“Be my guest,” Gallus said. “Show them how the English react to French invaders.”
Maximus and Tiberius let the arrows fly, sailing them into the hulls of two of the three cogs with great accuracy. Midway down the hull, the arrows would burn quickly and those on board would have little chance to stop the flames before they engulfed a good part of the ship.
As the flames began to spread, Gallus put his fingers to his lips and emitted a piercing whistle. Suddenly, his men came charging out of their hiding places and more flaming arrows began to fly. In little time, it was chaos upon the shores of the Thames as the French cogs began to burn.
Men began jumping over the sides of the ships and staggering on to shore where they were met with a wall of razor-sharp broadswords and more crossbows. Those who did not burn in the cogs were slain as they tried to escape. Gallus, when he wasn’t slaughtering men with his broadsword, stole the fine horses that made it off the boats.
In the end, all of the horses made it but all of the Frenchmen did not. The Lord of Thunder made sure there was not one man left standing upon the shores of his beloved Thames.
Victory was England’s this night.
CHAPTER TEN
“You prevented an invasion,” de Montfort said. “Your handling of Honore’s fleet was masterful. He had more men than we had been led to believe and the results, had you not been there, could have been deadly.”
Gallus faced Simon and Bigod in the red reception room of Westbourne. It was called the Red Room because the walls were covered with red brocade in a lavish display of de Shera wealth. The night after the destruction of Honore’s fleet, Gallus had summoned the men to give them the details of the venture but it had turned into a praise session of Gallus and his brothers. Gallus and Maximus were modest, as usual, but Tiberius stood there and grinned, soaking up the praise. Bigod had gone so far as to roll his eyes at the man for his arrogance.
“I am sure the queen is upset over the loss of her cousin and his invasion fleet,” Gallus said. “Have you heard anything about her reaction?”
Simon shook his head. “She has grieved privately to her courtiers, but I have not heard her comment on it publicly,” he replied as he lowered his bulk into a padded leather chair. “Thank you for the beautiful horse, by the way. The charcoal charger is a fine and expensive beast. I shall cherish him.”
Gallus smiled faintly. “There were a number of fine horses upon those cogs,” he said. “We managed to save all of them and, save a few scratches, all of them are in excellent shape. Maximus collected the finest one of all, a great, silver charger that is positively magnificent. But it is bad tempered and angry. It has already thrown him.”
Simon chuckled as he looked at the big, broad de Shera brother. “Is that true, Max?” he asked. “I was sure no horse on earth could throw you.”
Maximus gave the man a half-smile, unusual for the usually stone-faced knight. “Let us say that he and I went down together,” he said. “But we had a very serious discussion afterwards. I do not think he will do it again.”
“Did you beat him?”
“Never. I fed him apples and pieces of candied fruit until he stopped trying to bite me.”
Simon continued to chuckle, shaking his head at the nearly indestructible knight with an affinity for horses. “Did you already name him?”
Maximus lifted his big shoulders. “Of course,” he replied. “I have named him Lightning. I have always wanted to ride lightning, now is my chance. Rather fitting for the Lords of Thunder, wouldn’t you say?”
Simon nodded. “I would, indeed,” he said. Then, he returned his focus to Gallus. “I think we made our mark last night against the Savoyard contingent,” he said. “They know that we are resistant to anything they might try, so I believe it is safe to vacate London at this time. They cannot gather any manner of troops so quickly again, especially with Honore dead. With him goes much of the subversion at court. Therefore, go home to your new wife, Gallus, and I will send word to you for the future meeting at Kenilworth. Go home and rest for a job well-done.”
Thoughts of home brought memories of Jeniver, of her lovely face and supple body on the night Gallus had consummated their marriage. You’re a damnable coward, he thought to himself. The worst thing you did was run off and leave her without a word. Aye, he knew that and he tried not to lose himself in too much reflection. He’d been avoiding thinking about returning home too much, knowing the guilt and remorse he would feel, but now there wasn’t any avoiding the subject. He had to go home. More than that, he realized that he was anxious to, if only to apologize for what he’d done. Whether or not Jeniver accepted his apology was another matter entirely.
