The Fallen One (24 page)

“I
have been at the Bucket and Barrel for two days,” Stephen said, still rubbing
his throat. “The innkeeper told me that two men had been coming daily looking
for me but I could not be sure it was you. I had to be careful, you know.
 
Yesterday, I hid while I paid a man to follow
you back here.
 
When he described the men
he had followed, I was certain it was you. And here I am.”

Mathias
shook his head as Sebastian grinned. “Here you are,” Sebastian said, very happy
to see him. “Where have you been keeping yourself for the past year? We heard
you were with Edward in Scotland.”

Stephen nodded as he pulled off his helm
and moved to make himself more comfortable. “Mostly in Newcastle and Berwick,”
he said. “The Scots have been a handful, fighting each other for the throne and
then battling the English for independence. I have hardly seen de Lara or St.
Hèver. How are they?”

“Well,” Mathias said. “We just left them,
in fact.”

“That is good,” Stephen said as he set his
helm on the nearest table.
 
His
cornflower blue gaze sought out Mathias. “And you? How have you been this year
past?”

The last time Mathias and Stephen had seen
each other was shortly after Mathias had been stripped of his title.
 
It had been a painful parting and, frankly,
Mathias didn’t remember too much of it.
 
All he had remembered clearly was the anguish.

“I have been well,” he said quietly. “My
brother and father and I were living in Brampton, operating a rather successful
smithy business. It has been a quiet year and one of reflection.

Stephen nodded in understanding. “You were
entitled to some much-needed rest.”

“I received it.”

“And now you are ready to return to us?”

Mathias shrugged.
 
“It is time to move on with my life and
resume my chosen profession,” he said. “Edward will simply have to understand
that. I cannot remain a smithy for the rest of my life.”

Pembury shook his head firmly. “You are too
great for that,” he said, eyeing Mathias. “I have been waiting for this day, in
fact. I knew it would come sooner rather than later. I have some things for
you.”

Mathias looked at him. “What do you have?”

Stephen smiled faintly. “Your sword,” he
said softly. “I have your sword, your equipment, and your charger. I brought
them with me.”

Mathias’ features when slack with shock.
“You did?” he asked, awed. “I… I had turned them over to the court’s
magistrate. I had no idea where they had gone.”

“I took them,” Stephen said, his manner
quiet. “I could not stand the thought of them falling into hands that were
unworthy to hold them, so Tate acquired them from the magistrate and turned
them over to me for safekeeping. He did not tell you that?”

Mathias shook his head, still stunned. “He
did not.”

“Then mayhap he wanted to surprise you.”

Mathias chuckled as he realized with great
joy that the possessions he valued above all else would be returned to him.

“I am surprised,” he agreed, grinning. He
sobered. “You realize that all of you – Tate, Ken, and you – are going against
the king’s directive. He stripped me of my title and told me if I held a sword
again that it would mean my life. Now all of you are helping me defy him?”

Stephen’s good humor faded. “What happened
to you could have happened to any of us,” he said softly. “You had your reasons
for siding with Mortimer, Mat. We all knew that. What happened at the end…
Edward stripped you in order to save your life. We had to do it even though it
was a travesty. But now this… they can take away your titles but it does not
diminish who you are as a man and a warrior. We knew your time would come again
and we are here to ensure that it happens.”

Surely no better friends in the world had
ever existed. The bonds they all shared ran deeper than blood or kings. It ran
deep into the heart.
 
Mathias was deeply
touched and humbled by the show of support.
 

“Thank you, my friend,” he said quietly. “I
cannot thank you enough for your thoughtfulness.”

Pembury smiled in return, his big teeth
straight and white. “You would have done the same for me,” he said. “Now, what
is this I hear? We are to swear fealty to Henry de Beaumont and fight for his
foolish cause?”

Mathias nodded. “We are,” he said as he
eyed the man, “but I am not entirely sure how you are going to swear fealty to
him if you are already quite sworn to Edward?”

Stephen shrugged. “Tate has sent Edward a
missive asking for my leave,” he said. “You know that Edward cannot deny Tate
anything. He worships the man.”

“Tate is his uncle; indeed he does.”

“Therefore,” Pembury continued as he grabbed
around for a cup to fill with the remainder of the warmed cider, “you and I are
bound for our Scots adventure. Oh, and Sebastian, too.”

Sebastian, standing near the hearth,
sneered at him. “You should be so fortunate to have me on your side, Pembury.”

Stephen lifted a cup in agreement. “I
certainly would not wish to fight against Sebastian the Red.
 
Those Scots had better run if they know what
is good for them.”

He drank deeply of his cup as Midgy decided
to purge forth from his copper tub and make an appearance.
 
