Chapter Fifteen #4
Brenton patted Creston on the face, but it was more like a slap.
He beamed at him. “Traveling home from some business and I thought I would see to my favorite cousin,” he said.
Then he stepped back and indicated the big blond man behind him.
“My good friend and associate, Myles de Lohr. His father is Hereford.”
Creston greeted Myles cordially. “Welcome to Blackchurch,” he said. “I’m not entirely sure a de Lohr has ever set food on these grounds, so this is quite an occasion.”
Myles smiled politely. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to visit, so when Brenton said he was coming, I came along. I hope that is not too bold.”
“Not at all,” Creston said. He indicated Cruz, next to him. “This is Cruz Mediana de Aragón. He is a prince of his people, so you must show him due respect or all of Aragon will come down on us all.”
He was grinning as he said it, indicating a joke, and Brenton and Myles smiled as well. They greeted Cruz amiably with nods.
“You are a trainer like my cousin?” Brenton asked.
Cruz nodded. “I have been here nearly as long as Cres,” he said. “We often train recruits together.”
“Remarkable,” Brenton said, looking between Creston and Cruz. “It is impressive enough to see one Blackchurch trainer, but now I have met two. I am truly honored.”
Creston began heading out of the guard room. “Come,” he said. “Let us return to my cottage, and you can meet my wife. We have much to catch up on. How is Uncle Juston?”
They followed Creston out into the crisp night, beginning their walk down the path of torches toward the village.
“He is well, considering his age,” Brenton said.
“How old is he now?”
“Papa has seen seventy years and six,” Brenton said. “Truly astonishing.”
“And he’s still healthy?”
“Still,” Brenton said. “He can take me down in a sword fight should he so choose.”
Creston grinned. “He is the consummate knight,” he said. “My father was a good knight, but he never managed to achieve Uncle Juston’s level of talent.”
Brenton shrugged. “We all have our own levels of talent.”
“You and I have done fairly well for ourselves.”
Brenton snorted. “That may be true, but I do not have the skill to teach at Blackchurch,” he said. “However, I have the skill to make an excellent agent.”
“Agent?” Cruz said. He was walking behind the cousins with Myles. “What kind of agent?”
“Marshal agents,” Brenton said, glancing at Cruz. “At least, William Marshal formed the group many years ago with the help of Christopher de Lohr, so they are formally known as Marshal agents. Spies, killers, assassins… we do it all. Most people call us the Executioner Knights.”
Cruz’s eyebrows lifted in astonishment. “Cres, you never told me that you had an Executioner Knight for a cousin,” he said, but his focus returned to Brenton. “That is an astonishing accomplishment.”
“Not as astonishing as a Blackchurch trainer,” Brenton said, slapping his cousin on the shoulder.
“That’s truly an accomplishment, serving under the Lords of Exmoor.
There is nothing so unique in England as a military establishment that has remained neutral for almost two hundred years, yet you turn out the finest warriors in the world without ever fighting an actual battle. How do you manage such a thing?”
Creston shrugged. “Hard work,” he said. “St. Abelard and his Triton’s Hellions take sides from time to time, depending on where the money is. You have heard of them, of course.”
“Of course.”
“As I said, they will take sides from time to time,” Creston said. “But never Blackchurch. There is salvation in that logic.”
“Blackchurch has never taken sides in a conflict?” Myles asked, his voice quiet. “Not ever?”
“Nay, never.”
“Does that mean Exmoor has no political affiliations?”
“If he does, he never speaks of it or shows it,” Creston said. “I know that sounds strange, but it’s true.”
“What if a Blackchurch trainer or someone who serves here takes sides?”
“Then he is exiled.”
It was a rather brutal, definitive answer that left no room for doubt. “Interesting,” Myles said thoughtfully. “The Executioner Knights operate entirely differently.”
Creston glanced over his shoulder at the man. “You serve politics,” he said. “It is not within your scope of operation to remain neutral. If the Crown has an enemy, you eliminate them, correct?”
Myles half shrugged, half nodded. “We are always on the side of the Crown,” he said. “If we must fight a war for, or even against, the Crown, with the ultimate goal of protecting whoever sits upon the throne, then we will.”
“That is a luxury we do not have,” Creston said. “We train men. We do not support a cause, and if we do, it becomes… tricky.”
“Has that happened recently?”
Creston nodded. “When one of our trainers married the daughter of the deposed Duke of Toxandria,” he said. “Her younger brother was the heir, and he wanted to regain his property and titles. The trainer wanted to fight for his wife, but that would mean taking sides.”
“What happened?”
“Another trainer went to Toxandria as an advisor to the young heir,” he said.
“The stipulation was that he not command men, or plan a battle, or do anything that would directly involve him in the war. He simply advised. At least, that’s what he promised.
But the man who went is a master swordsman, so I suspect he did not sit by idly while wars went on around him. ”
“Then no one is fighting wars in France right now?”
Creston looked at Myles curiously. “From Blackchurch? Never,” he said. “At least, not a trainer. But we have trained many men who have gone on to fight wars in France.”
They were just coming to the village at this point, which was quiet at this hour.
Most of the trainers were either in bed or heading there because they were up well before the sun.
But just as they entered the village square, with Creston’s cottage off to the right, Brenton came to a halt. He looked straight at Myles.
“Well?” he said. “Are you satisfied?”
Myles nodded, though there was some reluctance there. “I suppose,” he said. “The answers were not prompted.”
Creston frowned at his cousin and at Myles. “What was prompted?”
Brenton looked at him. “Cres, we’ve got a problem,” he said. “A big problem. I have to ask you a question and you must be completely honest with me. Can you do that?”
“I have never lied to you in my life.”
Brenton knew that, but he still had to ask. “Then it comes to this,” he said, lowering his voice. “Has Lord Exmoor supported Louis in his quest to take Gascony from Henry?”
Both Creston and Cruz looked puzzled, if not a little outraged, by the question. “Not at all,” Creston said. “Why? Has someone said otherwise?”
Brenton sighed heavily. “We must go someplace quiet, where no one can hear,” he said. “Cres… this is life or death.”
“Life or death for whom?”
“Blackchurch.”
There was something so ominous in the way he said it. Considering that Brenton and Myles were trained spies, there was no reason to question what Brenton had just said. Creston stared at his cousin for a moment, realizing this visit wasn’t on a whim.
It was planned.
Something was happening, something bad enough that the Executioner Knights were involved.
It must be very bad, indeed.
“Come,” Creston muttered. “We’ll go to Cruz’s cottage. No one will hear us there.”
Beneath the full moon, the four of them headed for Cruz’s dark, quiet cottage.
That “something” was about to be revealed.