Prologue #5
The Marshal was watching him closely. “Nay,” he said.
“But did you not think it strange to have been raised as a farmer’s child only to be turned over to the cloister for an education?
But not just any cloister—Canterbury. Then an elite knight took you away and you ended up with a noble family. Did you not think any of this odd?”
“I did.”
“Did you ever ask Erik?”
Tristan nodded. “I did,” he said. “He said that he was following orders.”
“No more than that?”
“No more.”
“But surely you suspected over the years that there might have been more.”
“Aye,” Tristan said. “I was just saying that very thing to Sherry tonight. Over the years, men have mistaken me for someone else. Or they have looked at me as if they know me. I have long suspected there was more to my background, that I wasn’t simply a foundling, as I had been told.”
The Marshal pulled up a chair and sat opposite Tristan, who was sitting rather stiffly upright.
He was usually a man in control of his emotions, but at the moment, he had a rather anxious look on his face.
All of those years of wondering, of imagining, were about to come to a head, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.
Tristan had always thought those moments of men knowing him were only in his imagination.
It was a little frightening to realize those moments had been real.
“You are the product of two royal households,” the Marshal said.
“Your father was Henry Curthose, the father of Richard and John and the rest of that royal brood. Your mother is Princess Alys, sister to King Philip of France. Surely you know that Alys was betrothed to Richard the Lionheart, but Henry took her for his mistress. There have always been rumors that she bore Henry a child when, in fact, she did. You are that child, Tristan. Your father was the King of England and your mother is a princess of France.”
Tristan stared at him, looking for any hint that he might be wrong or jesting or mistaken, but there was no gesture forthcoming. As the news began to sink in, his eyes widened.
“He… Henry?” he repeated in shock. “My father was Henry?”
William nodded. “Indeed,” he said. “The moment you were born, your mother asked me to take you away, and I did. I gave you over to a trusted servant, who took you to her sister to raise. The sister was married to a farmer, and that is where we hid you. Among the peasants. Again and again, we hid you—with Canterbury, with an elite knight, and finally with de Royans. We did it to save your life, lad. Had your birth been discovered, it would have been quite… dangerous.”
Tristan was filled with disbelief. He leaned away from the Marshal, so much so that he leaned right out of the chair and ended up on his feet, pacing away from the man, feeling a need to run yet also a need to stay.
He couldn’t decide what he needed to do.
He stood there in horror, absorbing everything, before he could even speak again.
“Then what that man said was true,” he said, sounding oddly hollow. “He referred to John as my brother… and he is.”
William nodded. “He is your half-brother,” he said.
“Richard was also your half-brother. You, Philip Alexander Tristan, are the son of a king on your father’s side and the nephew of a king on your mother’s.
You could not be more royal if you tried, and, by all rights, you are far more high-bred than anyone in this chamber.
You are a prince. De Lohr and I should be genuflecting to you, in fact.
You wanted to know the truth, and now you have it. ”
Tristan digested that statement, word for word.
In fact, the words kept rolling around in his head.
He was unable to stop them. For a man who had lived rather simply his entire life, it was too much to take.
He was being told that he was a member of the ruling class, but he’d never had ambitions.
He followed orders. He didn’t give them, not really.
He was happy carrying out difficult tasks, working himself to the bone for the common good, and considering himself fortunate for his position in life as a trusted and highly trained knight. But he wasn’t merely a knight.
He was far more than that.
God help him… so much more.
“Tell me what that means,” he said, struggling with his emotions. “What, exactly, does that mean for me?”
The Marshal stood up. “It means that you have a claim to the throne of England and also to the throne of France,” he said.
“It means you have a claim to the Vexin, the Aquitaine, and several other French provinces. It means you are a rare individual, Tristan, more than you realize. But with this uniqueness comes danger. Knowing you have a claim to two thrones, it means that your brother, John, will destroy you if he can. No matter what Nivard said, he does not want to ally with you. He wants to kill you, to reduce the threat against his own claim. His son, Henry, will want you dead also. With you alive, there will always be that threat, and they know it. The same is said for the King of France, your uncle. You are his sister’s son, the son of the King of England.
Even if you do not realize how much power that gives you, Richard and Eleanor did. ”
“Eleanor?” Tristan said, looking at him sharply.
He was starting to turn red in the face.
“God’s Bones, she killed Arthur, Geoffrey’s son.
She also went after Elizabeau, Arthur’s half-sister, because she was declared Arthur’s successor.
I remember this because de Lohr and his men were involved in spiriting Lady Elizabeau away.
The woman was nearly executed, but one of de Lohr’s men helped her escape.
Why did Eleanor not try to kill me, too? ”
The Marshal could see that he was becoming agitated.
“Because you were more valuable to her,” he said.
“You were her husband’s bastard with a princess.
Arthur and Elizabeau were merely children of a royal offspring.
With you, she could bargain with the French because you were Alys’ son.
She practically raised Alys, you know. She was also present at your birth.
She watched as I took you away, but if you must know, I did not trust her.