As Stephen began to pick at the bread still
left on the table, the otter raised up on his hind legs next to him and began
grunting, begging for food.
 
Stephen
nearly bolted out of his chair at the sight and only by sheer courage managed
to keep it.
 
His eyes were wide on the
furry creature.

“God’ Bones,” he exclaimed.
 
“What in the hell is that?”

Mathias caught sight of Midgy and grinned.
“My wife’s pet.”

Now Stephen was truly astonished. “Your
wife
?”

Mathias nodded as he headed to the bed chamber
door and rapped softly. “Cathlina?” he called. “Open the door, love.”

They could hear the iron bolt being thrown
and the door quietly opened. A woman of astonishing beauty stood in the
doorway, her sweet face both curious and apprehensive as she looked at the men
in the chamber.
 
Mathias put his arm
around her shoulders and pulled her out into the light.

“This is the man we have been waiting for,”
he told her.
 
“This is Sir Stephen of
Pembury.”

Cathlina’s face relaxed into a smile as she
gazed upon the massive man with the bright blue eyes.
 
“My lord,” she said, dipping in a polite
curtsy.
 
“It is good to finally meet
you.”

Stephen was still wrestling with his
astonishment that Mathias had not only taken a wife, but that he had brought
her along.
 
He bowed his head in her
direction.

“Lady de Reyne,” he said. “It is indeed a
pleasure to make your acquaintance. I had no idea Mathias had married.”

She grinned as she looked at her husband.
“Ask him to tell you how it came about,” she said. “It is a rather sordid
tale.”

Stephen smiled because she was.
 
He looked at Mathias. “I can already tell she
is far too good for you.”

Mathias bowed his head in agreement. “You
would be correct,” he said. “Now that you have met her, you know that she will
be traveling with us.
 
I could not leave
her behind for reasons I will explain to you at another time.”

Stephen accepted his statement without
another word. He went to reclaim his cup but saw that the otter had it, now
rolling it around on the floor.
 
As he
hunted around for another cup, Justus emerged from the second bed chamber and
greeted him like a long-lost son.
 
Pembury was thrilled to see the old man, tougher than most men half his
age.
 
He had fought with three kings,
starting with Edward I. Stephen greatly admired Justus de Reyne.

As he and Justus sat down to conversation, the
otter was running amuck because it was hungry and Lady de Reyne was trying to
pacify the animal. Sebastian wasn’t paying much attention to her but Mathias
was, and Stephen could see in those brief few moments how enamored the man was
with his wife. Not that he blamed him, for she was a lovely little thing, but
he had to admit he was concerned.
 

They would be traveling into enemy
territory for the purpose of swearing fealty to a man who was fighting for the
Scottish throne.
 
This was a serious
endeavor, as much as any of the wars between Edward and Mortimer, but now
Mathias was bringing his wife along with him who would only be a
distraction.
 
Stephen wondered just how
effective Mathias would be with his attention divided.

He prayed the distraction would not be
deadly.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Three
weeks later

In the expanse of dense forest north of the
town of Perth known as the Devil’s Wood, a
 
mighty fortress tucked back in the hills known as the Devil’s Den served
as the highland base for de Beaumont and his operations in Scotland.
 
It was a different design from most English
castles in that it was mostly massive walls built from brittle gray stone and
the interior contained a single stone tower and several wood and thatch
outbuildings.
 
Dogs, horses and men
mingled freely, and English troops held strict vigilance over the
countryside.
 
They were in enemy
territory.

Which is why Mathias and his party were
nearly mowed down by archers when they approached the day before, but Mathias
has the good sense to keep everyone out of archer’s range while he send Stephen
to announce their arrival.
 
He thought
about sending Sebastian but with his flaming red hair and big build, he looked
like a Scot and Mathias didn’t want to lose his brother to a slurry of panicked
sentries.
 
Therefore, he sent Stephen in
all of his godly English glory to announce their intentions and deliver the
missive he carried from de Lara.

The decision had worked in their favor and
soon they found themselves in the bosom of the Devil’s Den.
 
While Henry was too busy to see them the day
they arrived, he provided adequate accommodations and saw them at sunrise the
next day.
 
Leaving Justus with Cathlina,
Mathias, Stephen, and Sebastian attended Henry’s audience.

The great hall of the Den, as it was
locally known, was a vast place with a pitched roof, stone walls, and two
enormous hearths.
 
It was full of
Englishmen, mixed with Scots, all of them loyal to Henry who had immersed
himself in Scotland’s politics for well over twenty years.
 
He was part of the contingent that fought at
Bannockburn, and lost, and became what was known throughout England as a group
of disgraced nobles called “The Disinherited”.
 
