He was a man with much on his mind.
Maxton was about to head from the chamber when he caught sight of a hulking figure coming up the darkened stairwell. The shape looked oddly familiar and, as he watched, the face of someone he knew very well came into view, but it wasn’t just any face. It was a face he hadn’t seen in years, perhaps a man he thought he would never see again.
His eyes widened.
“Sherry?” he gasped. “Bloody Christ… Sherry is thatyou?”
Sir Alexander de Sherrington gave a rather cocky grin as he came off the stairs and entered the chamber, his arms wide open as he sucked Maxton into a powerful embrace. Alexander, or Sherry as he was known to his friends, was an enigma, a man unto himself, and an elite knight that was squarely in the same league as Maxton, Kress, Achilles, Gart, and the de Lohr brothers, to name a few. They didn’t come any greater or any smarter. And he was utterly, completely delighted to see Maxton.
“Max,” he breathed as he hugged the man tightly. Releasing him, he stood back so he could take a good look at Loxbeare. “I saw everyone downstairs and they told me you were up here. It is good to see you, my friend. Thank God you and Kress and Achilles survived the Lords of Baux. I will admit that I had my doubts.”
Maxton drank in the sight of the man who could be considered the fourth Executioner Knight. Alexander had worked with him and Kress and Achilles, many times, in The Levant. They’d accomplished some harrowing missions together. After leaving The Levant, they had spent time at the Lateran Palace together, as well. The four of them had been as thick as thieves.
Alexander was dark, with dark eyes and dark hair, and a beard covering his jaw. He was also enormously built and had the brightest smile Maxton had ever seen. When he grinned, framed by that black beard, Maxton swore he could see every tooth in the man’s head. It was an infectious grin, in truth, and completely deceptive. When he looked friendly, even jolly, the truth was that Alexander de Sherrington was a killer beyond the talent of most mortal men.
He was Death personified.
“So did I,” Maxton admitted after a moment. “But we survived purely on the grace of Eleanor and William. Had they not ransomed us, we would still be there. My God, Sherry, I still can’t believe it. What are you doing here? No one ever mentioned you were in London.”
Alexander nodded, patting the man on the shoulder. “That is because I only just arrived,” he said. Then, he quickly sobered. “I heard about your tribulations after leaving Rome, Max. It is a shame, really, to have ended your time in Rome with such a terrible happening. Personally, I have fond memories of the place”
Maxton wasn’t hard pressed to agree. “I do, also. It may have ended badly, but while we were there, it was a debaucherously good time. Stories I will never be able to tell my children, anyway.”
Alexander grinned as he recalled those decadent months of wine, food, and women. For a moment, he warmed to the memory. “Nor I,” he said. “We all lived like kings for the time we spent at the Lateran Palace, until those sworn to serve God made us questionable offers that went against His teachings. In truth… it seems like another lifetime ago.”
Maxton found himself reflecting on those very same things. “It does,” he said. “But our lives, Sherry… they have never been comfortable or pleasant for any length of time. That is not the nature of our business.”
Alexander’s good humor faded. “That is true,” he said. “But what we received at the Lateran Palace went beyond comfort, at least for the time we were there. But after the depravity and self-indulgence, when were offered missions for a great sum of money, that was when everything changed. The offer that came to me was the pursuit of a double agent, a man who was discovered to spy for both the Holy Father and the Scottish king. And the offer that came to you and Kress and Achilles… your offer was far worse than mine. They wanted you to kill your own king, an offer that turned against you when you refused, and the Holy Father sold you to the Lords of Baux in punishment.”
Maxton’s voice was soft. “He wanted us to kill John to supplant him with Richard’s bastard son,” he said. “Did you know that? Richard had an affair before marrying Berengaria and the boy was the result. A boy currently in the possession of the Holy Father.”
Alexander sighed heavily. “I’d heard rumor,” he said. “Nothing definitive, but now the mission to assassinate John makes sense. It wasn’t simply a random directive.”
“It was not.”
“Max… forgive me for not helping you and Kress and Achilles in all of this. I should have tried to free you from the Lords of Baux. I should have…”
Maxton shook him gently, cutting him off. “Nay,” he said firmly. “You had agreed to your offer and you were already on your way by the time everything happened to us. If you had gone back on your word simply to help your friends, your fate would have been the same as ours. Never second-guess your decision, Sherry. You did the right thing. Have you found your man, by the way?”
Alexander shook his head. “He is in London, somewhere,” he said. “I have tracked him all across the continent, up to the land of the Northmen, and back across the sea. He came ashore in Berwick and then found his way back down to London. It has been a long year of following him, but I am confident I will find him now.”
“Why do you say that?”
Alexander dropped his hand from Maxton’s shoulder. “Because it seems that my target is where he wants to be– here, in London,” he said. “Alasdair Baird Douglas, as he calls himself, has been an agent for the Holy Father for some time, a gift from the King of Scotland, so I’m told. But it was discovered that the man is also feeding secretive information to the Scots, information about the Holy Father, and that is why they want him stopped. They paid me a king’s ransom to do it.”
“I never did ask you who made you your offer. Did the Holy Father send you after him?”
Alexander shook his head. “He did not,” he said. “Abramo did. You know the man.”
That drew a reaction from Maxton. He rolled his eyes unhappily. “I know him,” he muttered. “So does Gart. All of uswho spent time at the Lateran Palace know him. He’s a deceitful, ambitious beast hiding behind the guise of a priest.”
Alexander cocked an eyebrow. “Was he the one who told you about Richard’s bastard, then? Because the rumors I heard were that Abramo was the one speaking of the boy.”
“He did not tell me,” Maxton said. “I knew nothing of it until the Marshal told us of the boy after we were freed from Baux. All Kress and Achilles and I knew was that the Holy Father wanted our king dead, and that came directly from the Holy Father himself. He never once mentioned the lad.”
Now things were a bit clearer. When they’d last seen each other, the situation for all of them had been a bit chaotic. Alexander had been forced to leave on his mission before Maxton had agreed to his offer, and it had only been later on, through another knight, that he’d heard of Maxton’s imprisonment.
Still, he’d never forgiven himself for not helping his friends, for not being there when they needed him. But Maxton had been correct– he’d agreed to an offer and his word was his bond. It was the way men such as them worked; they were only as good as their words. Were they to break the bond, then the respect they’d worked for and their reputations would have suffered. It seemed harsh to choose a mission over friendship, but each of them understood the risks of their vocation.
