Page 247 of The Daughters of Avalon
Erudite though he might appear, Giles was a paladin—a polite title for his post to a company of what amounted to no more than a troupe of assassins.
Perhaps it might seem odd that the King would hire one of his kind to retrieve his wayward son, but this was a true testament to the state of the realm. Giles understood why Stephen had called for his help instead of one of his own. Firstly, Giles was bound by his faith to exercise every option before dispensing “God’s justice.” But far more importantly, if Stephen had to call upon his own Rex Militum, his son wouldn’t survive the day. At the instant, Eustace was the most hated man on the continent, and no less so by the King’s personal guards.
“You came so swiftly,” said Ording, endeavoring to change the subject. “We thank you! Alas, though, there is nothing more to be done.” His demeanor changed now. “I… I’m afraid we haven’t much ale remaining, and in truth, we haven’t much of anything. The prince emptied our larders as well, though we could offer you a warm bowl of gruel if you like—or if you hurry, you might still catch him at Edwardstone.”
“Is that where he went?”
Abbot Ording lifted a shoulder. “We cannot know for certes, my lords, but he did hasten away with the name of that abbey on his lips. If you hurry, you may catch him.”
It was clear enough that the good Abbot didn’t relish the notion of either of them remaining to sup. “Fret not, Good Father,” said Giles. “Keep your gruel for your weary men. By the looks of your flock, they’ll need it more than we do.”
“Oh, thank you, my son!” said Ording, with a grateful bow. “Thank you so much!”
“Miserly Benedictines,” groused Wilhelm.
With a lifted brow for Wilhelm, Giles turned to reclaim his saddle, assuring the priest, “I’ll send word to Warkworth to dispatch more supplies. You’ll have more than enough to replenish your larders within the fortnight. Take it as our gift to God.”
“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” said Ording. “God bless you—” He cast a wary glance toward Wilhelm, and said again, “God bless you both!”
“Keep your blessings,” groused Wilhelm. “Save them for Eustace. The bastard’s going to need every prayer he can get if I get my hands around his throat.”
“Nay, my lord!” chided Ording. “That is treason! He is still the King’s son.” He crooked a finger at Wilhelm. “Remember… as he hung on the cross, our Lord said, ‘Forgive them, for they know not what they do.’ I tell you true, no man may pass judgment in this realm.” Abbot Ording lifted his chin, scarcely able to meet Wilhelm’s gaze. “‘Vengeance is mine, I shall repay, sayeth the Lord.’”
Giles smiled faintly. Little did the man realize…hewas God’s vengeance on this earth.
“‘If your enemy be hungry, you must feed him,’” continued Ording, heedless of the ire his words were inspiring in a manwhose faith had died the night Warkworth burned. “‘If he be thirsty, give him drink; for by doing so ye shall heap burning coals upon his head!’”
“So, I see,” said Wilhelm, sardonically. “You feed your enemies, but not your allies. ’Tis quite enlightening, Good Father. Thank you for that clarification. I see now that you follow your scripture to the letter.” He patted his empty belly to make a point, and thankfully, the Abbot was silenced by the rebuke, though his cheeks bloomed red.
Wishing Wilhelm would shut his gob, Giles cursed softly beneath his breath as he gave the Abbot a farewell nod and a wave good-bye, then a final warning glance toward his brother. It was only after they were away that he dared to rebuke Wilhelm for his churlishness.
“God’s bones! The years have yet to mellow you, brother. One of these days you’ll say the wrong thing to the wrong person, and we’ll both find our necks in a noose.”
“That man is a greedy cur,” Wilhelm said defensively. “We came more than eighty leagues to his rescue, and still, he cannot spare a measly mug of ale?”
Giles sighed. “If ’tis true what he claims, he may not even have enough for his own men. Wouldst you have him share with you his last bowl of gruel when we have more than enough in our satchels to fill our bellies for asennight?”
Wilhelm grumbled loudly. “I warrant he’s got more’n he claims. You heard him: He managed to save ‘coffers full of gold,’ so he can pay for more supplies, still you gift him more?”
“The time for hoarding is done,” said Giles. “We’ve more than enough to share, and a siege of Warkworth is no longer likely.”
“Says who?”
Giles slid his brother a sideways glance, realizing how worried the man must be. Edwardstone was nowhere nearWarkworth, and neither was the castle any longer vulnerable, but he couldn’t precisely allay his brother’s fears.
For one thing, he couldn’t yet tell Wilhelm anything about the envoy due to arrive at Warkworth soon, with its precious cargo. If he knew, he would immediately return, for fear of his wife’s wellbeing. For another, who was to say in this current clime, and with Eustace’s current state of mind, that he would not find just cause to avenge their support of his father. After all, it was at a time precisely like this that he’d ridden south from Aldergh to burn Warkworth.
Furthermore, it was no secret that Giles had fervently lent himself to the negotiations at Wallingford, and that he’d lobbied vigorously in defense of Duke Henry. And everyone also knew that Warkworth enjoyed the support of the Vatican, the very entity that so long denied Eustace his confirmation.
Therefore, in truth, Eustace had more than enough cause to attack Warkworth, and despite this, Giles sensed he would not—not yet, at any rate. If ever he returned to Warkworth, it would be with Morwen by his side, and they would come for the Pendragon sisters. But this was why they must locate Eustace with all due haste and return him to London. They must find the fool before Morwen found him. And then they must hie back to Warkworth to meet their guests.
Reaching back into his saddlebag, he snatched a bit of salted meat and tossed it over to his brother. “Fill your belly,” he demanded. “We’ve another five leagues to ride, and I’ll warrant the prior at Edwardstone will find you less churlish if you settle that demon in your belly.”
With a scowl on his face, Wilhelm caught the length of salted meat.
“Our battle is not with God, Wilhelm, nor with those poor monks. They, too, have suffered because of Eustace. You would do well to remember what it feels like.”
His brother all but snarled as he shoved one end of the salted meat into his mouth, and said, with a mouthful, “Betimes you’re an imperious ass.”
