“Can I ride my palfrey all by myself? Master Quentin says I’m ready.” Lukaz raised his eyebrows, anxious to earn his father’s approval.
“You’ll be seven by then. Old enough to begin training to become a knight. Of course you can ride by yourself.” Cardin winked at Ulla as Lukaz lunged at him, wrapping his arms around his father’s corded neck.
“Merci, Papa! I can’t wait!” His face beaming with gratitude and relief, Lukaz hugged his father tight. “No one will ever call me a bastard again. Because you’ll be with me. And you’re my father.”
From opposite ends of the rectangular table, Esclados and Laudine smiled wistfully at their grandson just as the valet Jehan appeared in the doorway.
“Pardon the interruption, Lord Esclados, but a bevy of knights await at the castle gate. The leader has identified himself as Xabi Vazquez, fromle Château de Montmarinin Biarritz. He claims to have an urgent message for Basati.” Jehan bowed his blond head respectfully in deference to his lord.
The three men at the table shot to their feet.
Esclados commanded the valet, “Allow them entry and prepare accommodations in the knights’ lodge. Have Quentin and Argant tend to the horses. Escort the knights into the castle. Serve them food and drink.” Brow furrowed in concern, he glanced at his two adult sons. “We’ll receive Xabi’s message in the Great Hall.”
“Tout de suite, Monsieur. Right away, sir.” Jehan turned on his heels and rushed off to obey.
Desperation and dread warred in Cardin’s intense gaze as he spoke to Ulla and Laudine. “Please tuck Lukaz in bed for me.” He turned toward his son. “Mamiewill tell you a bedtime tale tonight. Papi, Gaultier, and I must meet these men. I’ll see you in the morning.” He hugged Lukaz, kissed Laudine, and whispered in Ulla’s ear, “I don’t want to alarm Lukaz, but it must be of vital importance for Xabi to ride all the way from Biarritz. I’ll come to the cottage as soon as I can.” When Esclados and Gaultier exited the solar, Cardin kissed her and disappeared out the door.
****
Fragrant evergreen boughs and garlands of holly and ivy adorned the huge mantel over the blazing fire which crackled in the enormous hearth. High above the tall stone walls and ogival windows of the castle, candlelight from four chandeliers suspended from the vaulted wooden ceiling illuminated the cavernous Great Hall.
Harried servants with platters of cold meats, cheese, bread, and ale scurried among the two dozen knights from Aquitaine seated at long trestle tables. As Cardin followed his father and older brother through the entrance into the vast chamber, he spotted the familiar armor and long dark hair of his best friend from Biarritz.
When Xabi rose from the table, wiping ale from his mouth, the dire expression on his heavily bearded face sent a ripple of dread through Cardin’s shaking limbs. He strode across the room, clasped Xabi in a bear hug, and introduced him to Esclados while Gaultier shook his fellow knight’s hand.
Cardin led his weary brother-at-arms to an empty table and motioned for a servant to bring more ale. When Esclados and Gaultier took their seats beside him, Cardin leaned forward to listen to his friend. “Tell me. What message do you bring from Biarritz?”
Xabi accepted a mug of ale from a castle servant and downed half the contents, as if summoning his courage. He set the goblet upon the table and fixed Cardin with an ominous stare. “Eztebe Ibarra is en route to Paris for the Yuletide signing of the Alliance with Aquitaine. He’ll stop along the way atle Château de Tourson the seventh of December. Where Andoni Zilar’s men plan to assassinate him…with your wolf head dagger.”
Cardin shot an incredulous look at Gaultier. “Zilar’s men must have stolen it—the night of the robbery behind the Drunken Crow.”
Xabi nodded and drained the rest of his ale. He fetched a map from a belted pouch at his waist and unfurled it upon the table. With a fingertip, he traced a marked trail from Biarritz to Paris. “This was Ibarra’s intended route.” Xabi eyed Cardin and Gaultier, his expression grim. “He had planned to arrive atle Château de Tourson the seventh of December. But there’s heavy flooding along the Loire River to the west, which will force him east to Issoudun.” Xabi referred to a spot on the map. “He’ll have to stop here atLa Tour Blanche. The White Tower. I expect Zilar’s men will ambush him there.”
Gaultier leaned back in his chair, folding long arms on his warrior chest. Battle readiness blazed in his stark, determined gaze. “Then we must get to Issoudun first, prevent the assassination, and deliver Ibarra safely to Paris.”
Cardin frowned, pensively rubbing a bristled cheek. “Zilar is allied with Edward Longshanks of England. If he assassinates Ibarra, he stops the treaty, eliminates the Alliance with Aquitaine, and undermines King Philippe of France.”
“And—with your dagger in Ibarra’s back—frames you for the assassination while he remains blameless in Biarritz.” Rage, disgust, and contempt distorted Gaultier’s scowling face.
Xabi summarized the urgency of their mission. “We need four days to reach Issoudun. To get there in time, we must leave tomorrow at dawn.”
Esclados rose to his feet and spoke to Xabi. “You’ve ridden hard from Biarritz. I’ll provide fresh horses for you and all of your men.” He turned to Cardin and Gaultier. “As First Knight, Montfort will remain here with me to defend Landuc. Assemble two dozen knights to accompany you to Issoudun, and gather the supplies you’ll need. I’ll have Quentin and Argant ready the horses.”
Gaultier stood, preparing to leave. He clasped Xabi by the shoulder. “Come, I’ll take you and your men to the knights’ lodge where you can sleep. In the morning, we’ll break our fast here in the Great Hall and depart at first light.”
While his brother rounded up the knights of Montmarin who had arrived with Xabi, Cardin spoke quietly to his old friend. “I won’t be returning with you to Biarritz after the holidays. I’m staying here with my son Lukaz. And my betrothed, Ulla.” He smirked at Xabi’s stunned expression. “I’m getting married here at Landuc—on Twelfth Night. I’d be honored if you’d come to the wedding.”
A wildly exuberant grin stretched across Xabi’s bearded, scarred face. “Bai, Basati!Of course I’ll be there. I wish you could come to mine as well.” In spite of his heavy chain mail armor, Xabi wrapped an affectionate arm around Cardin’s shoulder. “Euri said yes. She and I will be married as soon as I return to Aquitaine.” With a deep rumble of laughter, he quipped, “Maybe Gaultier will be next. He’s fallen hard for Dolssa. And I know she’s smitten with him.”
Cardin scoffed. “You might be right. Maybe he will.” He exhaled and shook Xabi’s hand. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ve got to explain to Ulla that I’m leaving in the morning. It’ll be hard to say goodbye.”
Compassion shone in Xabi’s dark eyes. “Bihar arte, Basati.See you tomorrow.” He clasped Cardin’s shoulder and joined the procession of knights following Gaultier out of the Great Hall.
“I’ll explain to your mother. I’ll tell her you and Gaultier will escort Ibarra to Paris and that—if all goes well—you’ll return in time for Lukaz’ birthday.” Esclados rested a comforting paternal hand on Cardin’s shoulder. “Go to Ulla. And, son…” he said, his deep voice quavering, “…rest assured that we’ll always take care of them for you.”
In case I don’t return from Issoudun.Cardin swallowed a tight lump of trepidation. “Merci, mon père.Thank you.”
****