“Thank you, my lord,” he said to Simon. “I will admit that I am rather eager to return.”
Simon nodded. “As you should be,” he said. “A new bridegroom without a bride is only half a man. What is your wife like, anyway? I have not asked you.”
There was no stopping the thoughts of Jeniver now as they came tumbling down upon Gallus as he thought on her pale skin and dark hair. But he was tempered from heaping too much praise upon her by Bigod, who was listening with some jealousy in his expression. Gallus cleared his throat softly.
“She has dark hair and alabaster skin,” he said, rather neutrally. “My children seem to like her and my mother likes her a great deal.”
Simon nodded with satisfaction. “Lady Honey’s approval is paramount,” he said. “I would not do anything that displeased the woman.”
“Nor would I,” he said, “which is why I married Lady Jeniver in the first place.”
It was a reminder to Bigod so the man wouldn’t go off on a tirade again. Simon, passing a glance at Hugh to see the man’s reaction to discussions of Gallus’ wife, was met with some disappointment and nothing more. He returned his focus to Gallus.
“When do you think you will go to Wales to see to your new acquisitions?” he asked. “I am anxious to know if we can expect help from your new Welsh relations.”
Gallus scratched his head thoughtfully. “I should like to go as soon as I return to Isenhall,” he said. “My wife wishes to bury her father in Wales at their ancestral home and I promised to take her.”
Simon smiled. “A good man, wanting to please his wife,” he said. “What is her temperament?”
Gallus was becoming more and more upswept in memories of Jeniver. “She is very intelligent and reasonable,” he said. “I consider myself fortunate. She will make a good wife.”
“Do you like her?”
Gallus didn’t dare look at Bigod. He wondered if de Montfort was asking these questions simply to anger the jilted potential father-in-law.
“I do,” he said. “I like her a great deal.”
Simon’s smile was great. “I am glad to hear it,” he said. “And the fact that you are escorting her to Wales to bury her father should endear her to you greatly. It is a good way to start a marriage.”
Gallus simply nodded, unwilling to speak any more on his relationship with Jeniver, mostly because he didn’t really know himself. The state of their marriage could have changed dramatically after he’d fled Isenhall without a word to his wife. He was fearful to think how much it had changed and how much damage he had done.
“Let us hope so,” was all he could say. “In any case, I will send you a missive when I see which way the winds of loyalty are blowing in Wales.”
Simon grunted, his doubt evident as he shifted focus from Gallus’ marriage to the state of his acquisitions through his wife. “As I said, I would be surprised if they gave you their fealty, but I suppose time will tell,” he said. “In any case, I will see you at Kenilworth for our next gathering.”
“Indeed you will, my lord.”
Sensing the conclusion to their conversation had come about, Simon looked to Hugh. “And you?” he asked. “Will you return home now?”
Bigod nodded. “I must return to Framlingham Castle,” he said. “I brought my wife and other family m
embers with me to London and they are already prepared to leave, so we will leave today.”
Simon stood up from the chair, grunting wearily. It had been a long few weeks for him as it had for all of those who contested Henry and his French infiltrators.
“As you both return home, I must remain here,” he said. “It is prudent for me to remain in London a while longer in case something else comes to our attention. If it does, I will send word.”
They were heading for the door that would lead them to the great entry of Westbourne, an iron door, without any wood, that was created by interwoven strips of iron so fine that the latticework pattern was truly remarkable. It had protected Westbourne for more than a century. Gallus, Maximus, and Tiberius escorted the men to the door where they were met by their knights who had been waiting outside in the moist weather. The storm that had so ably aided Gallus the night before had blown through, leaving periodic showers and wet ground.