For some reason, however, Henry managed to maintain power in a world
that had seen many of his compatriots stripped.
 
Henry fought for the side that suited his politics best at that time,
English or Scots, but mostly, Henry fought for himself.
 
He was an opportunist of the greatest degree.

It was this short, gray-haired, and rather
powerfully built man that now gave audience to Mathias, Stephen, and
Sebastian.
 
 
His manner was both welcoming and disdainful,
an odd combination.

“Mathias de Reyne and Stephen of Pembury.”
Henry Beaumont had a crisp and almost condescending way of delivering his
speech. “Two of the greatest knights in young Edward’s arsenal stand before me.
And let us not forget Sebastian the Red; a mighty man indeed. One cannot help
but wonder why you are all here?”

“Was it not satisfactorily explained to you
in the missive I delivered to you from the Earl of Carlisle, my lord?” Mathias
asked.
 
“The earl has sent us to support
your cause.”

Henry was no fool; he had been doing this
for a very long time.
 
“My cause?” he
asked. “Or Edward Balliol’s cause?”

Stephen, who had been entrenched in the
Scots politics well over a year, spoke.
 
“Edward does not believe the rightful heir to the throne of Scotland is
the infant, David, son of The Bruce,” he replied steadily. “It is his opinion
that the House of Balliol is the legitimate heir.
 
Edward is the son of the former king, John
Balliol, descendent of Isabella of Angouleme, and of John de Warenne, Earl of
Surrey. That makes him more royal than most, my lord.”

Henry watched Pembury carefully as he
spoke; the man was a well-known puppet of King Edward but had a sterling
reputation of his own.
 
There was no one
in Scotland or England who could speak poorly of the man.
 
De Reyne, however, was another matter; he had
been Roger Mortimer’s genius, the brilliance behind Mortimer’s might.
 
Henry had fought with de Reyne before during
the years he supported Mortimer and Isabella but, unlike de Reyne, he fell from
favor, switched alliances, and helped plot Mortimer’s downfall. De Reyne had
stayed the course with Mortimer, like a good soldier.
 
Aye, Henry was particularly interested in de
Reyne.

“Spare me the lineage lesson, Pembury, for
I know it better than you,” he said, turning his attention to Mathias. “You,
however, intrigue me greatly. Mortimer would not make a move without you and I
know for a fact that it was your military mastermind that put the man upon the
throne for three years.
 
Well? What say
you? What happened to you when they cut off Mortimer’s head?”

Entrenched in Scotland and his own political
issues, de Beaumont evidently had not heard of Mathias’ dishonor.
 
Before Mathias could respond, Pembury
intervened.

“He was spared, my lord,” he said, looking
at Mathias and silently begging the man to keep his mouth shut. “We are in the
service of the Earl of Carlisle now who has sent us here to support your cause.
Will you accept our fealty, my lord?”

Henry accepted Pembury’s explanation of
Mathias’ service record since Mortimer
 
unfortunately parted ways with his head; there was no reason to doubt
the man considering Mathias’ reputation.
  

“It is as simple as that?” he asked, as if
waiting for a caveat. “I have your swords and your loyalty?”

“The earl has deemed it so, my lord,”
Pembury replied steadily. “He wishes Balliol on the throne and not a child who
will be ruled by the nobles, and especially not Moray. We are here to ensure
that.”

He had a point. Henry’s gaze lingered on
Mathias a moment before finally rising from his chair.
 
Flicking a wrist at the three knights, he
began to walk from the hall.

“Come with me,” he said.

Dutifully, Mathias, Stephen, and Sebastian
followed.
 
They headed out into the vast
bailey of the Den, swarming with men and animals.
 
There was an encampment of troops, both
English and Scots, against the southern wall with make-shift shelters and
cooking fires.
  
They had to pass through
the edge of the encampment in order to reach the keep,
 
which rose three stories above the bailey.
 
Henry took them inside the very cramped and
stuffy cylindrical tower and they mounted the narrow stone steps to the second
floor.
 
When they came to the landing,
Henry rapped on the only door on that level. After a muffled response, he
opened the door.

The room beyond was the entire
circumference of the tower.
 
A fire
smoked inn the hearth and two big dogs, shaggy hounds, slept near the
fireplace, lifting their heads when they saw visitors.
 
There was a bed, and clutter, and a table
near a lancet window were a solitary man sat hunched over a scatter of vellums.
When he saw the men entering his chamber, he rose to greet them.

“My lord,” Henry said as they entered the
room. “I should like to introduce you to some of the major players in young
King Edward’s battle against Roger Mortimer.
 
