The sun had not yet arisen when the men galloped off on horses, and Delia had been amazed at how few women were there to see them off. She had felt as if a part of her body was being ripped from her as Mark disappeared into the distance, but Lady Mary had been near by and taken her by the elbow to guide her back inside.
Now each day was beginning to run into the next. Life at court was very quiet with most of the men gone. Only ladies and men that were too old or incapable of making such a trip were left. Those that were left had little heart for any revelry. Delia spent most of her time sitting with Lady Mary doing needlework and listening to idle gossip brought back from the ongoing campaign. From what she knew, not much fighting was taking place, because the foe was safely in their castles, refusing to meet on the battlefield. While Delia would have rather had the whole thing over, she did not mind the thought that no arrows were flying past her husband either.
Lady Mary looked up at Delia, who had dropped her needlework in her lap and sat staring blankly. "Delia, are you feeling ill?" "No, milady. I was just thinking." "Ah, there is plenty to be done of that. But we have done enough of it for today. Let us go sit with some of the other ladies. They are in the queen’s chamber, and their chatter will surely drive away these thoughts of ours." "Yes milady," Delia said standing up and gathering her things. "Come Hilde: the more the merrier these days with the queen." Hilde stood up as well, and as usual stunned Delia with her forwardness. "Sometimes I think it would do Queen Eleanor some good to think quietly as well. She shows no concern for our men, nor the king." "Hilde, you are a very proper woman," Lady Mary said nodding to her, as they made their way down the hallway. "But she is young," Lady Mary added before they were announced and entered.
Delia never felt comfortable among the ladies at court, that is, until she met Mistress Rose. It wasn’t that Queen Eleanor’s company was uncomfortable due to superiority. Indeed, Queen Eleanor and her friends were extremely friendly, perhaps more than they should have been. But this fact made them very well liked among the other lower women at court. Not so with Delia though: as a merchant’s daughter she knew how to behave properly and her beauty endeared her to the queen as soon as she took notice of her. Delia had grown somewhat shy, unlike the girl she was when she met Mark on the path outside the monastery. Then she had been brash and brave, thinking herself well spoken and possessing higher than average beauty. Her time spent with Mark had taught her that there were many people in the world possessing beauty and a few less possessing real intelligence, including her husband. This fact did not make her feel unworthy of the queen and the other ladies; they were, after all, more silly than well read. Instead it made her of a more serious nature, caring only to be playful with Mark if they were alone. She knew her quiet nature only served to perplex the other ladies. Mistress Rose, on the other hand, seemed very impressed with Delia’s peaceful countenance. She had taken to her nearly immediately, slowly coming into Delia’s confidence, until both ladies were very comfortable sharing enjoyable conversation with each other.
It was clear upon their entrance that their words were turned towards the campaign, and Delia could barely suppress a sigh. Nothing said was reliable, and it only made her worry about Mark all the more to hear the varying reports. The snow that was beginning to fall was slowing reports, so they were growing even wilder: the latest had the treasonous characters escaping their castles by means of skating down the frozen Thames. "I might be in the minority, but I think I have thought enough today of our men away at arms, therefore, if it befits the queen, shall we speak of something new?" Lady Mary’s suggestion sounded more like an order, but Queen Eleanor was so young and silly that she took easily to suggestions given by the elder ladies at court, unless they were critical ones, at which point her good temper quickly ended.
"Very good Lady Mary. We have wasted the morning speaking about Sir Gerard, and I warrant he thinks not of us! Mistress Rose, you always have something sweet in mind. Will you turn our minds to else?" Mistress Rose, who was one of the queen’s ladies in waiting, sat on the fringe of the circle, and seemed as much surprised at being spoken to as Delia had. Delia knew the queen appreciated this much about Mistress Rose: she was of the fairest complexion at court, with flaxen hair and light blue eyes, and she could dress her majesty elegantly. The reason for this lack of information was due to Rose’s odd placement at court. Therefore the queen fawning interest in anything Rose said came as somewhat of a shock. She had not come with the Princess Eleanor, as the other ladies in waiting had. Instead, she was the noble daughter of a baron in the southern counties. She was of neither any great riches nor any spectacular blood, but through her adept arrangement of appearance, she had become known among royal circles. When she was twelve she was sent to live with a lady at court, who was elderly and in need of all the help in dress that Rose could afford her. She was not a particularly good companion for an elderly lady, however, and as soon as the old lady died, she took a position with a girl her own age, then the Princess Egelina, William’s sister. Upon William’s marriage to Eleanor, Princess Egelina gave her favorite lady as a gift to the new queen. Yet, Rose still spent much of her time with Princess Egelina, who was now, Duchess Egelina.
