The Christmas Knight (2 page)

Ranulf discerned no animosity in the comment reflected back. Such frankness, and from a virtual stranger, was most unusual and yet it was also refreshing. The exchange and its tone almost resembled that of a father-son conversation, the kind Ranulf always coveted but never received.

The old knight had actually
looked
at him when he spoke. Even some of his own men typically preferred to converse to his profile rather than face-to-face. There were many ways to disguise discomfort and over the past decade Ranulf no longer considered it an insult. But he wasn’t prepared for a stranger to speak to him and address him as if he were a whole man and not the damaged figure he knew he appeared to be. As a consequence, Ranulf found himself responding to the sincere request with atypical candor. “Your perception is correct. I am what you describe.”

“Which one? The gruff fool or the fair wise man?” Laon inquired, simultaneously releasing a half smile.

Ranulf cocked his right brow. It had been a long time since he had done any self-examination, and last time he had, the conclusion had been unsettling. “I do not know myself. I probably have the capacity to be either…depending on the conversation.”

“Fair answer. I think I might like you yet, my lord.” The half smile morphed into a full grin.

Ranulf stared incredulously at the older gentleman. In principle the knight was his vassal, and as such, his demeanor should be submissive, if not reverent. Instead, the old man emitted a presence of one who expected and deserved respect. And surprisingly, Ranulf was beginning to. “I see now how you persuaded the duke to your cause.”

“Ah, I didn’t sway him, but his wife…our new queen is incredibly lovely and quite perceptive.”

Ranulf chuckled and shook his head. He couldn’t help it. He only wished he could have been there to witness the encounter. “Yes, she is a much better choice of ally. She’s powerful, not to mention influential. It is a shame neither of you realized that you were damning a lot of people by forcing this title upon me.”

“Your predecessor didn’t think so when he bade me to find you and neither did the king.”

“My
predecessor
didn’t know me. My elder brother was the one groomed since birth for the role of Lord Anscombe. Not me. War was what I was made for. I belong on a battlefield. Trust me, that is where your people will wish I had remained.”

Laon shook his head. “You are no tyrant.” Then suddenly realizing what Ranulf meant, he stopped and asked, “Because of your missing eye? Its absence doesn’t bother me. Nor will it bother anyone else at Hunswick. What you will bring weighs of far more importance.”

Ranulf clinched his jaw and then forced it to relax, resuming a detached expression. “Either you are blinded by sight or by naïveté. Either way, it is not I who’ll be disappointed. I told Henry, and now I’m telling you. Be satisfied that I am going. Don’t be hopeful.”

Ranulf emerged from the ship’s innards. His horse was faring, but like the rest of the living, Pertinax would be far happier once they reached the solid grounds of England. Ranulf scanned the back of the deck, saw the man he was looking for, and expressed a small smile before meandering through the maze of crates and barrels tied down to the wood planks. “Can you see the horizon from there?”

“I can and you’re right,” Laon answered, keeping his eyes focused on the water. “It does help, but I’m old and not made for sea travel. Like war, it’s a young man’s passion, and at eight and twenty, you should now be wishing for more.”

Ranulf took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he took a giant step up onto the rear platform. The philosophical tenor of the old man’s comment announced that he intended once again to challenge Ranulf’s perception of himself and the world. Whether Laon was trying to prepare him for his new responsibilities or convince him that he would be a good lord, Ranulf could not discern. Regardless, the attempts so far had been unsuccessful. But Ranulf secretly had to admit, their discussions over the past few days were some of the most engaging and frank ones he had had in some time. Maybe that was why he constantly found himself drawn to the man and yet rebelling against the very words Laon had to say.

Ranulf looked down at his unpredictable companion, who was sitting on one of the stacked crates, in view of the sea’s undulating horizon and yet out of the way of the water’s freezing spray. “I’m learning that a man has only so much control over his destiny. I doubt even Henry would disagree.”

Laon took a deep breath and then, after a few seconds, exhaled. “I do find it curious your consistent reference to our new king as Henry or the duke.”

