“Hand over your sword,” the Welsh soldier commanded.
Richmond unsheathed his broadsword immediately, delivering the heavy weapon hilt-end first. As the patrol encompassed him in a protective circle, the group spurred their horses toward the distant camp.
The atmosphere was heavy with smoke as Richmond reined his charger into the belly of the encampment, noting the heavily-clad soldiers as they patrolled the cluster of tents under the threat of a fierce snow. A host of dark eyes returned his impassive gaze as he halted his steed in the indicated area, dismounting into nearly a foot of slushy snow.
Two of the soldiers from the patrol took the lead, directing him to follow. Richmond passed a group of heavily-bundled women, whores who serviced the soldiers, and was the recipient of several suggestive leers. Ignoring the trollops, he made his way through the deep snow and into a collection of larger tents.
The soldiers led him to a lean-to shelter, constructed from oiled tarp and well-tanned hides. While one man slipped inside, Richmond waited with the other soldier under the canopy of thick gray clouds. As the rumble of soft voices emanated from inside the tent, a light dusting of snow began to fall.
Hotspur’s appearance was almost immediate. Eyes wide at Richmond, he stepped out into the snow to greet his friend.
“God’s Blood, Richmond!” he said in disbelief. “Why did not you send me word of your arrival? I could have met you on the border, man!”
Richmond shook the extended hand, his heart warming at the sight of his friend. But in the same breath, his sense of despair deepened as he greeted the man he would soon be forced to kill.
“It has been a long time, Henry,” he said softly, feeling the warmth and camaraderie between them in spite of the unnerving circumstances. “I apologize for not sending word ahead. In fact, I couldn’t be sure that you were even here.”
Hotspur’s smile faded somewhat. Dismissing the two soldiers with a few whispered words, he led Richmond into his tent. The interior of the shelter was warm, lit by a brightly burning vizier reeking of dung. Feeling the heat like a slap in the face, Richmond removed his helm and tossed it to the floor, already sweating. Henry grinned, handing him a goblet of wine that was eagerly accepted.
Richmond took a long drink, grimacing with the aftertaste. “Welsh wine,” he muttered. “I never could develop a taste for it.”
Henry snorted softly, quaffing from his own tin goblet. “When it is the only drink supplied, you learn to live with it,” he drank again, refilling the chalice Richmond had already managed to drain. As Richmond put the cup to his lips, Hotspur eyed him carefully. “Care to tell me why you are here? ’Tis a long way from London.”
Richmond drained his cup, already feeling the warmth fill his veins. All of his armor from the waist up fell to the floor in pieces, along with a heavy woolen tunic. Clad in his lower body protection and a relatively thin linen tunic, his poured himself a third cup of wine.
“You know why I am here,” he said quietly, pondering the dark contents of his goblet. “Truthfully, Henry, do you take me for a fool? At the king’s bequest, I ride to the border to assess the progression of the Welsh rebellion and upon arrival I am told that you have not been seen in weeks. It is assumed that you have turned against your king and have taken up camp within the Welsh resistance,” he took a long drink, eyeing Northumberland’s heir. “Would you refute these rumors?”
Hotspur stared at his friend through the dimly-lit interior of his tent. He could scarcely believe the man was before him, living and breathing. He fully expected him to be stationed in London, by Henry’s side, as a missive arrived from the Welsh border announcing a precious hostage.
Henry was terribly possessive of Richmond; during the skirmish with Richard, Henry had kept Richmond with him constantly as if using the man as a bizarre security shield. Rarely had Richmond left his king’s side, and the fact that he had suddenly appeared in the midst of the Welsh stand-off was somewhat of a shock.
Owen would think so, too. Although they eventually desired Richmond within their fold, to have the man here on the very day that Arissa had arrived was something of a surprisingevent. Glendower had prepared for months of exchanging missives before allowing Richmond into his encampment, and Hotspur was correct in his reasoning that having Richmond and their valuable hostage within the same enclosure was not a particularly attractive situation.
It was dangerous to have the lovers within such close proximity. Events could rapidly spin out of control if they weren’t careful.
But for the moment, Richmond was expecting an answer and Henry struggled not to appear too distracted by the unexpected wrinkle in their plans. He smiled feebly and averted his gaze.
“I fear to refute the rumors would be to perjure myself,” he said softly. “Obviously, I have taken up residence within the heart of the Welsh rebellion and I have brought two hundred of my men with me. Hundreds more will be coming from Northumberland and her allies to the north, numbers that will be able to bring Henry to his knees. But, certainly, this is of no surprise to you. If you listened to the hearsay, then you have already suspected as much.”
Richmond gazed at his friend a long moment, sighing heavily after a time. Slowly, he set his empty goblet to a worn table. “I know your alliance with Henry has never been particularly strong, but I never realized it would take something as insignificant as a monarch’s thoughtless ramblings to drive you to the enemy.”
“Thoughtless ramblings?” Hotspur’s eyebrows rose in mild outrage. “I would hardly call the slander he spouted insignificant, Richmond. The man accused me of incompetence and foolery, among other things. If my alliance to the king is dissolved, then it is by his own hand and not mine.”
Richmond sighed again. “You are well aware of the careless nature of England’s monarchs. You knew the loss of the three fortresses was not your fault and you should have maintainedyour innocence. Instead, you defect to the enemy and it makes your guilt appear entirely sincere.”
Hotspur bolted from his chair, his face taut. “Do not tell me how to maintain my reputation, le Bec. My nickname speaks for itself.”
“Hotspur indicates quick temper and sharp skill,” Richmond returned steadily. “It would seem that at least half of that nickname is more prevalent than the other.”
“Bastard,” Henry muttered angrily, turning away. “How dare you come here to question my judgment and loyalties. ’Tis I who have been battling the Welsh on the border for nearly two years, only to be slapped in the face for my efforts by an ungrateful monarch who, by all accounts, isn’t even the rightful king. If there was any justice of righteousness in this world, Richard would still ruling England.”
“And England would still be divided by bitterness and inner turmoil. Henry, for the most part, has stopped the civil squabbles by united her feudal barons.”
“Henry is king only because the church forced Richard to step down,” Henry shook his head sharply. “I have no desire to argue the point with you. We will always see differently in this regard.”
Richmond scratched his head wearily, thinking on another cup of wine. “Mayhap. As it is, I have ridden all the way from London to obtain the answer I have received this night,” he moved to pour himself another chalice of liquor. “You are intent to oppose Henry?”
“I am.”
