Caius was trying to think on that, but his alcohol-soaked brain refused to work properly. “I do not know,” he said. “Mayhap I heard that, once, but I cannot recall.”
Peter became mildly subdued from his boisterous behavior just moments before. “He did not even know of me until I was eight years of age,” he said. “My mother, the woman who gave birth to me, died in an accident and I came to live with him. My father’s earldom will go to my brother, Curtis. He is the eldest son of my father and his wife, Dustin.”
Caius cocked his head, curious, trying not to fall over when he did so. “You call Lady de Lohr your mother. I suppose I did not realize that she was not.”
Peter shook his head. “She is not, but she has raised me as her own,” he said. “She never treated me any differently. To me, she is my mother. I was fortunate enough to have two.”
Caius stared at him a moment before shrugging. “I have known your father for many years and now I feel like a fool,” he said. “Forgive me, Peter. If I was told this, I do not recall.”
Peter remained subdued a moment longer as if reflecting on the lot life had dealt him, as the bastard son– and eldest child– of a great earl, before forcing a smile. “It does not matter,” he said. “Even though I do not inherit the earldom, my father has made it so that I will inherit property, so I will certainly not be destitute. Curt will make an excellent earl when the time comes.”
They were cut off from further conversation as the food began to arrive. Morgan and Gareth were followed by a veritable parade of servants who began to put all manner of food on the table before them. Big trenchers full of boiled beef and carrots, and crispy cakes made from diced parsnips, onions, and egg, fried in fat until they were golden-brown were laid out. Therewere also smaller bowls with onions and gravy poured over chunks of stale bread.
In all, it was quite a feast and the knights dug into the food. Everyone at the table had more wine with their meal except for Caius, who had boiled apple juice with cinnamon and cloves and honey in it. A serving wench brought a big pitcher of it and he drank liberally as he stuffed his face with the succulent beef.
In truth, he wasn’t feeling much like eating and his head was swimming, but he knew the food and fruit juice would help him get his equilibrium back enough so that he could walk the half-mile back to William Marshal’s townhome of Farringdon House. He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to tell The Marshal about where he’d been– where they’dallbeen– but he’d think of something. He was, if nothing else, resourceful.
Unfortunately, time was not on his side.
As Caius and the other men devoured the meal and the good bread that a wench had brought to the table, the front door of the tavern lurched open and the moldy, stale smell of the river wafted in on the evening breeze. It pushed aside the smoke of the place, mingling with it to create a nauseating stench.
But the open tavern door revealed two more of The Marshal’s men, pushing through the crowd. They were clearly searching for their own kind and spied them just about the time Caius glanced up from his meal. Before he could react, Kevin, sitting next to him, was on his feet.
“Over here!” he said, lifting an arm to wave the pair of knights over. “Have my seat, Sean. I’ll get another.”
Sir Sean de Lara was Kevin’s older brother. An enormous man with a fearsome reputation, he was wearing a cloak with a hood up over his head because, unlike The Marshal’s men who moved about freely, Sean was not privileged enough to do that. He did, indeed, serve William Marshal, but he served the man in the capacity of the personal bodyguard to the king, keepingan eye on the king and being privy to the king’s inner circle, so moments when he publicly mingled with The Marshal’s men were rare.
Normally, Sean kept tightly to John’s side as a terrifying henchman known as the Lord of the Shadows, whose loyalties publicly were with John. Whatever dirty deed the king wished, Sean would do. But privately, he was a spy who served William Marshal and as a mole to the king, his work was invaluable.
Invaluable and reputation-destroying.
But tonight, he had come away from his post, and it was a moment not lost on Caius. In fact, it concerned him to simply see the man.
“Wait,” he said, stopping Kevin as he went to throw another man off a chair and confiscate it. He turned to Sean. “I am assuming you’ve not come to join us.”
As Sean shook his head, the second Marshal knight came to stand next to him. Maxton of Loxbeare was one of the original Executioner Knights, a specialty group of assassins within The Marshal’s stable. A big man with dark hair and dark eyes, he was unpredictable and dangerous, which made him the perfect assassin. He was also deeply loyal to his fellow knights and a man of great command ability. He came alongside the table, his focus on Caius.
“We thought we’d find you here,” Maxton said, looking with some disapproval around the table. “Don’t you lot know better than this? If The Marshal finds out, there will be hell to pay.”
A lecture from Maxton was not meant to be taken lightly and those at the table tried not to look guilty. Except for Caius; he and Maxton were very old and very good friends. Maxton was the perfect assassin, but Caius could match him and then some. There was great mutual respect.
He grunted at the man.
“You and I and Kress and Achilles have been in worse places than this,” he muttered, mentioning the names of the other Executioner Knights. “Do you recall that place in Iskenderun? The one by the sea where all of the Black Sea pirates would haunt?”
The corner of Maxton’s mouth twitched with a smile at the memory. “We are not speaking of Iskenderun.”
Caius reached up and grabbed his arm, shaking it as if to pull the man in on the humorous and frightening memories. “Aye, we are,” he said deliberately. “Remember the woman who wandered the place in her big, dark robes and would strike up a conversation with a man only to have her children emerge from under her robes and rob the man blind? She did it to Achilles and he thought her children were midgets. Remember? He tried to fight one of them and then realized he was doing battle with a ten-year-old boy who nearly bested him.”
Maxton couldn’t hold back the grin. “Shut your lips, you drunkard. We are not here to discuss Achilles’ failings as a warrior.”
When it came to their friend and comrade, Achilles de Dere, no insult was too great. Caius burst into laughter as Sean watched with mild amusement.
“Cai,” he said. “If I were you, I would sober up quickly. The Marshal has asked to see you.”
They were back on the subject of Sean and Maxton’s appearance. Caius looked at him. “Sean, my beauteous lad,” he said. “I see two of you and you are twice as gorgeous. But you can see that I am clearly in no position to face The Marshal.”
Sean looked at Maxton, who shook his head and looked away, grinning. “How did you get so drunk?” Sean demanded. “I’ve seen you drink bottle after bottle of wine and feel nothing. What in the hell is the matter with you?”
