The stables were once again in uproar, and this time a group of sniggering grooms and the harassed hostelry landlord were looking on. Two other groups of men, intrigued by the noise and commotion, were watching from the cobbled courtyard, for both the Earl of Chatwyn’s six outriders and Baroness Wrotham’s four household guards had awoken to an eager awareness of the day’s probable entertainment. Old Bill, still nursing his aches and sneezes, was keeping well hidden in the straw of the stable’s half floored loft, peeping down without being seen, but several kitchen boys and the companions of an irate trader and his wife sent to arrange their immediate departure, were all hoping for a little drama before being ordered back to work. David, Alan, Harry and Rob grinned widely at their appreciative audience, having slept very well indeed, then waking to a pastel dawn of sweet balmy warmth and the anticipation of a promising rout.
One by one, Adrian’s henchmen were untied. They had not spent a comfortable night.
“So which one of you delightful gentlemen was it did the killing?” inquired Nicholas, leaning back against the main doorway, cup of beer in hand. “Is anyone courageous enough to confess? Or wise enough to implicate one of his fellows?”
There was a great deal of general noise, groaning, cursing, complaints and threats, but no noticeable answer to his question. Finally Alan said, “So we should execute the lot of them, then, my lord? To be sure to get the right one?”
“Or call in the law,” suggested David. “And have them all arrested? Hanged, castrated and quartered for high treason?”
“I’m more for the do it ourselves execution idea, meself,” said Harry with jovial anticipation. “We could do it proper. There’s the stable block for mounting over there. Make a good rest for five pretty heads, it would, while I find the local woodcutter’s axe.”
There was renewed spluttering and swearing. The hostelry landlord seemed as agitated as the men under threat. “My lord, I beg you. You’ll ruin me.”
“Which would certainly be a shame,” Nicholas admitted, “since you serve excellent apple codlings. But the dead boy was under my protection, and his death isn’t something I intend overlooking.”
The landlord sighed and turned back to his staff, clapping his hands and ordering the kitchen boys to the kitchens and the grooms to their duties. The grooms, although reluctant to leave the discussion and miss its conclusion, began leading out the horses, some for exercise, some for grooming, two for the departure of their masters. Once the stables stood comparatively empty, David said, “It appears Sir Adrian is coming to watch his men’s ignominious destinies, my lord.”
Nicholas turned, and smiled. Adrian marched towards him.
“This is neither the place nor the moment,” Adrian said quietly, “to tell you what I think of you, sir. But you’ll release my men this instant. I’m leaving. We’ll talk in private back at the Strand.”
Nicholas shook his head. “Might as well insult me here as there, cousin. I’m used to my family’s insults and since I know them all based on ignorance and coming from the ignorant, they matter not one shit. We’ve less privacy here, it’s true, but these good people already have a fair idea of what’s afoot, and deserve to know the consequences. So tell me what you think of me by all means. But you’re not leaving yet, cousin, and I might point out, you’re somewhat outnumbered.”
“Outnumbered? Four bullies and your own brave self, Nicholas?”
The earl spoke suddenly and loudly from behind him. “And my six men, lad, watching on now, just waiting for my word.”
Adrian did not raise his voice. The fury in his face remained cold and the muscles around his eyes and mouth tensed, white knotted. His pale blue eyes turned black. He addressed only Nicholas. “Buffoon and coward that you are, spoiled and petted, born rich as a king without so much as a spit in the porridge to earn all that wealth! While I’ve had to struggle from birth with not a penny to my name, both parents dead and leaving me with a half brained sister to protect into the bargain. Yet I was the one knighted while you skulked behind your brother, a creature even more loathsome than yourself.” His words slid like seething, bubbling slime, long contained and now released. “I’ve held my temper for many long years,” he spat, “waiting to tell you the truth. Yet still you hide behind your henchmen and your father’s power. And you dare threaten me?” He raised his voice at last, speaking also to his uncle who stood at Nicholas’s back. “You’ve not one breath of proof against me – not one hint. As you’ve told me yourselves, you took the letter from Urswick long before I arrived to join his company. I’ll say I had no knowledge of it. Christopher Urswick was previously chaplain to Henry Tudor’s lady mother, and a man of distinction and respect and I’ve every right to speak to a man I’ve known some years as a man of God.” Adrian looked around then, speaking to all those who crammed close, attentive and listening. “There’s no treachery in knowing a man and as for the letter you’ve stolen, I’ve never seen it nor touched it. As for murder,” he turned back to Nicholas, “it was you who vilely slaughtered your own brother. I had no hand in it. You’re the cowardly killer, cousin, and you know it even if you’ve not the courage to admit it.”
Even the crowd was silent, though with a shuffling of feet and indrawn breath. Nicholas spoke first. He had come armed, and his hand now rested on the hilt of his sword. But he was smiling. “Long held hatreds long disguised, it seems, cousin,” he said softly. “So your endless complacent pomposity hid bubbling envy, and the well nurtured jealousy of the inept. A bitter destiny perhaps, as son of the youngest son, your father a drunken sot who left his children penniless and bare educated. But the fault’s not mine, Adrian, for you to nurse such seething jealousies. Killing Peter – a coward’s act from someone who likes to shout that word at others. As for treason, I know the truth whether or not I can prove it. So fight me, cousin, and prove your talents and your courage now.”
Adrian threw out both arms. He was clearly unarmed. “You rape my sister. Murder your brother. So now kill me too, Nicholas.”
Nicholas spoke over his shoulder. “Give him your sword, Father.”
“My boy, this is hardly the way –” But the earl unbuckled the scabbard from his baldric and with two steps towards Adrian, presented the sword’s hilt. “Your choice, nephew,” he told him. “But don’t be a fool and leave the matter to the law.” He nodded to Nicholas. “You’ve a deal of right on your side, boy, and I don’t doubt your motives. But don’t kill him.”
Adrian took the sword from his uncle’s clasp and held it, point high so the steel caught the wavering sunbeams. He scoffed, “Kill him? Who? Your idiot son kill a man knighted on the battlefield for his courage and his skills?”
“Not such a bad swordsman, my Nicholas,” muttered the earl, looking around him. “Maybe not always said it myself, and maybe should have. But young Nick’s always been the best archer and the best swordsman in the family. But beware, both of you, for we’ll have the sheriff, and half the countryside down on us within minutes. ’Tis not the place, boy.”
“I’ll avenge my king, my own reputation, and my brother’s life,” Nicholas said, drawing his own sword. “And to hell with the law and the countryside both.” He looked back briefly at his father and his cluster of henchmen. “No interruptions, no interference, no defending heroics. Leave this to me.”
Some of the horses, led out for grooming, were coming back. The young grooms halted, watching, not willing to pass. The landlord, shepherding the scullions, had already hurried from the courtyard. A horse neighed, another snorted. Then Adrian stepped forwards. “Beware – fool. You’ve never yet seen my unbridled temper.”