"Something sweet? Pray excuse me, but you do me too much of an honor. I am not at all good at entertaining such courtly women as yourself…I have too much of the southern counties with me." "All nonsense! You have enough to say to my sister," here the queen referred to Duchess Egelina, and some of the queen’s questioning began to smack of jealousy: she was not used to playing the supporting role to someone else. "We have been together since we were young," Rose attempted to explain, somewhat apologetically. "True enough, and yet we wish to become friends with you, so you must do your best." "Yes…I will. I took a ride yesterday…" "You see, we all become friends already," the queen interrupted. "And the weather seemed very fine for this time of year." "Indeed, it has been very pleasant," Lady Mary added, trying to relieve Mistress Rose of her burden. "I cannot think when it has been so crisp and healthy during an early winter. Not damp at all." Delia considered that there was not a better woman than Lady Mary, who was ready to champion any worthy cause, even the one of a simple girl such as herself, or Mistress Rose.
***
Delia found herself turning over at night to reach for Mark, but he was never there. It had been a little more than a month since he had left with the men, but she did not find herself growing used to the empty spot beside her, or the empty place in her heart that ached anytime something brought him to mind, which happened more than she would like to admit. Never as a young girl had she imagined her whole life would come to be so wrapped up in one person’s being, and yet it had happened effortlessly. And it had happened in the most unlikely of places, and yet it also seemed so normal, so necessary to her life that it seemed impossible to her that her life’s pattern could have followed any other course. She used to wonder if she would have been happier living a ‘normal’ life, one that did not involve the complexities and repercussions involved with being Mark’s wife, but now that he was completely absent, she knew the answer as well as she knew her own name. A life without Mark could never hold any happiness for her, not knowing what it was to be loved by him and to see his eyes speaking that love as nothing else could. Even as painful as having him away from her was, she did feel as if she would have made him proud: she was following her duties, avoided emotionally falling apart, and she had made a friend of whom he would be sure to approve. She had support from a choice group surrounding her, and she prayed nightly that he had the same to keep him warm on the cold nights.
VII
Mark was busy. His role was becoming more extensive as each day progressed, and he found that he was good at what he was doing. He had always been able to do nearly anything he put his mind to, but this was different. Speaking with the men, advising, and now devising plans seemed to him a sort of game, and one at which he felt he could win. There was a certain thrill to the flow of ideas that would come to him. Sir Roger had found him indispensable as soon as he came into his service, but now other men at court were finding him just as vital. King William had heard so many positive things about this Mark that he made a point of asking Sir Roger to include his servant on all meetings. To gain the king’s trust made Mark smile inwardly; he was a man anyone would feel honored to be in his trusted group. Never had he felt so appreciated. Unless of course it was his Delia who was doing the appreciating. But she loved him, and as he thought, rather irrationally. He had met with kind men, good men, wise men, even cruel men, but never a man whom he felt honestly understood him, and now, in his new role, he was sought after, and understood as one of the finest men at the campaign.
Everything would be wonderful, if he was not standing in two feet of snow, if the food was not always cold by the time it was served, and if his Delia was with him. That fact could not escape him for long. He figured that with his newfound powers of planning they would have routed out all of the treasonous subjects had he not been constantly distracted by thoughts of his wife. For most of his life he had lived in a hall full of old and young men, most of them noisy sleepers, alone in an uncomfortable bed. Now the evening hours were torture: he would have much rather been awake with work to do. Instead he lay on his back hearing every loud snore in the tent, feeling the cold acutely, and wishing it was Delia’s soft breath and warmth beside him. Then the days and weeks would begin to add up, and he would swear that for his sake, as well as hers, he would fashion some new fabulous plan that would bring him back to her as quickly as possible. Only in the light of day would the facts come back that sometime the quickest solution was also the most dangerous. So for the time being, Delia would have to wait, and so would he.
The regular distractions that the men indulged in gave Mark no pleasure: there was plenty of drink, cards and gambling, and women to be had on the occasion. While it was necessary to partake of wine, Mark had never overindulged. Mark knew nothing of cards, nor did he care to take part, when only loss could result. And the question of women was not a question to be asked when it came to Mark’s mind. Sir Roger, while a wise good man, did take some pleasure in the first two vices, and Mark thought nonetheless of him for it; he simply could not participate himself. So, while other men were taking some pleasure, Mark continued with his plans. He worked on them relentlessly, and while they had made some progress, nothing substantial had yet happened.