Simon and Hugh continued on out into the ward of Westbourne as Gallus and his brothers closed the door behind them. Grooms were already bringing their mounts around from the stable and their escort was gathering near the gatehouse. Hugh waited until they were far enough away from the residence before speaking.
“I would not let him go to Wales if I were you,” Hugh said quietly.
Simon looked at him, surprised. “What do you mean?”
Hugh glanced back over his shoulder at the big, gray stone house of Westbourne. “I can hear it in his tone when he speaks of his wife,” he said. “He is much more involved with her than he lets on, which means it is possible that she will take his attention away from what is important. The mere fact that she is dragging the man to Wales in order to bury her father is suspect. What if she is leading him into an ambush? I have a terrible feeling that if we allow Gallus to go to Wales, we may never see him again.”
Simon came to a stop, peering at Hugh in disbelief. “It is your bitterness talking,” he said. “You are simply angry because the man did not marry your daughter and now you are going to find all manner of fault with his loyalty. Do not let your resentment blind you, Hugh. Gallus is no more leaning in the direction of treachery than I am.”
Hugh wouldn’t allow de Montfort to shame him. “I am not speaking of treachery,” he said. “I am speaking of a man with a new wife, a woman he wants to please. The woman is Welsh. She does not understand how valuable he is to England. All she knows is that she married a powerful warlord. Now she intends to drag him off to Wales? She could turn his head and lead him astray from all we have worked for.”
Simon scoffed. “No one could lead Gallus de Shera astray,” he said, “and I refuse to believe that a Welsh princess could turn the man’s loyalties. Careful he does not catch wind of your suspicions. He would not tolerate it.”
Hugh grunted unhappily as he caught sight of his fat, blond mare being brought around. “Anglesey is Gwynedd, and Gwynedd has always been at the heart of any Welsh rebellion,” he said. “This woman does not love England as we do. What if she attempts to murder him? What then?”
Simon simply shook his head and gestured to Hugh’s horse, now in front of them. “Mount your animal,” he instructed. “Go back to your wife and relatives and return to Framlingham. I will hear no more of your mad ramblings.”
Hugh did as he was told, mostly because Simon had mounted his own steed and was already riding from the bailey. Once astride his mare, Hugh followed but at a lesser pace as his escort gathered around him. Leaving the grounds of Westbourne, he wondered if his concerns weren’t prophetic.
True, he was still embittered by Gallus marrying someone other than his daughter. At least if Gallus had married Matilda, then Hugh would have some control over the man and over the situation. That was a big part of why he wanted Gallus to marry his daughter. He wanted some control over the man and his power. As it stood now, he had nothing and Gallus had married a Welshwoman who could quite possibly control Gallus for herself.
Hugh didn’t like that thought at all. There was still Maximus and Tiberius, so control of the de Shera brotherhood was still a possibility. If not control it, then perhaps he could weaken it if he separated one brother from the others. It was all about control and Hugh didn’t like the feeling that he had none at all.
It would be something he would have to do everything in his power to change.
“Did you see Hugh’s face when you discussed your wife?” Maximus said. “No matter what he says, he will never forgive you for marrying someone else and, if the man tries to force me to marry his daughter, I will not forgive you, either.”
Back in the Red Room of Westbourne, Gallus was standing by the long lancet window that overlooked the ward beyond. He watched as the last of Hugh and Simon’s escort left the property. As the big gates of Westbourne began to close, he turned to his brothers.
“That is no longer my problem,” he told Maximus. “If the man pursues you because I am no longer available for marriage, then that becomes your issue.”
Maximus rolled his eyes, displeased, as Tiberius laughed. The youngest brother poured measures of wine for all of them, handing Gallus a cup as the man drew near.
“We should all find brides this very night simply to throw the man off our scent,” Tiberius said. “It seems that Bigod wants a de Shera groom for his daughter and he is not particular about which de Shera. If Gallus is not available, then he’ll move on to the next unattached brother.”