“He’s not the king yet.”

“True, but King Stephen is dead and the coronation will take place soon after our arrival. Very few continue to refer to him as the duke, and with the exception of Her Grace…and you, no one calls him by his name.”

It was a gentle reminder that the duke’s status had changed, and consequently, he should no longer be referred to so familiarly. The old man was right, but it would still be a hard habit to break. “I have known
King Henry
for many years, more than most realize. We have a”—Ranulf paused for a moment as if to decide just what to say and settled on—“unique history.”

“But you are now a noble and he is a monarch. Your relationship must change.”

“It did. The moment he thrust my desires aside and bade me north.”

“He must have believed you would be a good leader to convince you to go.”

Ranulf’s mouth transformed into a firm, unyielding line. “I am loyal to Henry, but that does not mean I am blind to his…personality traits. The man is cunning and intelligent, but he is far from generous and only a half-wit would think him benevolent. He had his own reasons for ‘convincing’ me, as you put it, to assume my latest role.”

“And they were not for the good of his people?”

“Not exactly. More like I am to bring and keep the peace. And if that helps those that live there, then good, but more importantly, Henry seeks stability…and William a throne.” England had been suffering from a civil war for almost nineteen years and its people were longing for a strong government. Most of the English noblemen would support Henry, but altruistic peace was not what the new king sought. His brother also desired a throne and Henry intended to give him Ireland, and to do that, he needed his armies free, not fighting to maintain his sovereignty.

Laon twitched his mouth and after a moment agreed. “Making William lord of a conquered Ireland would occupy him, at least for a while. Of course, the king will need to get the newly elected Pope Adrian to agree.”

“Henry will get the blessing. The Pope’s English born and quite aware of who the duke is and just what power he wields.”

“It seems you have a great understanding of just what the king seeks and why. Does such understanding extend to yourself?”

“I know myself well enough,” Ranulf clipped, instantly regretting the rash response.

“Then just what power do you yield, Lord Anscombe?” Laon asked, turning to look Ranulf directly in the eye. “More importantly, just what do you intend to do with your authority?”

There they were. The first of today’s several probing questions. Looking inwardly and analyzing one’s own psyche was not a pastime Ranulf indulged in and he did not intend to start now. “Besides get some sleep?” Ranulf quipped back.

A bushy gray brow popped up. “Should I ask?”

“Not if you want answers.”

Laon issued Ranulf a slight shrug, indicating he wouldn’t press the issue, but was still interested in understanding the truth behind Ranulf’s attempt at a jest. Instead, Laon returned to the original point he had been trying to make. “So the king wants a peacemaker, and I and your people desire a fair leader who will guide and aid them when times are tough, which have been many of late. But what do you want?”

Ranulf did not respond because he was not sure of his answer. To return to his life? That wouldn’t be fair to his men, and in truth, fighting was not fulfilling work, it was numbing. Ranulf was a good commander, some even claimed he was one of the best, but the feeling of reward and accomplishment with victory had long left him.

Laon waited for either an answer or an impulsive remark, but getting neither, he pushed on, refusing to allow Ranulf avoid the point he was trying to make. He gestured toward Ranulf’s missing eye and said, “You survived an injury that changed your perceptions, of both the world and those you encounter. You have felt life’s injustice and, for years, used your pain and anger to wield a sword in battle. Now you have the chance
and the power
to change people’s lives. You just need to decide what you are going to do. And remember, even doing nothing has consequences.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because four of those lives belong to myself and my three daughters.” Laon stood up, gave a brief nod of respect, and then disappeared into the rooms hidden beneath the platform. Ranulf stayed where he was, staring blankly out at the stormy sea.

Laon was right. By accepting the title, benefits, and responsibilities of being Lord Anscombe, he had assumed a position of power. And he had considered it from everyone else’s viewpoint, but his own. His men needed a home, his king wanted peace, the people whom he was to oversee needed a protector, but just what did
he
want to do with all that came with being a noble? For it mattered no longer that he didn’t want the power. He had it.

And just like the old man said, he could choose action or no action—but either would mean change.