His newest plan of attack involved the smallest of the strongholds, Windermore, where they believed Lord Eustace and Sir Alwin’s forces were entrenched. The castle belonged to a minor landholder and was taken by force when the traitors attempted to connect their land holdings with this small parcel of land. While it lay in the middle of the territory that lay in question, it was also rather vulnerable due to its size, it having already been taken recently, and its position on the grassy plane. Mark had been viewing its weaknesses now for the past week, and believed himself ready to present his plan to Sir Roger.
"Sir Roger, I’ve been making plans for an attack on Windermore." Sir Roger set down his goblet and let out a sigh that hung in the air in a cloud of cold mist. "Have a seat then my man. We need to do something, and I’m about to ride out without a plan soon." Mark knew it was true: many of the practiced knights were becoming intensely restless and eager for battle. Only the king’s caution held them back. "Why Windermore, Mark? Sir Alwin and Lord Eustace only hold it. Should we waste men on attacking them?" "Well sir, by winning Windermore, we cut their land in half, and could draw Lord Hugo and the others into battle." Sir Roger nodded before raising his hand to beckon over a few knights. "Sir Richard, Sir Edric, and Sir Arthur, be so good as to have a listen to my man Mark. He has a new plan that sounds promising." They joined Mark and Sir Roger at the table; their eyes spoke of their intent on war, so Mark knew he had their attention. "What if we would attack Windermore? It is the weakest of their strongholds and also marks their connection between the two main castles of Turrence and Baltimore. We could effectively sever the connection by capturing Windermore."
And so it came to be that Mark’s plan to attack Windermore became the plan of action after having been discussed among the men and most importantly, given the nod by King William. The attack came suddenly, as far as Lord Eustace and Sir Alwin were concerned, since the forces of the king had been sitting unmoved for over a month somewhat to the east of Windermore’s surrounding land. The castle was effectively stormed, avoiding the long drawn out process of starving out a stronghold, which would have taken at least the rest of the winter. Part of the western wall had fallen during its original capture months earlier, and it was not hard to barrage it once more utilizing its weakened state. As soon as the wall fell, Lord Eustace and Sir Alwin’s men came out to attack, but were met by no reinforcements, which is what Lord Eustace had rested all of his hopes on. Eventually Sir Alwin was taken prisoner, while Lord Eustace was pierced through the chest by an arrow, probably from his own defenses. Sir Roger effected the capture of the traitor, and the King gifted him with a land holding in the North Country right on the spot in thanks. The glory won by the first victory in the civil battle out weighed the cost of death on the side of right, which was very slight. Mark had stayed back in the small camp on the ridge a half-mile back from the battle. His job had ceased as soon as the planning stopped and the action began, but now he was being installed in the castle with the other men, where they would rest and plan for the time being.
***
The word of the victory at Windermore came to court nearly a week after the actual event, but the stories arriving were close enough in details that everyone at court was sure that this was some of the first real word they had received and clearly good news. The carrier of the message was a young boy claiming to be from the village of Windermore, and he ran into the chamber of the queen, where the herald barely had time to announce his arrival. Delia was seated along the wall among some of the other lesser women at court. Queen Eleanor was superficially carrying on the business at the palace, which in reality had come to a near halt since the king’s absence.
The minister of the royal chamber stopped mid-sentence, seemingly relieved to end this pageantry, and the child stepped forward, bowing awkwardly. The queen smiled sweetly at the rough looking boy, and this seemed to give him some courage: quietly he gave his pronouncement. "Good King William, may he live forever, has been victorious in the battle at Windermore!" It was obvious to everyone that this speech had been practiced so often that even the inflections were studied. His face broke into a shy smile, and the queen put out her hand to receive him happily. "This is happy news indeed!" she cried out to the rest of the court, "and cause for some celebration." Delia felt her breathing come quicker and she glanced over at Mistress Rose, whose elation nearly matched her own. And yet Delia knew nothing of a castle Windermore. Turrence was the name she kept hearing repeated among her circles. What importance was Windermore? The question of Mark’s safety flitted through her head, but knowing little about battle, she figured that a victory virtually ensured Mark’s safety. "What is your name, little man?" continued the queen, after she had let the boy sheepishly take her hand. "Gamel, your majesty." "Bring Gamel some wine. He appears to have come in quite out of breath." And so the celebration of the victory at Windermore began, and the plans for future battle were being formulated at the same time.