Gallus took a long, deep drink of wine. “I agree,” he said, smacking his lips. “What matters now is that we leave London swiftly before he returns. I have a feeling that he will return to his wife this night and she might nag him until he comes back for one last try at Maximus.”
Seated on the padded chair that Simon had vacated, Maximus clapped a hand over his face and shook his head sadly. “Do not forget that the man knows I hold a title,” he said. “Inheriting the barony of Allesley from our father must make me that much more palatable to Hugh.”
“You are not the only one with a title,” Tiberius pointed out. “He knows that all three of us hold titles and have some individual wealth of our own. I may not have a barony or an earldom, but I have grandfather’s hereditary title of Lord Lockhurst. That makes me as much fair game as you, Max.”
Maximus wasn’t done running his hand all over his face, a weary gesture as well as an annoyed one. He finally dropped his hand and drained his cup, holding it up to Tiberius for more wine.
“It does not matter, truly,” he said. “What matters is that we get out of London, quickly.”
Gallus agreed. “Where are the knights?”
Maximus pointed to the floor above. Westbourne had two and a half stories. The first floor had eight sleeping chambers and several dressing rooms while the third floor was reserved for the servants and knights. It was quite comfortable accommodations in general.
“They were exhausted,” he said. “I told them to retire early. Why? Do you have need of them?”
Gallus shook his head but as he started to reply, a servant stood in the entry to the Red Room and invited his attention.
“Lord Gallus,” the older man said formally. “I have a message for you, my lord. In private, please.”
Since there weren’t any secrets between the brothers, Maximus and Tiberius knew that Gallus would tell them what it was all about afterwards so they continued with their wine as Gallus quit the room. Once out in the entry hall near the staircase that led to the upper floors, the old servant came to a halt.
“Someone has come to see you, my lord,” he said quietly. “He did not want me to announce him.”
Gallus’ brow furrowed. “Who has come, Turner?” he asked.
The old servant, who had served three generations of de Sheras, shook his head. “Please,” he murmured. “If you will come with me, my lord, you will know.”
The servant began to move again, swiftly now, scuffling down the long, central hall and into the small service area next to the dining room that opened out
onto the kitchen beyond. Slightly annoyed, Gallus followed.
It was dark in the rear of the house, with only a thin taper illuminating a table that had pewter and silver spread out all over it. It was clear that someone had been cleaning it when they had been interrupted. A door to the kitchen yard with the postern gate beyond loomed ahead and as Gallus stepped into the doorway that led into the yard, he caught movement off to his right.
A very big man in armor stepped out of the shadows. Gallus caught sight of the figure, the mail and tunic, and especially the sword strapped to the man’s thigh. I know that sword, he thought. Before Gallus even saw the face, he recognized the distinctive sword, perhaps the most distinctive sword in all of England. Gallus immediately stepped out into the darkened yard, extending his hand to the knight.
“Davyss,” he breathed, grasping the enormous gloved hand that was extended at him. “My God, man! What are you doing here?”
Sir Davyss de Winter stepped into the dim light. He was an extremely handsome man with dark, curly hair and a shadowed face, now creased with a weary smile. He took Gallus’ offered hand but it was not enough. He threw his arms around the man he loved like a brother. Gallus and Davyss had grown up together, fostered together, and were the best of friends. But, whereas Gallus had sided with de Montfort in the barons against the king, Davyss and his family were staunch supporters of the crown. Nothing could shake the loyalty, good or bad, so Gallus and Davyss found themselves on different sides. It had been a tragic and heartbreaking thing for the both of them.
“I heard you were in town but I kept missing you,” Davyss said, releasing Gallus from a bear hug. “Now I find you home, finally. Thank God Turner recognized me or I would have never gained entry.”
Gallus turned to the old servant, now seated at the table again cleaning silver. The old man grinned sheepishly as Gallus grinned.
“He remembers us too well as children,” he said. “Running about, making mischief. We were terrible lads, weren’t we?”