Rise of the Defender (2 page)

     “Christopher, Arthur is greatly concerned
for his daughter's future,” Richard said softly. “Since Arthur has been here,
with me, for over three years, he has not had the chance to make provisions for
Dustin.”

     “Provisions,
my lord?' Christopher turned to look at his king.

     “Aye,” Richard scratched at his faded red
beard. “Dustin is his only child and stands to inherit the baron's fortress,
Lioncross Abbey. She is an heiress, lad, and a wealthy one.”

     Christopher nodded intently. “He wishes for
me to find her a husband upon my return,” he stated, knowing the request or so
he thought.  “I will be happy to.”

     Richard paused a moment, cocking a harsh
brow. “Nay, lad,” he said slowly. “He wishes for you to
be
her husband
upon your return.”

     Christopher
could not help it; his face went slack with shock. “He… he wishes for me to…?”

     Arthur grabbed his sleeve. “'Tis not as bad
as it sounds, lad,” he said hoarsely. “I simply want to make sure my womenfolk are
well-protected, and you are certainly the most capable man I know. I am only
asking that you marry my daughter and give her children. The wealth, the
fortress, is your reward for the duty.”

     “You mean my bribe,” Christopher snapped, struggling
to remain calm. He put his hand over Arthur's, trying to control his outrage. “My
lord, when I return home, it will be to Lohrham Forest. I have amassed quite a
fortune of my own and…”

     Arthur cut him off. “Lioncross has more,”
he insisted weakly. “Lad, I am not asking that you love my daughter or that you
even live with her. I am simply asking that you put my dying mind at ease by
consenting to marry her. I know you shall be a fair and considerate husband,
and I will go to my grave knowing that Dustin will be well taken care of.

     Christopher didn’t want to be married. 
Ever. But Arthur was all but begging him to do it, and he would be lying if he
didn't admit the thought of being lord over Lioncross Abbey Castle wasn’t
appealing. Much bigger and better than Lohrham Forest, his ancestral home.
Hell, he wouldn't even inherit Lohrham. It belonged to his uncle and would pass
to his cousin, Edward. Even though the boy was twelve years old, it would still
be his.

     Richard read his hesitation, but what
Arthur was offering was quite satisfactory. He pulled Christopher to his feet
and took him aside.

     “Think on it, Chris,” he said quietly. “Lioncross
Abbey Castle is quite a prize and it would make Arthur happy to know his family
was taken care of. Hell, marry the girl, get her pregnant, and you never have
to see her again. Spend your time and your money in London with the whores if
you want; I care not. But Lioncross also collects border revenues from Wales
and she carries a force of eight hundred men, half of which are here.”

     Richard’s eyebrows were lifted
encouragingly but Christopher simply stared back indecisively. He didn't want
to marry anyone, for any amount of money. His resistance was evident, growing
heavier by the moment, and Richard took a hard line.  With Christopher, he had
to or the man would bowl him right over, king or no.

     “I could order it,” Richard said after a
moment. Even though his tone was steady and even, the statement was ridiculous.
It already was an order.

     Christopher knew his fate was sealed. It
never had been his choice after all; Richard had decided this long ago. Christopher
was angry but powerless just the same, seeing an unexpected twist in his future
that was unwelcome and frustrating. But it was done, and no amount of arguing
would change it. He sighed heavily, looking away from his king so the man would
not see his fury.

     “You do not have to, my lord,” Christopher
replied calmly. “I understand.”

     Richard smiled with satisfaction. “That's
fine,” he said.  “I knew you'd agree.”

     Christopher rolled his eyes, looking
decidedly unhappy, and allowed Richard to lead him back over to the dying
baron. Christopher would have liked nothing better than to strangle the old man
for suggesting such a thing.

     “Arthur,” Richard said proudly. “Greet your
new son-in-law.”

     Arthur smiled weakly. He was growing
fainter by the moment and Richard was already moving to have his steward draw
up the papers.

     “Chris,” Arthur’s voice was no more than a
whisper as he extended his hand.

     In spite of his anger, Christopher leaned
forward and took his fingers once again.  He tried not to look as disappointed
as he felt.

     “I am here, Arthur,” he muttered.

     The old man was having difficulty
breathing. “Dustin is a good girl,” he rasped. “She's willful and stubborn, but
she’s a good girl. Handle her gently. I am afraid that with your quick temper
and her quick temper, you will kill each other before the sun sets on your
wedding day.”