***
The castle was depleted of nearly every resource, not proving a great enhancement of their supplies, but it did provide more protection than their camp had, and thus they were more at ease while planning their next move. Mark had hoped that either the men at Turrence or the men from Baltimore would move some of their forces to help Lord Eustace, but they had not materialized. So while they had not been able to engage more of the traitors, they had cut the traitors off from one and other. King William placed one small encampment on either edge of the Windermore land holdings, so as to keep all traffic from passing through the connecting strip of land. To go all the way around would be of great strife to any man, especially an army in the snow. Now the decision was which force to engage first, or whether it was better to wait out the winter at Windermore. Battle in winter was almost unheard of, but this was a matter of traitors, and King William did not want to sit around waiting for people to take more of his land. While the king’s forces had plenty of supplies, there was nothing more coming from Windermore, as previously noted, therefore, some thought it better to begin attacks now. But Turrence and Baltimore were mightier foes, as were the men who inhabited them. Sir Roger favored a swift attack, and Mark would have liked to agree with the man, and so he set about trying to devise a plan to suit their mutual wishes.
It had been now two months since they left the palace, and Mark believed he had a new plan that might get them back to the palace within another two months. This was optimism on his part, and he knew it, but he brought the plan that he had created with the help of Sir Richard and Sir Roger’s knowledge of battle to the attention of King William showing some of that optimism. "You seem to be rather sure of this plan." "I am rather sure of your majesty’s forces. Our might and our right should bring us victory," Mark said bowing as humbly as he could. "Aye, and this plan of yours. You three men are very good. Come join me at this ale." All three men sat down at the wooden table in the king’s mock chamber, where a servant quickly poured them all ale and sat a loaf of heavy bread down with it.
"You understand that I would like to get to Lord Hugo and thus Turrence," the king said having lifted his goblet to his bearded face. "Yes, I think we would all like to squash that miscreant," Sir Richard said managing to control himself from spitting on the floor, knowing the king did not always appreciate such displays. "Why Baltimore then? Why not go straight for Turrence if we are to make a move now?" Sir Roger pushed forward the scroll with Mark’s drawn out plans. They showed the weaknesses of both Turrence and Baltimore, as described by various sources. "These castles are both good strongholds, Baltimore strikes me as no easier of a target." "It might even be more difficult due to the frozen river we would have to take the horses across," Mark added, "but it would be, I believe, the best opportunity for us to draw Lord Hugo or his main forces from Turrence and bring them to the aid of Lord Walter and Lord Rocelin." The latter’s name nearly stuck in Mark’s throat, but he had become practiced at mentioning the man with minimum emotion. The king nodded; they all knew that their chances for a decisive win would be most easily accomplished in open battle, but the traitors knew this as well, and therefore, the challenge would be pulling them from their castles. "Do you think Lord Hugo will be so quick to aid Lord Walter?" the king asked, referring only to the greater of the two men in Baltimore castle.
Mark had indeed thought of this: "It is true that as traitors, they may be quick to turn on each other as well, but this might work to our advantage as well, because I believe the most factional stronghold is Baltimore." Sir Roger looked a little surprised, as Mark had not yet mentioned this part of his thinking. "I know something of Lord Rocelin, some personal experience, which leads me to believe that he will, if provoked, defy orders." "Those orders being?" "Stay within Baltimore. Wait for reinforcements. Sir Alwin has said that he and Lord Eustace were promised aid should they come into attack, and yet none came. There was no sign of any attempt. We may surmise that Lord Hugo will likewise do nothing for Lord Walter." "So you think this Lord Rocelin might defy orders given by Lord Walter." "Indeed, from what I have been told, Lord Walter is seated better than Lord Rocelin, but not much better than he is. He is only given the stronghold due to his military expertise. I believe that once Lord Hugo’s orders are no longer in effect, Lord Rocelin will wish out of pride to take over the power balance at Baltimore."
The king pulled on his beard, deep in thought. "This is quite an assumption, my man," Sir Roger said in a quiet tone to Mark, wondering at his certainty. "Indeed, but I know of this man personally." No one questioned Mark, but Sir Roger thought he would mention it later. Sir Richard added, "Sir Gervase is also a very prideful fellow. I fought alongside him in a tournament once, and he thought of no one but his own hide." "There could easily become a power struggle in the face of drawn out siege," Mark said agreeing with Sir Richard’s account. "Then what? What then? Say we’ve won Baltimore somehow, and still not managed to engage Lord Hugo. That leaves nearly half of the traitors and one third of the land still being held by their unlawful hands." Mark took a deep breath: "In the event that Lord Hugo, as I believe, does not come to Baltimore’s aid, then we will have to begin a starvation campaign against Lord Hugo, which will take months to be sure. Yet, I don’t think this will occur." "And why not? You have just said that Lord Hugo will not come to their aid," the king asked befuddled. "I have a feeling, Lord Hugo will not feel safe sitting alone in the country. I believe at the defeat of Baltimore, especially in open battle, he will try to run. Lord Hugo has run before."
