The Pox was packed to the rafters.
Filled to the brim with mostly men but a few women, Christin took one look at the common room and thought it was all rather exciting. Every kind of human imaginable was there; men in tattered clothing, sitting on the floor with their drink because the tables were full, knights in expensive protection, and well-dressed merchants who had just come off of their cogs along the river. Serving wenches mingled among the tables, bringing food and drink.
It was a busy place.
A thin layer of blue smoke hung near the ceiling from two hearths that were blazing on this night as men huddled around tables, some only to eat, but some to roll dice or play cards. Stacks of hand-painted cards were on several of the tables, well-used wooden panels, as dealers shuffled and dealt them out to those willing to gamble on a game of chance.
Christin was fascinated by all of it. A wench passed her bearing trenchers that contained meat and vegetables, reminding her of how hungry she was. The games would have to wait. She turned to her brother.
“May we find a table?” she asked. “I would like to eat.”
Peter had his eyes on everyone in the room, suspicious of every man regardless of dress or obvious wealth.
“Fine,” he said shortly. “And then we will leave. Do you understand me?”
Christin nodded, but it was simply to appease him. Whether or not she would leave after she ate was still up for debate as far as she was concerned. She could see a mostly empty table midway deep in the room, against the wall, and she pointed to it.
“There,” she said. “There is only one man at that table. Surely he will share it with us.”
Before anyone could answer her, she charged off into the room. Peter rolled his eyes at his headstrong sister, but Alexander was right behind her. He wasn’t going to let any lady move unescorted in this room because he knew what kind of men frequented this place. Before he could caution her, however, she spoke to the lone man at the table.
“May we share your table, good sir?” she asked politely. “The inn is very crowded tonight.”
The man turned to look at her. He was older, dressed in outdated and damaged mail, with a well-used tunic that Alexander noticed before anyone else did. He recognized the red and gold standard of William d’Aubigney, an enemy of the crown and of William Marshal.
“I am waiting for my friends, girl,” the man told Christin. “Find another table.”
He was decidedly unfriendly and Christin opened her mouth to plead with him, but Alexander touched her on the arm, getting her attention. When she looked at him, he shook his head faintly and motioned her away. Curiously, she followed him.
“What is it?” she asked.
Alexander had her by the elbow now as if afraid she’d run back to the table. By this time, Peter and Bric and Kevin had caught up to them and Alexander sandwiched Christin between him and Peter.
“D’Aubigneys men are here,” he said quietly. “I am not willing to face hostilities with your sister present.”
Peter looked over his shoulder to the man bearing the d’Aubigney tunic. “I did not see him when we entered,” he said. “We should leave.”
Christin knew the name d’Aubigney and she further knew that he was an enemy of William Marshal and his allies. Though she very much wanted to remain and enjoy this terrible and interesting place, she’d been in The Marshal’s service long enough to know what enemies meant to one another, especially enemies of William Marshal. She’d seen it too many times before.
In truth, she was a little disappointed at having to depart so soon, but much like Alexander and Peter, she didn’t want a fight. Too many men with too many weapons could spell disaster, especially in these turbulent days. So without an argument, she let Peter take hold of her and head for the entry. She’d have to return to The Pox at another time. They were halfway to the door when someone grabbed her arm, yanking her away from Peter.
“C’mon, lass!” A very drunk man had her by both arms. “Give us a dance!”
Peter was on the man in a second, driving his fist into the man’s face. As he fell back, Peter yanked Christin from the man’s grip.
“Go,” he commanded. “Quickly. To the door.”
Christin began to move swiftly, but it was difficult given that the inn was so packed. She ended up shoving people out of her way, kicking one slow-moving man in the arse. Just as she reached the door, the panel flew open and several heavily-armed men entered.
Christin, being that she was in the front of their group, saw the men first. She noticed that they were wearing the same tunics as the man they had so recently turned away from. D’Aubigney. Christin came to a halt but before she could say anything, the knight in the front spied Bric, whom he evidently knew.
And didn’t like.
“MacRohan!” he roared. “You foul Irish bastard! I told you what would happen if I saw you again!”
Christin didn’t have time to step out of the way before the unruly knight shoved her aside, using his arm in a big sweeping motion that shot her over a table and saw her crashing to the floor on the other side. Horrified, Peter couldn’t go to her aid because he found himself swept up in an attack by at least six d’Aubigney knights.
It was a brawl of epic proportions from the start.
As Christin struggled to her knees, shaking off the stars dancing before her eyes, everyone in the front section of the inn began screaming and running. Christin ended up rolling under a table, gripping the legs for dear life as people scattered all around her. The table was hit a few times, buffeted from side to side as the floor cleared.
But after that, she was up.
Six against four was nearly fair odds in d’Aubigney’s favor. Already, three enemy knights were down as Kevin, Bric, and Alexander pummeled those trying to attack them. Without a fight of his own for the moment, as he had already dispatched one man, Peter headed in Christin’s direction.
“Are you hurt?” he asked her in a panic.
Christin shook her head. “Of course not,” she said. Then, her eyes widened. “Look! That knight has thrown something into Alexander’s face! He’s blinded!”
Before Peter could stop her, she grabbed one of the chairs around the table and rushed to the knight trying to kill Alexander, swinging it with all her might against the back of his skull. When that only made him falter, she leapt on his back, grabbing her pretty bejeweled dagger from its sheath at her waist and plunging it into the man’s neck.
Down he went and Christin right along with him. Alexander was on his feet now, using the edges of his tunic to wipe the hot wine out of his eyes. When the vision in one eye cleared, he could see Christin removing her dagger from the man’s neck.
“Bloody Christ,” he muttered, pulling her to her feet. “My lady, did you do that?”
She nodded without hesitation. “He was going to kill you,” she said. “Look in his left hand. I saw the flash of a dagger. If the sword did not kill you, the dagger would as you tried to clear your vision. He was coming at you with both hands armed, my lord.”
Blinking his stinging eyes, Alexander could, indeed, see that the man had a weapon in each hand. He wasn’t entirely sure the man would have killed him, but he was still having difficulty with his vision, so it would have been a problematic battle.