knew his identity, as John’s dirty assassin clearly had, the more he would be in danger if he didn’t know the truth and was unprepared to defend himself.
Nivard wouldn’t be the only one coming for him.
There would be others.
“What, exactly, did Nivard say?” William finally asked.
Tristan thought a moment. “He called me Prince Philip several times,” he said. “He told me that you and Richard and Eleanor had protected me over the years, but that John wished to know his brother. He told me that John wished to be an ally and not an enemy.”
The Marshal looked at Christopher as if startled by what he heard, but Christopher met his gaze evenly.
After a moment, however, he nodded vaguely, silently giving the Marshal the encouragement he needed to address the situation.
They could all feel the tension in the chamber, the strain of a secret they’d all sworn to keep.
A secret that was now on the verge of being exposed to the one man it could truly affect.
A man more valuable, and more royal, than he could ever possibly imagine.
“Sit down,” the Marshal said after a moment, waving his hand in a lowering gesture. “Sit and be comfortable. If you truly wish to know the answers to your questions, then you had better be seated. This will take some time.”
Tristan wasn’t expecting that request. He looked at Alexander, standing over by the chamber door, who nodded his head. That had Tristan seeking the nearest chair as the Marshal headed in his direction.
“You want to know what the truth is,” William said thoughtfully.
“Truthfully, I have spent your lifetime avoiding telling you, but if Nivard knows, then others know. It would be dangerous for you not to know the truth at this point, so I will tell you. But understand that nothing coming forth from my lips is a fabrication. Do I make myself clear?”
Tristan gazed up at the man, nodding once. “Very clear, my lord.”
The Marshal drew in a long, pensive breath. “Before I begin, tell me what you remember from your childhood.”
Tristan cocked his head, thinking back to those carefree days, now more dreamlike to him than reality, as most long-distant memories were.
“I remember chasing a pig,” he said. “That is my first real memory. Of chasing a speckled pig with children I thought were my brothers and sisters until I was about six years of age and Sir Erik came for me. I remember my mother weeping when I left. She hugged me and told me she loved me. I remember clinging to her, not wanting to go, but Sir Erik insisted. So I went.”
“What else?”
Tristan shrugged. “What most men remember, I suppose,” he said.
“I ended up at Bowes Castle, where I remained for a few years, with Lady Andromeda and Lord Juston. They became my parents. I became part of their family as I assumed their name. But I went to Kenilworth and Bamburgh before returning to Bowes. When Sir Erik went to the Levant, I remained in England. Is there something specific you would have me remember, my lord?”