The King dropped his fist on the table. "You’re right!" he cried. Sir Roger began nodding vigorously as well. It was some time ago, but Lord Hugo had been in charge of a force being led to the Holy Land, when he had turned tail and fled with his forces without the permission of his commanding officer. "And Sir Guy and Sir Theobald might as well try to make peace, hoping to pull on their previously strong family ties," Mark continued, more sure as he spoke that while this plan was based on many ‘what ifs’ that it all fell into place. "Let them try!" Sir Richard cried. "But dispatching Lord Denis and Sir Theobald and Guy would be nothing compared to Lord Hugo, so if we can count on him fleeing like the coward he is, that would be a blessing indeed," Sir Roger said drawing the map scroll back and tracing the lines of available escape from Turrence to the sea.
VIII
Some men are fated at certain times in their life to shine with unbelievable brilliance, sometimes seemingly by chance. History is littered with their once bright stars, and their accomplishments, however unexplainable and however unexpected, have changed our world in ways that are as far-reaching as they are impossible to pinpoint. These men inevitably fade back into the darkness of history: we either know not how they died, or they die in such a manner that it becomes an embarrassment to their memory, purposefully forgotten. Indeed, some of these men’s names and specific deeds are not even remembered today, but this does not change the magnitude of their accomplishments. Some men are born to greatness; others reach it through study and practice.
Our hero so far has been flawed at best, but possessing many of the qualities that could have created a great man. He was born with the God given gift of intellect, yet he neglected some of his studies, perhaps keeping him from what he could have been. He was gifted with an incredibly desirable visage, one that spoke honesty, youth, health, and intellect, but his original position in life should have kept him from feeling anything but shame for his outward appearance. He was gifted with great kindness and a soft heart, and yet this very gift was continually crushed by unfortunate circumstances and cruel men, until he felt a void of faith that caused him to wander away from kindness at times, even with those of whom he should have been the most careful.
By far greatest though, he was gifted with love. Nothing could have been more of a miracle or a curse, considering his position. His love forced him to leave the very profession where he might have found some fame and much power. Mark bucked at the rigors of clerical life, but if he could have used his other gifts, he might have found himself a very powerful man in the Church and in England as well. Love, however, is more powerful than anything is, if it is true God gifted love, not lust. So, he chose love, and our hero has seemed fated to have everything within his grasp, only to have it get away from him. Mark would seem to be a mis-fated man: he had everything a man should, who was born to power, but his star would never shine, nonetheless. If it were not for the fact that these men who do exist that shine brightly for a time, Mark’s case would be hopeless. But these men do exist, and they need not be fools or incompetents or even average men; they can also be men who should have shined throughout their whole career, and Mark is one of these men.
Watching the events of the next two months, one can imagine the gods sitting above the clouds, pointing their fingers, or giving the imperial nod of their head, thus directing everything in the way Mark had conjectured. For once the gods were on Mark’s side, nothing would prevent him from shinning brightly. Nothing could keep Mark from being lauded as the greatest tactician in English memory among the knights and even the king himself. It went perfectly. Nearly perfectly.
They left a minimum of men encamped at Windermore, so as to give word if men from Turrence were indeed coming to the rescue of Baltimore. Otherwise, they marched down out of the valley towards the thick walls of Baltimore, built some twenty years prior to the King’s ascension to the crown. The weather had become somewhat warmer, and the snow was slush, making travel slick and messy. The new worry was whether the river would be frozen hard enough to cross, or whether they would have to fashion a bridge, taking up more time, and destroying any element of surprise they might manage. When they came to the river they tested it and found that it would hold. The string of good luck began.
