Chapter 20      A Berth for Squire Horse

 

 

 

Lord William paced before the ring of hearth stones in the middle of his great hall.  From the smoldering logs, a thin streamer of smoke rose to the roof vent, climbing rung at a time through latticed rays of cold light diffusing through the window.  The old timbers high above were black with generations of soot.  The stone walls echoed every sound.

He was an old man, nearly fifty-six.  In his youth, he had seen the coast of France from the high towers of Dover castle, had leaned into the winter wind as it drove sharp ice into his cheeks.  He had ridden with Henry II and his estranged Lady Eleanor across the sands of Normandy beach in pursuit of recalcitrant barons.  He had tourneyed with William the Marshall and dined with Hubert de Burgh.  He had watched the proud horsemen of Saladin die like cattle after the siege of Acre, and had listened while Richard, the veteran soldier and amateur king, and Augustus, the sly and precocious sovereign of France, feuded through the walls of their tents.  He had survived the Crusade of the Kings, watched the anguish of many friends who did not, survived the turmoil of John's usurpation, and smiled as the ransomed Richard forgave his brother's treason as a boyish mistake.  And in time, had acquired, through marriage, one of Richard's last gifts, this modest baronage of Norbury.

Though he remained loyal to the Plantagenet family, he had, of his own accord, gradually spun out of the forceful intrigues of court life to find an amiable position as lord of his lands.  For years, that had been enough.  He had, out of politics and dismay, respectfully declined to witness the degradation of the crown at Runnymede, and had avoided the spittle blasted tantrum John had thrown in private after pressing his seal into the red wax of the great charter.

He was, as the times would allow, as content as a man could be.  The pins in the trestle tables of his great hall had remained in place for decades.  No enemy had forced their hasty dismantling and transport.  Now, he stood square in the face of problems that could upset everything he held dear.

He turned to face Cadmon.

"The dice have thrown badly for us both," he said to his nephew.  "You have come with heavy burdens for your friends, though I can think nothing but praise for the way you have handled yourself.  And of your wife, you have my heartfelt condolences.  Your grief must be great, for I know you well, yet you carry it in private, and I will say no more of it."

"Thank you, uncle.  I would have avoided involving you, but my hand was forced."

"No, no.  You did right in that.  But what to do?  John is nearly as unapproachable as Philip."

"John is forfeit, uncle.  We intercede for him if we can, but not at the expense of his son.  Young Henry, but nine years of age, is the ultimate target, I have no doubt.  While John lives, there is division, but if he should die, the barons would swing behind the young king.  I believe they both are marked."

"Tempers are asunder, Cadmon.  I fear the barons are beyond their loyalty now.  You cannot count on their cool judgment."

"They are not complete fools, though their actions of late would argue against it.  If Philip or his son, Louis, landfalls here with an army, these knights would lose their demesnes, castles, and forests as surely as John holds their sons ransom for taxes.  They play with the devil and will come to realize it soon enough."

"I hope you are right," said Lord William without conviction.  "Do you have any allies in court?  Anyone in whom John trusts?"

"I have approached no one."

"If you find the opportunity, communicate in my name with William the Marshal, Gualo the Legate, or Hubert de Burgh.  They will fight each other but will unite for England if the ram strikes their door."

Cadmon went to stand beside his uncle.  Together, they watched the embers crumble and glow, scale over with gray ash.  A sweep of mist drifted past the windows, momentarily darkening the room.

"Who do you need from my household, Cadmon?"  Lord William asked softly.

"You guess rightly.  I need men I can trust."

"What are their names?"

"Thomas of Oakham, his squire, Burke, and his page, Stewart."

Lord William nodded assent.  "Very young, though he is the best of our current crop.  Much as you were once."

Cadmon thought momentarily and silently agreed to the comparison.

"Continue," said Lord William.

"James Beaumont."

"He abides ill of Thomas.  You will have two cats in a bag with that one.  I recommend against it."

"He is a good fighter.  His temperament suits the purpose," said Cadmon.  "And his squire."

"He has no steady squire.  Have the banneret choose someone."

"Thank you."

"You forget one, do you not?"

Cadmon glanced sideways at his uncle and smiled.  "Your sources are accurate.  I have visited Edward the smith in the village.  He has agreed to come."

"His absence will be sorely missed.  Return with him if you can."

"With us all, I hope."

"Hope and pray?"

"Perhaps."

"You are unchanged, then, in this respect?"