LESPADA
A Medieval Romance
By Kathryn Le Veque
“And what is better than wisdom? Woman.
And what is better than a good woman? Nothing.”
Geoffrey Chaucer c.1343– 1400
CHAPTER ONE
London, England
The Ides of March, 1264 A.D.
The evening wasstill and hushed, the hour late. The sounds of the gentle waters of the Thames drifted over the moonlit houses, roofs, and avenues like the caressing soothe of a lullaby. Hardly a soul stirred on the dirty, dangerous streets. Even the Tower of London was bathed in nocturnal peace, a bastion normally wrought with violence and tension. But the tranquility belied the chaotic heart beating within the fortress, with friction pulsing through halls like the veins of a living body.
It was a foregone conclusion that a variety of factions resided within the old stone walls of the Tower, and these days were particularly strained. There were those allied with the king, and there were those against. The ancient fortress had seen its share of political strife and the future could only threaten more of the same. Though the evening was peaceful and the mood still, there was an underlying element of pandemonium that threatened to explode. Each man and woman at the Tower lived moment by moment in anticipation of this. It was an exhausting existence.
But not all allowed themselves to be sucked into the tension that surrounded them. In the tower wing on the eastern wall, two brothers shared a fire and a carafe of blood-red wine from Sicily. These men were key components to the political strife enveloping the Tower, and one man in particular. He was the one with the heavy yellowed vellum in hand, his jaw ticking with disbelief as his eyes perused the writing.
“I do not believe it,” he growled.
“Believe what?” asked the other.
The man continued to stare at the missive until finally settling it in his lap. There was a long sigh.
“Mother.”
“What has she done now?”
Davyss de Winter handed his brother the message. Hugh took the vellum, reading the contents hesitantly as if fearful of what it might say. When he came to the end, he closed his eyes in acquiescence. The vellum collapsed in his lap.
“God give us strength,” he muttered. The deep brown eyes opened to look back at his brother. “She has been threatening you with this for months. I did not believe her to be serious.”
Davyss gazed steadily at his younger brother, a knowing smile playing on his smooth lips. “You should know her better than that, little brother. The Lady Katharine Isabella Rowyna de Warenne de Winter never threatens. Her oath is more trustworthy than that of any knight I know.” He took back the vellum, eyeing it with something of regret. “I just thought it would be later rather than sooner.”
“What are you going to do?”
Davyss glanced at the missive one last time before setting it aside. It had been a harried day and this had been the first chance he’d had to sit in one place and unwind. Yet in his position, relaxation could be deadly. He didn’t think he’d truly relaxed in fifteen years.
“I am not entirely sure that I have a choice in the matter. Should I refuse, she will deny me my inheritance. She has told me thus.”
“So you will do it?”
Davyss fell silent. His thoughts revolved around his overbearing mother, ill with age and bitter with life, and the inheritance that was his due. Nearly everything the de Winterfamily had come from his mother’s side, including the castle in which she currently resided. As the only sister of the Earl of Surrey, she had been granted Breckland Castle in Norfolk by her brother. It was a glorious stronghold, well-regarded and well-fortified near the dense Thetford Forest.
The de Warenne fortune came with it from his mother’s sire. Davyss had worked too hard in the course of his thirty-four years to watch it all slip away to Hugh because he was too stubborn to do as his mother bade. It wasn’t often that she dictated to him, but when she did, she meant it. He understood her want for her heir to marry and bear offspring to carry on the name. It wasn’t unreasonable. He just wished he had some say in the matter.
He heard his brother snort. He glanced at him. “What is it?”
Hugh’s handsome face was contorted in a smirk. “I suppose I find all of this ironic.”
“How?”
Hugh snorted again, just for effect, and rose from his over-stuffed leather chair. He moved to the hearth and tossed another hunk of peat onto the blaze. Sparks flew up into the dim room.