They were encamped outside of Baltimore in less than a week and immediately began their assault. A siege could go on for years, if the castle was well fortified and well supplied, but they didn’t believe Baltimore that strong: eventually they would have to come out and fight. Hopefully Mark would be right and they would come out as soon as their allies proved slow to materialize. The King’s spies made it known right away in Turrence that he was attacking Baltimore, in an effort to draw Lord Hugo and the others out, but as the weeks dragged on there appeared to be no movement for Lord Hugo to come to Lord Walter’s aid. Mark imagined correctly that tension within Baltimore would now be fierce. While Lord Hugo would not allow himself to be drawn out of Turrence, their luck was not on a down turn: forces within Baltimore would see to it that the King would get his engagement.
***
"Patience!" Lord Walter called to his men, but his voice lacked strength and he appeared tired. "Lord Hugo has abandoned us here. Left us to rot within these walls," spat Lord Rocelin; his temper at first had been good at the prospect of becoming a famous rebel, defeating the weak king of England, bringing power to the nobles, but now prospects looked bad, and he didn’t want to be seen as being part of their cowardly stance. Sir Gervase stood and banged his cup on the table: "Lord Rocelin has called us all cowards for refusing to break orders and allegiance with Turrence by leaving the castle walls to fight in open battle…like men. He is right. We’re all cowards unless we go out to meet the king we so willingly disobeyed when he was safely at town."
Lord Rocelin bowed to Sir Gervase, thankful there were other men in the room, so long as they recognized that he wanted to be the leader of their attack; he would no longer be pleased with being one of the rebels. He now wanted to be the man of action in the whole plan. ‘Curse Lord Hugo,’ he thought to himself. Lord Rocelin suffered from an inferiority complex when it came to his rank in the nobility, being a minor lord, and now he wanted his comeuppance. "We have been told by Lord Hugo to wait…" Lord Walter trailed off, hoping at least Sir Berenger would come to his defense, but Sir Berenger wasn’t looking up from the table. "Wait for how long? He sent no one to Windermore. Should we all end up dead like Lord Eustace?" Sir Gervase asked angrily of Lord Walter. "Better dead than captured by the good king," Lord Rocelin said, insinuating that captives such as Sir Alwin were probably being tortured. "Gentlemen, you forget that they are not at this very moment battering down the walls. Baltimore is holding, and we could hold up for quite some time." Lord Walter tried once more. "But why? Why when Lord Hugo will never come should we wait, when we could act now? We will eventually be felled, and it seems much braver and wiser to act now than be slowly ground down, until we have no choice about the time of the final hour." Lord Rocelin was somewhat surprised at how convincing his words were sounding, never considering himself a man of words, but the men were nodding their heads, agreeing. "I’ll have no more of this talk. We shall not be leaving Baltimore." Lord Walter stood to end the meeting, but Lord Rocelin stood as well, posturing menacingly. "You’re not our king, so why should we listen to you. This is a table of equals, and you shall not tell us what the course of action should be. We shall all be judged by what goes on here. Your cowardice will not taint me!"
Sir Berenger finally spoke slowly and deliberately: "You would have us go out then to certain defeat, since you lack any patience. How many battles have you been in milord? How many do you think I have fought in, or Lord Walter, or many of the other men here." "Are you too old to fight sir? You sound like a frightened old man," Lord Rocelin said sitting down with an attitude that what Sir Berenger had to say was of no worth, and therefore, of no threat. "I am an old man compared to you. Your beard has been in not many years, and you’re trying to win your reputation here at Baltimore." "Are not we all? Why have we all become traitors, if not to take what we want for ourselves? To become greater men? That is what I intend on accomplishing. You may have no faith in your abilities, but I have no question about mine." "Seeing what a group of men I have aligned myself with, I indeed question my intellect." Lord Rocelin snorted
Lord Walter turned a sympathetic eye on Sir Berenger, who was much older than even he, but of similar attitude about the whole affair it now appeared. "If you wish to back out, sir, then I suggest you do so, without deterring us from our goal," Sir Gervase said with a smirk. "I did this for vanity. That is true. There is not a man in this room that did not commit this treason out of greed and vanity. I admit that I have not fought in years, and I wanted to prove myself, prove that I could do what no other man thought possible; to prove I was not old and useless. I had nothing better to do, and being part of Lord Hugo’s household, I agreed to the plan. I will not go back on my stance, since the dye is cast, but I will also not go against Lord Hugo’s plans," Sir Berenger stood and walked out of the hall, Lord Walter following him with his gaze. "What of you, Walter?" Lord Rocelin asked derisively. "I will not lead any attack not sanctioned by Lord Hugo. We must hang together, or we will surely die separately." "You will not lead it, so I will." This having been said, Lord Rocelin slammed his cup down and demanded an account of their forces. The end was set in motion.