I never have. She asked me once, when you were about six years of age, where you had been taken, and I would not tell her. ”
The light of understanding went on in Tristan’s eyes. “That is when Sir Erik came to fetch me.”
“Exactly,” William said. “I needed you protected by knights, not hidden away with a farmer where you had no protection if you were found.”
“Surely your history with her told you that she was not to be trusted when it came to the welfare of a child.”
William lifted his eyebrows. “My history with her told me many things, not the least of which is the royal family can change their minds at a whim,” he said. “I did not wish for you to be a whim.”
So much was becoming clear to Tristan now.
As shocking as it was, as horrifying as it was, he realized that he wasn’t entirely surprised.
Those years of strange things happening, like men who thought they knew him, were starting to make some sense.
Living with a farmer and then being taken to Canterbury Cathedral before being adopted by a noble family.
If he thought hard about it, perhaps he’d always known that his identity would be something catastrophic.
But a full-blooded royal prince, linking two countries who were both family and enemy to one another?
He’d never imagined that, not in his wildest dreams. Tristan had been around nobles and royals and politics long enough to know what bloodlines like his meant.
There wasn’t anyone like him in the entire world that he knew of, not like this.
Even as that reality saturated every recess in his brain, he could still hardly believe it.
“How many people know this?” he finally asked.
The Marshal looked at Christopher and Alexander.
“Everyone in this room,” he said. “A few others, men I trust, like Juston de Royans. Several of the Executioner Knights know, but they were in on the secret from the beginning. They will take it to their grave. And you may need them someday, Tristan. You want men like that to know so they can help you if you need it.”
That was probably true, but Tristan wasn’t sure how he felt about any of it.
His shock was turning into numbness, and the numbness into distaste.
He wandered over to one of the lancet windows facing south.
In the distance, lit up with torches against the night sky, he could see Westminster Palace. I am the son of a king, he thought.
God, that left such a bad taste in his mouth.
“Don’t think this makes me happy,” he muttered.
“Don’t think that anything you told me makes me proud or happy.
I’ve grown up hating Richard and John and Henry, that greedy and immoral trio, so nothing you have told me gives me any sense of gratification.
I wish with all my heart that it was untrue. ”
“I know,” William said solemnly. “But it is true, and you must know the truth because if John is trying to find you, to make contact, he will not stop. You must protect yourself, Tristan. In this case, knowledge is power. For your own safety, you must stay away from John. He only means to harm you.”
Tristan looked at him. “If he tries, I will kill him,” he said frankly.
“I know your goal for the Executioner Knights is to protect the Crown, to protect England, but I am telling you at this moment that if John tries to get close to me, I will kill him, and then you will have young Henry on the throne. If he sends men after me, I will kill them, too, and then I will kill the boy. I’ll kill anyone who tries to harm me. I have every right to defend myself.”
William put up a hand to ease him. “There is no need for that,” he said. “I think it is safe to say that you can continue with your duties, as you always have without any disruption, but simply stay vigilant. I will send you to the marches with de Lohr, and you can serve with him for a while.”
Tristan shook his head. “I do not want to go to the marches,” he said, still agitated.
“Forgive me, my lord, but where de Lohr is, John is. It is well known that John has been trying for twenty years to kill or disable de Lohr. The man is a target for the king, and I do not want to be in his service.”
The Marshal looked at Christopher, who couldn’t disagree with Tristan. He came away from the fire, moving toward the knight who had just found out he was a prince.
“I do not blame you,” Christopher said. “It’s my suggestion that you go north, to Pelinom with Jax de Velt.
Your brother, Ashton, is already there, and the two of you can serve together.
It is well known that as much as John is attracted to me, he is terrified of Jax.
Everyone is. You will be safe there, and Jax could use your sword. ”
He was speaking of Ajax de Velt, a warlord known throughout England as the Dark Lord.
Twenty-five years ago, Jax had been a ruthless and merciless barbarian who tore through the Scottish marches on a conquest campaign, using vicious and horrifying tactics on his enemies.
King Henry, at the time, had been so fearful of him that he’d paid the man a tribute not to attack royal properties.
Even though marriage to a good woman and a family had calmed Jax’s bloodlust, he was still quite feared.
What Christopher suggested was sound, and Tristan knew it.
“Please know that I mean no offense towards you, my lord,” he said to Christopher. “But you are a favorite of John’s, and not in a good way.”
Christopher smiled without humor. “How fortunate for me,” he said with irony. “And I was not offended. But I think you would be best served far to the north, under Jax’s command. At least for now.”
He looked at the Marshal, who nodded. “If Tristan would like to,” he said. “He can learn a great deal from Jax, and he would be serving where he is needed.”
“Does Lord de Velt know my… origins?” Tristan asked.
The Marshal nodded again. “He does,” he said. “He understands your worth. And the danger.”
Tristan took a long, deep breath, struggling to reconcile himself to the sharp turn his life, and future, had just taken. Things were to be different from now on, he knew that. And he hated it.
Little did he realize just how different his life was to be.
Destiny was upon Philip Alexander Tristan.