     Christopher nodded solemnly but inside he
was ranting like a madman.
Stubborn and willful? Quick tempered?
Christ,
what kind of shrew was he to be saddled with?

     “I will be fair,” he assured the dying man.

     Arthur’s eyes closed, perhaps for the last
time now that he knew his daughter would be taken care of.  He squeezed
Christopher’s hand feebly.

     “Thank you,” he whispered. “You have my
deepest… gratitude….”

     He faded off and Christopher gazed down at
the man, feeling the tug of sorrow over his anger with the forced marriage.  He
was greatly torn.  As he let go of the man’s hand, gently, Richard led him away
from the cot.

     The king walked him to the tent flap. Richard
knew exactly what the knight was feeling, but that was of no consequence.  He
would thank him, one day. At least, he hoped so. Richard clasped his hands
behind his back, facing off against his mightiest warrior.

     “Consider Lioncross Abbey Castle and her
wealth a gift from the crown to a most deserving knight,” he said. “You have
served me well, Christopher, and I will not forget it. In fact, I will seek you
later, as we have much to discuss concerning my brother, John. Go now. Prepare
for your leave.”

     Christopher bowed deeply and spun on his
heel, his mind becoming one angry, muddy bog of thoughts.
A wife
. The
word was sand on his tongue, yet he had no choice.  Such a bitter way to
receive rewards for his years of service. He was coming to wonder if he was
somehow being punished instead.  He had to go and clear his thoughts;
otherwise, he might go against all that he had worked for and, deep down, he
knew he could not.  He had been ordered to marry, and marry he would.

     Later that evening as Arthur Barringdon was
prepared for a Christian burial, Christopher, Philip, and King Richard sat in
the king’s tent around a small war table. Richard had vellum and ink before
him, preferring to write his own private missives rather that have his steward
do it - especially this missive.

     Christopher was grim, his trencher-sized
hands folded patiently as Richard scratched away with the quill. Philip,
distinguished and fair like his nephew, sat casually opposite his king,
pondering the world beyond the tent flap. Not a particularly personable man,
but he was brilliant and Richard's greatest confidante. Finally, Richard seemed
to finish his message and he put the quill down, sanding the ink to dry it.

     “I apologize for making you sit through
this, Chris,” he said after a moment. “But I had to put my commands in writing
before I spoke to you of them.” He looked up at Christopher then, his brown
eyes glittering dully in the dim tent. “This is to my brother, John. I have
been in the Holy Land a great many years and am well aware of my brother's
ambitions for my throne and I have had enough of the weasel. Christopher, I
have bequeathed on you a new title this night. From here on you shall be known
as Defender of the Realm, for my entire empire. My troops, the crown's troops,
shall be yours in my absence. The justices will still be the ruling body, but 'twill
be you who controls the military might. As loyal as my justices are, 'tis never
good to give any one group too much power, especially with my brother panting
for my throne. They may not be particularly happy to give up the army, but I
must make sure the troops are in experienced and loyal hands. I would hate to return
home to find my own army fighting me off on the shore.

     Christopher was shocked but he didn’t show
it. He nodded slowly, “As you command, my lord.”

     Richard knew Christopher well enough to
know he had not been expecting the directive. “Lioncross will serve as a fine
seat for you, close enough to London to keep an eye on John, yet fairly central
to the rest of the country,” the king continued. “Read this missive and it will
explain everything. Ask me questions when you are finished, should you have any.

     Christopher rose and read the missive as it
lay on the table, his sky blue eyes studying it intently. After several minutes,
he returned to his seat, his face impassive.

     Richard watched him expectantly. “Well?”

     Christopher, deep in thought, shrugged “You
are, in effect, dividing the rule of England three ways, John, your justices,
and me.”

     “In effect,” Richard agreed. “Yet you have
no direct powers, other than those over the armed forces. John still continues
with his princely powers, and my justices continue to be the ruling body.”

     “Your brother's limited powers will have
decreased substantially,” Christopher rubbed his chin, his gaze flicking to Richard.
“John will not be pleased in the least.”

     “That is his misfortune,” Richard said
sharply, running his hands over his face in a frustrated gesture. “But take
heed, de Lohr, John is a wily, cunning, evil little bastard, and you must watch
your back at all times. He will not hesitate to take out any threat to his
dictator rule, and he has loyalists everywhere. You must beware. My chancellor,
William Longchamp, has had a hell of a time with him.”

     Christopher nodded to what he already knew.
“Indeed, my lord.”

     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, 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 - 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 for 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 David, too, David is in danger as well, as
Christopher’s brother.”