The next morning began similarly to the others. Ranulf rose, ate enough stale bread and mead to steady his stomach, and then went to see about the keeping of his horse. He entered the stable area and the large black destrier swung his head around in welcome. In doing so, Pertinax revealed another visitor. Sir Laon le Breton. Yesterday, the old man had finally stopped trying to pry into Ranulf’s conscience and motivations, talking instead about himself, his family, and life in northwest England.

Ranulf approached Pertinax just as the boat unexpectedly lurched, causing him to take a quick couple of balancing steps. Laon, still unable to compensate for any sudden rise and fall of the ship, tumbled into the large horse, which snorted a loud and very cross whinny.

Laon steadied himself and huffed, “Your horse is quite unhappy.”

“He likes the sea even less than you.”

“Doubtful, but I am surprised you brought him. I would have thought the king would have supplied you with a dozen horses if you but asked.”

Ranulf arched the brow over his good eye. Laon was unusually cross today. “Maybe, but Pertinax knows me.”

Laon’s mouth formed a brief “oh” before closing. Over the past few days, he had begun to grasp the impact of losing one’s eye. Limited sight was not just a learning curve to be overcome and surpassed, but an impediment with daily repercussions Ranulf experienced in almost all actions, conversations, and activities. Without two eyes in which to pinpoint exact distance, reaching out to take what was offered or pour some ale into a mug was not as straightforward as Laon had initially perceived. After years of compensating for his injury, Ranulf could easily make those around him forget that these were indeed challenges he addressed every day. And his horse Pertinax was one of those supports enabling him to smoothly interact with the world.

“You’re right. I should have realized just what your horse means to you,” Laon grunted, rubbing his face vigorously with his hands. “I shamelessly blame lack of sleep for my thoughtless remark. I can finally keep my food down, but I like my bed to be firm and unmoving. My tired state is something you are quite familiar with, I suspect.”

Ranulf ground his teeth together and followed Laon back up on deck where, when not raining, they spent their mornings. Details of his sleep, or lack of it, Ranulf had been careful to keep to himself. No one, not even he, would be comfortable following the orders of a man who never slumbered more than a handful of hours a night. Almost all men could function tired, but after a while irrationality set in and emotional control eroded away. Each man had his limit, and Ranulf used to wonder when he would reach his. But it had been years since he had enjoyed more than four hours of sleep at a time, and even then he rarely went into a deep unconscious state. He wasn’t plagued by nightmares, just the inability to be at complete ease. To be vulnerable.

“Is that one of your men?” Laon asked, pointing to a young man with muscular arms built from months, if not years, of swinging a sword.

Ranulf twitched his jaw. “I did not think them obvious.”

“They aren’t, but too many times have I seen one of them glance your way, not in curiosity, but with desire for direction. That makes about two dozen on board, unless you have more traveling on the other ships making their way to England,” Laon remarked with a sigh of disappointment.

“You hoped for more?”

Laon hesitated. He had trapped himself and to deny otherwise would make all their previous conversations meaningless. “I had. Most of your neighbors, at least the English ones, will respect your assumption of Hunswick Castle, the waters of Basellmere, and its surrounding valley, but your closest neighbor I fear will not be one of them.”

“Don’t worry about my men, or lack of them. The ones you see could handle three times their number in battle, but almost a hundred more will be arriving in the spring.”

“A
hundred
?” Laon gasped. He had known more soldiers would be coming, but he had never dreamed the knight had so many loyal followers. “Good Lord, you will bring Hunswick to its ruin, not its glory.”

“My men seek peace, nor war. Most have families and are eager to become farmers, raise children, and live long lives.”

“They are married, then.”

“A good many. Why? Do you worry there is not enough land to support my men and their families?”

Laon shook his head. “Quite the contrary. The north still suffers from King William’s deadly campaigns to end the region of its Anglo-Danish independence and replace it with a Norman allegiance. After decades of sparse population, Cumbria needs more people. There is rich soil and its mountains are laden with ample coal, copper, tin—even iron.”