Chapter Eighteen
Ophelia awoke to the news of visitors.
Creston had informed her that his cousin, Brenton, and a companion named Myles de Lohr would be staying with them for a short time.
Myles was the son of the legendary Earl of Hereford and Worcester, Christopher de Lohr, and Ophelia was properly impressed.
She knew that name and she knew the earl’s reputation.
The men were already gone when she woke up, however, and the realization that she had unexpected guests threw Ophelia into a frenzy because she very much wanted to be a good hostess.
She wanted to do Creston proud. He thought it was all rather sweet until she started talking about what to make them to eat.
Then he tried not to cringe.
Surely they were hungry, Ophelia said, and she had to make sure they ate something, so she quickly headed over to Blackchurch’s common kitchen to collect food from the cook.
Creston had kindly suggested that she only collect that which had already been prepared, simply to make it easier for her, and he escorted her over to the kitchens, where they ran into Ming Tang, who was gathering bread and meat.
As he was talking with Ming Tang about the messengers St. Denis was sending out to track down St. Abelard, Ophelia collected what she needed and they headed back to the cottage.
That was when Creston discovered that she’d only collected ingredients.
She intended to cook.
God help them.
Creston was powerless as she began to beat eggs together.
When she went to collect the milk, he quickly stirred through the eggs to find any shells and only managed to find two tiny pieces, which was an improvement from the bread pudding the night before.
Ophelia came back with the milk and poured some into the eggs, all the while wondering where their guests had disappeared to.
They’d gone out but hadn’t come back. Creston wasn’t sure himself, so he left her to prepare her meal and went out to find Brenton and Myles.
They weren’t difficult to locate.
He found them down by Lake Cocytus, the enormous lake that carved through the heart of Blackchurch because Kristian had commenced an early class for his recruits.
The morning had been a bit misty, and there was a gray blanket hanging over the lake, so Kristian decided to use that to his advantage.
They could see an outline of a ship through the mist and hear Kristian’s voice as he taught his recruits to judge distances in the mist by shouting.
Voices would bounce off solid objects, like trees and rocks, and therefore distances to shore could be determined.
The three of them stood there, listening.
“I spoke with one of the other trainers a few minutes ago,” Creston said, referring to his encounter with Ming Tang in the kitchens.
“He told me that St. Denis has already sent the missives for his cousin. Five riders have been sent to five different port towns in Cornwall and the north Devon coast in search of St. Abelard and Triton’s Hellions.
If they are anchored somewhere, we should hear back from them within the week. ”
As Brenton yawned, Myles nodded. “It would be preferable if we are able to contact them sooner rather than later,” he said. “The more time passes that Sidbury doesn’t hear from Henry, the more he may be inclined to send another missive. That’s something we should avoid.”
“Agreed,” Creston said. “Did Sidbury’s messenger tell you how long he’d been traveling with the missive from the time he left the earl’s home?”
Myles cocked his head thoughtfully. “It was my impression that it had been about seven or eight days,” he said, looking at Brenton. “What do you think?”
Brenton yawned again. “The same,” he said. “In all, I do not think that missive had been in transit more than ten days at the most. Surely Sidbury does not expect a swift answer. It could be months.”
“Or weeks,” Creston said. “If we can contact St. Abelard in the next week or two, that will put this plan into action very quickly. Sidmouth is a day and a half to the south on a swift horse.”
They all turned when they heard something hit the water and a good deal of yelling from Kristian. Creston chuckled.
“Clearly, he was unhappy with someone,” he said. “I fear a recruit has gone overboard.”
“Kristian,” Brenton said thoughtfully. “Is that the big lad who looks like a Northman?”
“The same.”
“Fearsome.”
“You have no idea.”
Brenton grinned at the threat of a Viking trainer as Myles looked around the landscape.
“There are other classes being taught this morning,” he said.
“I saw the big trainer from last night yelling at his recruits as they ran through the paths on the hills. Then there is another one teaching swordplay.”
