As the men chuckled, Kevin eyed his second in command, pondering the warrior who had become his best friend over the past couple of years. Their hereditary homes were very close together, their fathers were allies, and they’d known each other all their lives, but had only become close through the course of their service for William Marshal.
Now, they were inseparable.
Gareth was a big man, with shaggy dark hair and a quiet demeanor about him. He never said much, but when he spoke, it was something of meaning. He was the product of two warring family bloodlines – his father, Bretton de Llion, had been a horribly brutal warlord years ago before he met Gareth’s mother, who was the daughter of Ajax de Velt, the man all of England had once called The Dark Lord.
Most still did.
The things Ajax de Velt did during the course of his warring years still gave men nightmares, and Gareth very much had his grandfather’s big, dark, brooding presence. He also had the distinguishing de Velt physical trait through his mother – eyes that were two different colors. Both eyes were brown, but his right eye had a big splash of green in it. He was somewhat shy because of that trait, keeping his hair down over that strangely colored eye, but that shyness ended when he was on the field of battle.
The de Velt monster emerged.
But there was more to Gareth than just a powerful warrior. He had great intelligence, too, and was still a member of William Marshal’s stable of spies, assassins, and warriors, much as Kevin still was. But their world had changed since the death of King John – the Executioner Knights were now into the rule of a new king, the boy-king Henry the Third, but their mission was still the same – protect the king, protect England, only now it was a little less harried with a young king and a regent they could all respect and work with – William Marshal himself.
Now, The Marshal truly ruled England in every way.
It was a new world, indeed.
“I feel as if we are all knights errant to some degree,” Kevin said after a moment, reflecting on that new world they found themselves in. “With a boy-king upon the throne, it seems odd that we are not constantly battling for, and against, John. To be truthful, at times I feel a little… stunned. I think we all expected John to live much longer than he did.”
Gareth nodded his head. “It is a new era, to be sure,” he said, his gaze moving to the other knights at the table. “But this lot has no idea what we have done in the past to keep England safe. They believe the knighthood to be garlands of roses and acts of chivalry.”
Kevin snorted. “Little do they know.”
“Little enough.”
The knights at the table took offense to that comment to varying degrees.
In addition to Cal, there was another knight named Bannon de Venter, who had served Kevin’s father faithfully until the old man’s death. He was older than Kevin by a few years, having come into de Lara service through the House of Wellesbourne, close allies of the House of de Lara. Rumor had it that Bannon had a romance with a Wellesbourne daughter and had been banished for it, though the Lord of Wellesbourne, William, had nothing but fine things to say about the man.
Cal, on the other hand, had come by way of his father, who had served William Marshal for many years before marrying a Welsh heiress and inheriting a Welsh fortress called Nether Castle. Cal was raised English but he’d grown up in Wales, and he was young and strong and idealistic, enamored with the knighthood as only the young could be.
It was Bannon, older and wiser, who spoke to Kevin’s comment.
“Do not group me with the young pup,” he said. “I have seen plenty of warfare myself over the past twenty years. Mayhap not with William Marshal’s army, but with the Wellesbourne war machine. They are fearsome.”
“Indeed, they are,” Kevin said. “Wellesbourne fights with de Lohr, and de Lohr fights for the crown, so your experience is not in question. But Cal…”
He trailed off as they all looked at the youngest knight at the table. Blond-haired, dark-eyed Cal looked as if he’d just been grievously insulted.
“I trained at Pembroke and Kenilworth,” he said indignantly. “Surely you do not question my skills.”
Kevin could see the young man was bordering on outrage. When he’d accepted Cal’s fealty, it had been at the request of his father, Kevin, who told Kevin in confidence that Cal needed to grow up. He was a fine knight, with fine skill, but he needed the maturity to go with it. Cal had a twin brother, Stafford, who had been sent to Wolverhampton. It seemed the wild de Poyer twins had some growing up to do, separately.
“Your skills are beyond contestation,” Kevin said, fighting off a grin. “But you have much to learn to become a seasoned knight. That will come, with time. You cannot learn everything all at once.”
Cal was placated. Sort of. It was difficult to tell because he always looked like he was aching for a fight and there was no one in all of Wales or England with as quick a temper. They’d all seen evidence of that. Cal collected his cup of ale, eyeing Kevin and Gareth and even Bannon to a certain degree.
“Rumor has it that the local warlords are planning to oust us from Wybren,” Cal said. “You know the warlords I am speaking of – Aeron ap Gruffudd and Glynn ap Hywel. The same warlords who showed up the very first day you took possession of Wybren and told you that you did not belong here. No one wants us here.”
“It is true that no one wants us here,” Gareth said. “I do not even want us here, but here was are and here we will stay. This is a powerful garrison for the de Lara empire and Viscount Trelystan, and we will hold it to the last man.”
There was something final in that statement, something that gave young Cal a moment of pause. They all knew that they were not welcome in Wales, but Kevin had no intention of giving it up, which meant they were in for some rough weather ahead. They’d only been here for a few months, not long enough for the Welsh to truly build up a rebellion against them, but that would come with time.
They could all feel it.
None more heavily than Kevin. This was his property now and the legacy of the House of de Lara, in a sense, was resting on him. He didn’t want to be the one who failed his forefathers.
More than that, he didn’t want to fail his brother. He’d done that enough over the years while his brother was serving as King John’s hated bodyguard. Kevin had failed him miserably back then and he was determined to show that the little brother of the past was no longer the embittered, shallow knight who had shunned his brother because the man had been doing his duty.
He had something to prove.
“We shall hold it,” Kevin said quietly as a servant poured him more ale. “My brother did not give me the hereditary title of Viscount Trelystan only for me to dishonor it.”
Gareth looked at him. “That was your brother’s birthright,” he said. “I never knew Sean well, as I came into The Marshal’s service when Sean spent all of his time with John, but it was quite generous of him to give it to you.”
Kevin nodded as he lifted his cup. “He is a generous man,” he said, swallowing the bitter ale. “He did not have to give me anything. I still am not sure why he did, but the Earldom of Bath and Glastonbury keeps him very busy. I suppose he wanted me to have the hereditary properties because I spent all my time there, anyway. I was already his garrison commander at Trelystan Castle when he granted me the title of Lord of the Trilaterals.”