Her grandfather thought he was going to have the last word about her life, but Ophelia had other ideas.
Oscar de Bulverton was in for a rude awakening.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Blackchurch Guild
Two Days Later
“Amissive foryou, my lord.”
The wind was starting to pick up on this bright and sunny day, a brisk wind that was scattering leaves and blowing through hair. A soldier from Blackchurch’s formidable gatehouse, one that anchored the formidable perimeter wall, had brought the missive as Creston was teaching a group of recruits outside today. Sometimes he taught them in the old barn that was near the eating hall because about half of what he instructed was mental. How to tolerate torture, and how to give it, and things of that nature.
Part of his course was to put recruits through hardship to see if they could mentally and physically withstand it, and that part of his course was coming up. He would order his recruits outside the walls of Blackchurch, into the woods, where they would spend two weeks living off the land and foraging for sustenance, enduring surprise attacks to unsettle them, and other methods to train them to keep their focus no matter the circumstances.
Today, however, they were learning about treatment of the enemy as it related to the art of politics, which had been their lesson for the past four weeks. Creston usually had the same recruit class for about a year because of the brutality of some of the things he had to teach them. One of those things was how to withstand interrogation, and recruits were put through actual interrogation between Creston and another trainer he worked closely with quite frequently. That other trainer was here today because his purview was world politics and that was what they were discussing at the moment. Cruz Mediana de Aragón taught conquest and diplomacy, among other things.
He also happened to be Creston’s best friend.
They were closer than brothers. Cruz was a tall, dark-haired man who was muscular and well built, and he was the night sky to Creston’s daylight. By appearance, they were opposites, but at heart, they were the same. They shared the same likes, dislikes, sense of humor, and powerful dedication to duty. Cruz was also a prince of Aragon through his grandfather, father to the current king, and he was a member of the Holy Order of Santiago. They didn’t come any more royal, educated, or formally trained than Cruz, and he and Creston had been inseparable for about thirteen years, ever since Cruz arrived at Blackchurch.
Now, he was looking at Creston with some interest as the soldier who had brought the missive headed back to the gatehouse and left Creston standing there with the vellum in his hand. He hadn’t made a move to open it. As he remained rooted to the spot, racked with indecision, more men began to approach, men who had heard about Creston’s betrothal. It wasn’t like it was a secret, even though Creston hadn’t told anyone except Cruz, and that was only in passing. But, as he’d quickly discovered, St. Denis had told everyone. Blackchurch was a brotherhood, with men who would kill or die for one another, and with training mostly over for the day, most of thosemen had seen the messenger approach the recruit field where Creston was teaching and come to support their brother in the midst of what was, by St. Denis’ account, an unhappy situation.
Tay Munro was the first one to appear, along with Sinclair de Reyne. Since every trainer at Blackchurch had a nickname, something that best represented them, these two were known as The Leviathan and The Swordsman. In Tay’s case, he had been a trainer at least ten years, if not more, and Sinclair was about the same, which gave them seniority in the trainer group, along with Creston. They’d been there the longest. But Tay, because of his natural leadership ability, was the unofficial leader of the Blackchurch trainers and greatly respected by all.
Following Tay and Sinclair were Fox de Merest, Payne Matheson, and Kristian Heldane. Fox, a man known as The Protector, was a former royal knight, much as Creston was, only they worked in completely different units for the Crown. Payne, a fiery Scotsman known as The Tempest, was the most fearless one of the group. Kristian was the tall, blond god of a man known as The Viking because, as St. Denis once put it, the man looked as if he’d come to slay them all to honor Odin. He did, in fact, train men on water warfare, using highly advanced cogs that were put to the water on the vast lake in the middle of the Blackchurch dominion known as Lake Cocytus. The shipboard training was, perhaps, the toughest part of Blackchurch, or second only to what Creston taught.
His classes could drum out recruits faster than anyone else’s.
Bringing up the rear of the approaching group were two of St. Denis’ most trusted advisors, men whose breadth and scope reached beyond England’s borders and stretched to the reaches of the known world. Aamir ibn Rashid was the son of a great Egyptian pasha who had permitted his son to journey to England years ago as a guest of St. Denis de Bottreaux. Amir had been young back then, but he had lived a lifetime as hisfather’s military general. He brought a greater view of the world to Blackchurch, something he educated the recruits on so they had a broader sense of the world in general as they went forth after their training.
The last one rounding out the collection of trainers was a former Shaolin monk named Ming Tang. His name meant “bring water” in his language and he brought morality and a sense of restraint to the group. His class taught recruits how to fight using only hands and feet and mind, something that was most challenging for men and women who had been taught to use weapons. He also taught them how to calm their minds before battle, during battle, and after battle, and how emotion was the pathway to disorder. The entire group relied on Ming Tang’s advice, each man for his own reasons, and Ming Tang had a bond with each one of them. He’d come to this land to teach as well as to learn.
His counsel would be most welcome now.
Creston could see his friends as they gathered several feet away, waiting for him to be finished with his recruits for the day. Unable to concentrate with the missive in his hand, Creston dismissed his class of eight men early so they could enjoy some rest.
That was something rare in the annals of Blackchurch, as recruits were pushed to their limits on a daily basis, by every trainer there. New recruits, called dregs, would start with Tay and he would weed out the unworthy. Those who passed his class were considered genuine recruits and moved on to Fox or Sinclair. Then another group would come in and the process would start all over again, so there were at least as many groups as there were trainers at any given time, and classes lasted from six months to a year, depending on the module. Since Blackchurch-trained warriors were the most elite warriors in the world, princes and kings and wildly wealthy warlords werewilling to pay a royal ransom for each man or woman. And they did train women. Many had graduated.
But many had failed.
Such was the life of a Blackchurch recruit, regardless of sex.
As Creston’s recruits walked away, heading back to the dormitory where all recruits were housed, Creston broke the seal on the missive just delivered to him.
“I assume you’re all here to see what’s in this missive,” he said, unfolding it. “It’s probably from my brother, demanding I make my way to The Black Cock and meet my betrothed. Well, mayhap I do not want to. Mayhap I want to run away to Araby and become a horse trader.”
He spoke the last few words with some bitterness. The last act of resistance from a man who knew he had no choice, but he was going to go down kicking and screaming. The Black Cock was the tavern in town where the Blackchurch trainers gathered, the only tavern for miles around, and that was where Royston had gone. There were several rooms to rent and a larger, dormitory-style chamber for men who wanted a bed but couldn’t pay for a private room. The food there was good, and the wenches joyful, so the trainers had made it a second home.
The Black Cock was legendary.
But it was also far from Araby, and Cruz grinned at Creston’s declaration. “Is that your plan if you fail as a Blackchurch trainer?”
Creston started laughing. “Nay,” he said. “If that happened, I thought you and I were going to overthrow Abelard and steal his pirate ships?”
That had Cruz snorting. “If you wish,” he said. “But we would have to do battle against Payne’s wife, since she is the mighty female pirate known as the Sea God, and we’d also have to do battle against Payne’s brother, Pope Francis the Pirate. I’m not entirely sure we could come up with more fearsome namesourselves, which means our pirate careers would be finished. No one would be afraid of ‘only’ Creston and Cruz.”
Creston threw his head back, laughing, as the group of trainers walked up. Now that the class was gone, they were approaching Creston, who seemed to be in a good mood. Shielding his eyes from the sun as he watched Creston and Cruz share some humor, Tay spoke first.
