Douglas had the Tatworth men in his sights as the group crossed the marketplace and headed toward the corner where the defeated enemy was located. As Douglas walked, he reached into the purse at his side, the same one with the coins, and pulled forth a strip of cloth. Gathering his hair back, for it was long enough to cover his chest and then some, he tied it up with the strip of cloth so it wouldn’t get in the way if there was a fight. That was something he always did. He had his mother’s hair, thick and beautiful, and she had never had the heart to cut his as a child. The master knights of Kenilworth, his trainers, had tried to force him to cut it but he wouldn’t, so he’d gotten in the habitof tying it back so an enemy couldn’t grab it and use it against him.
When the hair went back, Douglas meant business.
“You,” he said loudly as he came upon the men that were still gathered on the corner. “Identify yourselves.”
The seven men, who had been laughing and drinking since they were standing near a tavern, didn’t react at first. They didn’t realize that Douglas was talking to them. But one man noticed and, with fear on his face, tapped the man next to him and pointed. Very quickly, the men realized that a heavily armed knight was addressing them and was backed up by two more heavily armed knights and several soldiers. The man in the front, who had originally had his back to Douglas, turned around and appeared not to have any real concern with what he was facing.
He looked Douglas up and down.
“You first,” he said.
His men burst into laughter, but it was nervous laughter. More than that, they were starting to back away. Before Douglas could reply, a small, thin man from the tavern next door suddenly darted out and pointed at the drinking Tatworth men.
“They stole from me!” he cried. “Those drinks are mine. They took them and would not pay!”
Douglas looked at the old, frightened man. “They’ve not paid at all?”
The man shook his head. He was dressed in broadcloth that was soaked and stained, and he had a rag that he’d been using to dry off his hands and would have looked like any other happy citizen, but his face was red with anger and he was pointing furiously to the collection of Tatworth men.
“They came into my tavern and demanded drink,” he said. “I provided it and they’ve been steadily drinking since the nooninghour. But they came outside with their drink and have refused to pay me for any of it.”
Douglas looked at the man who seemed to be in the lead. He was older, with bad skin and dirty blond hair.
“Is that true?” Douglas asked.
The man grinned, revealing big, yellowed teeth. “We’re not done yet,” he said. “We’ll pay when we’re done.”
Douglas didn’t believe him for a moment. “Pay the man.”
“When we’re done.”
“Do it now or I’ll take your money and do it for you, plus something extra for the man’s trouble.”
The threat of physical violence was quite real. The man in the lead looked Douglas over to try to determine if he was simply being a bully, or perhaps he was only bluffing, but somehow, he didn’t think so. He snorted rudely, pointing to Douglas’ de Lohr tunic.
“Hereford,” he said. “I’ve seen that before.”
“If you have, then you know I mean what I say. Pay the man now.”
It took the man several long seconds to decide that was probably the best course of action for him and his men. There was a nearly even number of men on both sides, with the knight’s group having a slight advantage, but more than that, the man in the lead knew that he and his friends were no match for three heavily armed knights.
That made his decision for him.
With another snort, this one of frustration and irritation, the man yanked his purse from a pocket and opened it, tossing coins onto the ground at the tavernkeeper’s feet.
“There,” he said. “Take your damnable money so the de Lohr dog will be satisfied.”
Douglas cocked an eyebrow. “You have a big mouth for a man who is looking death in the face,” he said. “Because youare clearly too stupid to realize that, let me tell you what sort of danger you are in. I am Douglas de Lohr, son of the Earl of Hereford and Worcester. My companion to my right, this enormous knight, is the brother to the Earl of Wolverton. He is a de Wolfe. He is also the brother to William de Wolfe, the greatest knight in the north of England. But mostly, this man is a Blackchurch-trained knight and he can kill each man standing with you without any help from me. The other knight is the heir to the House of de Winter. You know the de Winter war machine. He may be young, but I assure you, he is quite deadly.”
The revelations pouring forth had the man in the lead standing up to take notice. His comrades were already trying to flee, but the de Lohr soldiers were stopping them. No one was going anywhere. The man tossed his drink aside and put up his hands in a supplicating gesture.
“We are causing no trouble,” he said. “We’ve done no harm. Why do you harass us?”
“You tried to steal drink from the tavernkeep,” Douglas pointed out. “You’ve yet to tell me who you are. How do I know you are not here to cause harm or create damage? If you do not tell me, I must assume the worst.”
That caused the man to rethink his stance. “My name is Meriwether,” he said. “I serve Rickard Tatworth.”
“Ah,” Douglas said. “Now we have an answer. And your friends? All Tatworth men?”
