Prologue #3
Richard watched his champion’s strong face a moment, confident he had made a sound decision. Christopher was the best of the best, a man with impeccable skills and tactics. He was also the best and strongest barrier between John and the throne of England.
“Christopher,” he said in a low voice, “My throne is in jeopardy. In fact, my whole country is bordering on anarchy and disorder. Yet, ’tis my belief that God wants me here in the Levant to purge the verminous heathens; therefore, I must trust Him to select people to help me govern England.
You are one of the chosen I must, nay, will depend on until I return.
With Acre captured, my work here is nearly finished and it shan’t be long until my soles tread the heady English grass once again. Until that time, I need you.”
Christopher gazed back at the king, his friend and liege, feeling the concern and desperation borne of absence. He knew that he was being given an awesome responsibility, a responsibility he took with the utmost importance.
“I shall not fail, my lord, I swear it,” he promised with sincerity.
“I know.” Richard was suddenly very tired.
His years were catching up with him this night.
“Yet there is one thing you have not mentioned. I am in essence making you my spy to John’s court, and as much as you loathe that duty, yet it is necessary.
I must have your eyes and ears. My justices have their hands full simply running my country, which is why I do not expect them to take the time to spy on my brother.
I must know vital information if you feel the situation warrants it, and in this I trust your decisions implicitly. ”
“Situations, my lord? Like what?” Christopher asked.
Richard toyed with his worn chair. “If it appears imminent that John intends to overthrow me,” he said.
“He will, you know. The only reason he hasn’t yet is because the church loves me and is proud of my work here.
Yet that will fade, too, in time. And the general populace is an ungrateful, forgetful lot.
John will wait for the right moment, and you must be there in my stead to prevent it. ”
Christopher let out a sigh, the only real show of emotion the entire night. “You ask a great deal, my lord. If the people side with John, it could be a bitter civil war.”
“I realize that,” Richard said, “Which is why I intend to return before that happens. Yet I need forewarning, and your hand on the pulse of the country.”
“You are asking me to anticipate the whim of the ignorant,” Christopher returned softly. “I can only tell you that I shall do my best.”
“ ’Tis all I ask.” Richard’s voice was dull with fatigue.
Philip cleared his throat, having absorbed the entire exchange of thought.
“If anyone can do it, Christopher can, my lord,” he said to Richard.
“You have made an excellent choice, yet I must admit that I am concerned for his safety. You said yourself John has many loyalists who could strike unexpectedly. And Christopher’s brother, David, is in danger as well. ”
“David and I can take care of ourselves.” Christopher glanced at his uncle. “I can assure you that we will be quite safe.”
“Beware all the same, Chris,” Richard said, rising slowly and stiffly. “Marcus Burton left yesterday for home, under direct orders from me to search out those nobles loyal to the crown and report to you. Expect him and use well the information.”
“Aye, my lord.” Christopher and Marcus were part of the same group of knights that Richard favored, and were the best of friends. He was as confident in the man’s abilities as he was in his own.
Richard sighed and pulled off his mail hood, tossing it to the floor. “Go, now,” he said. “I would see you off in the morning.”
Christopher and Philip rose and left the tent obediently. They walked together for several minutes in the waning afternoon heat before Philip spoke.
“ ’Tis an awesome responsibility you hold, Chris,” Philip said softly. “As great as any.”
Christopher gazed into the golden sands, wondering if he would ever miss any of it. He didn’t think so. “It has been three years since I have been home,” he said. “I truly wonder what I will find upon my return.”
Philip stopped, as did Christopher, the two men studying each other under the brilliant blue sky. Finally, Philip clapped his nephew on the shoulder.
“God be with you, Chris, and with David,” he said. “I shall miss you both, and I shall pray for you.”
He left him with that, and Christopher watched him trudge off across the sand.
He often saw his father in Philip’s actions and movements, remembering Myles de Lohr in faded memories.
He wondered what his father would have thought about all of this, of his sons and the directives straight into the heart of England’s politics.
It was a deadly game they all played. All thoughts of his forced marriage aside, the real issue was John Lackland.
“Pray for the prince, Uncle,” he mumbled. “When I return, he will need all of your prayers.”