Be introduced to Sir Sebastian de Reyne, Sir Stephen of Pembury, and Sir
Mathias de Reyne.
 
Good knights, this is
Edward Balliol.”

The three knights bowed respectfully to
Edward, who scrutinized the group closely.
 
Middle aged, with a paunch in the middle and piercing brown eyes, he was
an intelligent man and very ambitious.
 
He knew the names that Henry had spoken of.
 
Aye, he knew them well.

“De Reyne,” he said, approaching Mathias.
“I know of you. You were Mortimer’s commander.”

Mathias nodded shortly.
 
“Aye, my lord.”

“Your reputation precedes you.”

“Thank you, my lord.”
    
“Why are you here?”

“Because the Earl of Carlisle has offered
their services to our cause,” Henry said, glancing at the three big knights.
“It is evident that he does not wish to see the infant David upon the throne
and what Tate de Lara wants, King Edward wants.
 
We are in the presence of greatness, my lord. These men will win you a
kingdom.”

Edward looked at the knights, filling up
his chamber with power and glory.
 
He
hardly knew what to say. “This morning when I awoke, I had no idea that this
day would bring such news,” he said, moving from Mathias to Stephen.
 
“I am rather speechless with the military
might I am faced with.
 
Did you bring men
with you?”

Mathias shook his head. “Only me, my
brother, Pembury, and my father.”

“Is Carlisle planning on sending an army?”

Stephen answered. “I am told four hundred
men will be making the journey from Carlisle in a few weeks.
 
The earl wanted to make sure we were well
received and settled before sending men.”

Balliol nodded shortly, thinking of more men
to reinforce his cause. “Very well,” he said. “We will sit and talk now.
 
I want to understand what your presence here
truly means.”

In the stuffy room that smelled of dogs and
smoke, Henry pulled up a stool but the other three remained standing. They were
about to hear the plans for their immediate future and the reclamation of a
throne for the House of Balliol. For Mathias, it was as if he was back with
Mortimer, huddling for battle, feeling the power the he wielded flow through
him like the rich red blood that filled his veins. Power and blood were one in
the same.
 
He could breathe battle, smell
it and taste it, once for Mortimer and now for Balliol.
 

This was what he was born and bred to do,
his destiny as God had given it to him.
 
The year he had lived as a smithy, he realized, had only made him
hungrier for his true vocation.
 
He was a
knight, through and through, and no one could take that away from him.
 
As he sat around that small table, he
realized that this was the beginning of his redemption.

Matthias de Reyne was back.

***

Midgy was wreaking havoc.

In the accommodations assigned to Mathias
and his party, the otter was a festive creature who had no idea that knocking
things over, spilling water, slithering into the fireplace and then emerging
with soot all over his body which, in turn, got all over people and objects,
was a bad thing. He was just curious and happy, as he usually was, until he got
black soot all over Justus’ lap when the old man was sleeping in a chair.
 
Justus woke up and yelled at the otter, which
promptly stood on his hind legs to beg food from the irritated old man.
 
Cathlina had quickly distracted the animal
with toys.

They were lodged in one of the small huts
that lined the Den’s outerwall, built from river rock with a heavy thatched
roof.
  
There was one big room and one
smaller adjoining room, and a fireplace that was open on both ends and
servicing both rooms.
 
Midgy was having a
great time with the pass-through hearth.

“Justus?” she asked as Midgy tried to
burrow his way into Mathias’ saddle bags. “Do you suppose you can find a pot or
a tub for him to play in? It would keep him out of the hearth.”

Justus eyed the otter, who was grunting
happily. “Aye,” he said, rising wearily from his chair and upset that his nap
had been interrupted. “I will see what I can find.”

He opened the door to the bailey of the
Devil’s Den with the intention of hunting down the stables when he caught sight
of his sons returning from the keep.
 
Pembury was walking beside them, his hulking presence unmistakable.
 
Cathlina came to the door to watch the
approach of the knights, their enormous forms shadowed by the setting sun.
 
When Midgy tried to squeeze by and make a
break for it, she caught the otter and held him fast.

Mathias smiled wearily as he came close,
his gaze locking with Cathlina’s.
 
She
smiled in return and he took both her and the otter in his arms to kiss
her.
 
Midgy squirmed and tried to break
free.

“Are you hungry?” he asked her. “Henry has
invited us to sup with him in the great hall, so put on your best gown, my
lady. Let these fools see what a true beauty looks like.”

Cathlina scooted back into the chamber
excitedly as the knights filed in and shut the door behind them.
 
Here possessions, as well as Mathias’ bags,
were in the smaller of the rooms so she disappeared into the smaller chamber
with Midgy.
 
They could hear her
rummaging around.