They would be traveling into enemy territory for the purpose of swearing fealty to a man who was fighting for the Scottish throne. This was a serious endeavor, as much as any of the wars between Edward and Mortimer, but now Mathias was bringing his wife along with him who would only be a distraction. Stephen wondered just how effective Mathias would be with his attention divided.
He prayed the distraction would not be deadly.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Three weeks later
In the expanseof dense forest north of the town of Perth known as the Devil’s Wood, a mighty fortress tucked back in the hills known as the Devil’s Den served as the highland base for de Beaumont and his operations in Scotland. It was a different design from most English castles in that it was mostly massive walls built from brittle gray stone and the interior contained a single stone tower and several wood and thatch outbuildings. Dogs, horses and men mingled freely, and English troops held strict vigilance over the countryside. They were in enemy territory.
Which is why Mathias and his party were nearly mowed down by archers when they approached the day before, but Mathias has the good sense to keep everyone out of archer’s range while he sent Stephen to announce their arrival. He thought about sending Sebastian but with his flaming red hair and big build, he looked like a Scot and Mathias didn’t want to lose his brother to a pack of panicked sentries. Therefore, he sent Stephen in all of his godly English glory to announce their intentions and deliver the missive he carried from de Lara.
The decision had worked in their favor and soon they found themselves in the bosom of the Devil’s Den. While Henry was too busy to see them the day they arrived, he provided adequate accommodations and saw them at sunrise the next day. Leaving Justus with Cathlina, Mathias, Stephen, and Sebastian attended Henry’s audience.
The great hall of the Den, as it was locally known, was a vast place with a pitched roof, stone walls, and two enormous hearths. It was full of Englishmen, mixed with Scots, all of them loyal to Henry who had immersed himself in Scotland’s politics for well over twenty years. He was part of the contingent that fought at Bannockburn, and lost, and became what was known throughout England as a group of disgraced nobles called “The Disinherited”. For some reason, however, Henry managed to maintain power in a world that had seen many of his compatriots stripped. Henry fought for the side that suited his politics best at that time, English or Scots, but mostly, Henry fought for himself. He was an opportunist of the greatest degree.
It was this short, gray-haired, and rather powerfully built man that now gave audience to Mathias, Stephen, and Sebastian. His manner was both welcoming and disdainful, an odd combination.
“Mathias de Reyne and Stephen of Pembury.” Henry de Beaumont had a crisp and almost condescending way of delivering his speech. “Two of the greatest knights in young Edward’s arsenal stand before me. And let us not forget Sebastian the Red, a mighty man indeed. One cannot help but wonder why you are all here?”
“Was it not satisfactorily explained to you in the missive I delivered to you from the Earl of Carlisle, my lord?” Mathias asked. “The earl has sent us to support your cause.”
Henry was no fool. He had been doing this for a very long time. “My cause?” he asked. “Or Edward Balliol’s cause?”
Stephen, who had been entrenched in the Scots politics well over a year, spoke. “Edward does not believe the rightful heir to the throne of Scotland is the infant, David, son of The Bruce,” he replied steadily. “It is his opinion that the House of Balliol is the legitimate heir. Edward is the son of the former king, John Balliol, descendent of Isabella of Angouleme, and of John deWarenne, Earl of Surrey. That makes him more royal than most, my lord.”
Henry watched Pembury carefully as he spoke. The man was a well-known puppet of King Edward but had a sterling reputation of his own. There was no one in Scotland or England who could speak poorly of the man. De Reyne, however, was another matter. He had been Roger Mortimer’s genius, the brilliance behind Mortimer’s might. Henry had fought with de Reyne before and during the years he supported Mortimer and Isabella but, unlike de Reyne, he fell from favor, switched alliances, and helped plot Mortimer’s downfall. De Reyne had stayed the course with Mortimer, like a good soldier. Aye, Henry was particularly interested in de Reyne.
“Spare me the lineage lesson, Pembury, for I know it better than you,” he said, turning his attention to Mathias. “You, however, intrigue me greatly. Mortimer would not make a move without you and I know for a fact that it was your military mastermind that put the man upon the throne for three years. Well? What say you? What happened to you when they cut off Mortimer’s head?”
Entrenched in Scotland and his own political issues, de Beaumont evidently had not heard of Mathias’ dishonor. Before Mathias could respond, Pembury intervened.
“He was spared, my lord,” he said, looking at Mathias and silently begging the man to keep his mouth shut. “We are in the service of the Earl of Carlisle now who has sent us here to support your cause. Will you accept our fealty, my lord?”
Henry accepted Pembury’s explanation of Mathias’ service record since Mortimer unfortunately parted ways with his head. There was no reason to doubt the man considering Mathias’ reputation.
“It is as simple as that?” he asked, as if waiting for a caveat. “I have your swords and your loyalty?”
“The earl has deemed it so, my lord,” Pembury replied steadily. “He wishes Balliol on the throne and not a child who will be ruled by the nobles, and especially not Moray. We are here to ensure that.”
He had a point. Henry’s gaze lingered on Mathias a moment before finally rising from his chair. Flicking a wrist at the three knights, he began to walk from the hall.
“Come with me,” he said.
Dutifully, Mathias, Stephen, and Sebastian followed. They headed out into the vast bailey of the Den, swarming with men and animals. There was an encampment of troops, both English and Scots, against the southern wall with make-shift shelters and cooking fires. They had to pass through the edge of the encampment in order to reach the keep, which rose three stories above the bailey. Henry took them inside the very cramped and stuffy cylindrical tower and they mounted the narrow stone steps to the second floor. When they came to the landing, Henry rapped on the only door on that level. After a muffled response, he opened the door.
The room beyond was the entire circumference of the tower. A fire smoked in the hearth and two big dogs, shaggy hounds, slept near the fireplace, lifting their heads when they saw visitors. There was a bed, and clutter, and a table near a lancet window where a solitary man sat hunched over a scattering of vellums. When he saw the men entering his chamber, he rose to greet them.
“My lord,” Henry said as they entered the room. “I should like to introduce you to some of the major players in young King Edward’s battle against Roger Mortimer. Be introduced to Sir Sebastian de Reyne, Sir Stephen of Pembury, and Sir Mathias de Reyne. Good knights, this is Edward Balliol.”
The three knights bowed respectfully to Edward, who scrutinized the group closely. Middle aged, with a paunch in themiddle and piercing brown eyes, he was an intelligent man and very ambitious. He knew the names that Henry had spoken of. Aye, he knew them well.
“De Reyne,” he said, approaching Mathias. “I know of you. You were Mortimer’s commander.”
Mathias nodded shortly. “Aye, my lord.”
“Your reputation precedes you.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
