Before d’Vant could respond, Tevin suddenly appeared from around the rear of Dacian’s horse. He had just dismounted his steed and, in hearing the soldier’s request, decided to intervene. He wasn’t going to trust Val’s safety to soldiers he didn’t know. It would be a feather in the cap of any soldier to claim he was the one who killed Canterbury’s assassin.
“The prisoner is not your responsibility,” he snapped. “De Nerra will be taken to Henry but not by you.”
The mighty Earl of East Anglia was not to be tangled with; every fighting man in Henry’s service knew that. The soldier backed away somewhat.
“Aye, my lord,” he said, now seemingly nervous that he had roused Tevin’s anger. “Henry asked that he be brought to the hall.”
“Then he shall. Now, get out of my sight.”
The soldier backed away to stand with the other men he’d brought with him as du Reims charged past them, heading in the direction of the hall in search of the king and leaving d’Vant to escort Val. But the armed soldiers sent by Henry were eyeing Val quite critically as the man slid off his horse and removed his saddlebags. In spite of his shackled wrists, he went to help his mother from her mount.
Vesper, meanwhile, had dismounted, still holding that dagger as if it meant life or death for Val. There was no way she was going to relinquish it. As she went to stand next to Val and Margaretha, one of the armed soldiers that had come to take Val to Henry shouted.
“Murderer!”
Val didn’t even react; he didn’t so much as look up. He was in the process of trying to convince Margaretha to turn the sword over to d’Vant but Vesper heard the shout and it infuriated her. Dagger in her hand, she moved in the direction of the heavily-armed soldiers.
“Who said that?” she demanded. “Who was it? Are you so cowardly that you shout from a group of men so you can hide behind them? You should be ashamed!”
Val’s head snapped in her direction when he heard her angry voice. Quickly leaving his mother, he rushed to Vesper just about the time d’Vant got to her. Dacian, too, had heard her angry challenge. Val had her by the arms as d’Vant put himself between Vesper and the armed soldiers.
“My lady, your bravery is astonishing,” d’Vant said, a twinkle in his eye. “I should be so fortunate as to have such a courageouslady to protect me. But it would not do to challenge those men. They are ignorant and you would only be wasting your breath.”
Vesper was so angry that she was trembling. “Why do you let men treat Val like this?” she asked. “You know he is innocent yet he bears chains as if he is guilty. Why do you let him shame himself so in public?”
Dacian looked at Val, regret in his expression. “It was not my idea, my lady, I assure you.”
Vesper’s brow furrowed and, puzzled, she turned to Val also. “Then why do you wear these shackles?”
Val had his hands on her arm; his wrists were chained too closely together for him to grasp her any other way. “It is better this way,” he said quietly. “Dacian will not get in to trouble with Henry and men will believe I have had no special treatment because Henry has ordered my arrest. We are simply following the wishes of the king, so do not trouble yourself over fools that believe only rumor.”
He was pulling her back, away from the armed men, but Dacian turned around and ordered the group away. Grumbling, they went. Once they were far enough out of range, Dacian motioned to Val.
“Come along, then,” he said. “The sooner we get this over with, the better.”
Val still had hold of Vesper, fearful of what would happen if he let her go. She was fully willing to attack a group of grown men with her little dagger because she believed they had slandered him.
“Agreed,” he said. “Would you mind escorting my mother? I fear my hands are full.”
That was metaphorical as well as literal as far as Dacian was concerned; Lady Vesper was quite a handful, to be sure. Taking a few steps in Margaretha’s direction, Dacian held out a hand to her.
“Lady de Nerra,” he said politely. “I would be honored to escort you into Henry’s hall.”
Margaretha was pale with exhaustion but her posture and the tone of her voice suggested otherwise. “Take me to Henry,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “I have a need to speak with him.”
“Indeed I will, my lady.”
“Immediately, Dacian.”
Dacian was again glad that he wasn’t a target of Lady de Nerra’s rage and he didn’t envy Henry one bit. The man was going to have trouble on his hands, very soon. Without hesitation, he began to lead the woman towards the hall that had been built in the time of the Duke of Normandy as the rest of the group, including Val and Vesper and Calum, followed. Since the duke built Winchester and the castle had served, for many years, as the seat of England, it had a long hall built of stone with a steeply pitched roof that was designed for large gatherings. Rather than a hearth to warm the space, it had a fire pit in the center of it. As the group approached, they could see smoke escaping from holes near the roofline.
It was a hall where Henry conducted business as his forefather once had. The great oak doors yawned wide to admit the entire party into the hall. The floor was covered with stale straw, ankle-high, to keep in the warmth in the cold winter temperatures, but the smell of it was quite overwhelming. Food had fallen from the tables into the straw and, if not eaten by the dogs, had subsequently rotted, so the entire hall had a rotting-food smell coupled with the scent of the dogs who were roaming the hall in packs.
The aroma was quite pungent and when Margaretha entered, she was hit by the smell and, for a moment, came to a pause and briefly closed her eyes, sickened. D’Vant thought there was something genuinely wrong with her and looked at her withconcern, but she waved the man on. He took her deeper into the hall but when Vesper entered behind them, she wasn’t quite as tactful in her reaction as Margaretha was. Her hand flew to her nose.
“Sweet Jesù,” she gasped. “What a stench!”
Val looked around the hall for Henry, mostly, but he had a faint smirk on his face as he did so. “It is your punishment for demanding to come along,” he muttered. “Now you must sit in this filthy smell. It is probably rotting the inside of your nose as we speak.”