Creston nodded. “Instruction begins before the sun rises,” he said. “It goes until the sun sets.”
“Where is your class?”
Creston gestured toward the west. “I do not normally teach things that require a field,” he said. “There is an outbuilding that used to house animals on the other side of the dormitory and that is where I usually instruct my class. I teach what tends to be applicable academics.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I get into their heads and then teach them how to resist me,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I teach the things we all dread to face. Interrogation, torture. Those subjects.”
Myles was listening with interest. “Things that the Executioner Knights use on a daily basis.”
“More than likely.”
“Have you ever considered becoming an Executioner Knight?”
Creston grinned. “Nay,” he said. “I like where I am.”
“But the skills and experience you must have could surely be put to better use in the service of England.”
Creston shrugged. “Mayhap,” he said. “But you must remember that I did everything I teach when I served John. I have already used my skills in the service of my country.”
“How long did you serve him?
“Too long,” Creston said, his voice growing quiet.
“I was newly knighted out of Kenilworth when I went into royal service. That was in the year twelve hundred and five. I left his service in twelve hundred and ten. That is five years of hell, lads. Five years of serving a man who slept with the devil every night and had no sense of honor or decency.”
“Did you serve with Sean de Lara?” Myles asked.
Creston smiled faintly, but it wasn’t one of warmth, instead something between a grimace and sorrow.
“Aye,” he said. “The Lord of the Shadows and I knew one another and worked closely together toward the end of my tenure. I will say that I never suspected he was an Executioner Knight, a spy for William Marshal, because he performed too flawlessly. But there were moments, many of them, when I saw his humanity. I assumed he was in the same situation that I was—sworn to the Crown, trying not to disgrace the family name. You come to the point where you simply do as you are told until you cannot stand one more order, one more horrific command. We both came to that point, but in my case, there was more to it.”
“What more?”
Creston thought on his answer briefly. “A woman,” he said quietly. “But that is all I will say about that. How is Sean, by the way?”
It was clear that he didn’t want to discuss his deepest, darkest dealings with John, so Myles didn’t push. “He is well,” he said. “He is not terribly active any longer. The man has earned his rest, so he spends his time doing more leisurely things.”
“He was badly injured in the battle for London, as I recall.”
Myles nodded. “He was,” he said. “Were you part of that, too?”
“It was my last act of service for John,” Creston said. Unwilling to discuss his royal service any longer, he motioned in the direction of his cottage. “Come with me. My wife is preparing food.”
That had Myles and Brenton immediately heading in that direction. “Good,” Brenton said. “I am hungry. And I am eager to meet this woman you are so fond of.”
Creston took up stride beside them. Any mention of Ophelia had him grinning like a fool. “She is… remarkable,” he said. “I cannot believe how fortunate I am. There are times when I will just watch her sleep, caught up in something I never thought I would have.”
“What’s that?”
“A beautiful life.”
On the other side of Brenton, Myles spoke up.
“Truly, Creston, I am very sorry that I upset you when discussing the plan to neutralize Sidbury,” he said.
“I know you do not know me, but I would hope your cousin would vouch for my character. I am not a man intent on offending or antagonizing others unless I want to. And I did not want to.”
At the mention of his name, Brenton nodded. “He did not mean anything by it,” he said. Then he eyed Creston. “You didn’t tell your wife yet, did you? She’s not off poisoning his food, is she?”
Creston chuckled. “Not intentionally,” he said. “But that brings me to a word of caution.”
“What about?”
Creston sighed, thinking of that incredible woman he was married to.
“There is nothing about Ophelia that is not perfect,” he said.
“However, she does have one small flaw. She is learning to cook, and she is not very good at it, but she insists. I do apologize if whatever she prepares for you is not edible. If you could not mention it, I will be happy to find you much better food later. It’s simply that she wants to welcome you, and I do not want to hurt her feelings. ”
Brenton held up a hand to quiet him. “Say no more,” he said. “We will make sure that Lady de Royans’ efforts are complimented.”
“I would be grateful.”