Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

Year of Our Lord 1218

Broxbourne Castle, Hertfordshire

"H ow long have you served me, Cassian?"

"A little more than two years, my lord."

Alain de Bambeque, Earl of St. Albans, smiled at the thought. "Two years," he murmured. "I cannot imagine my life before you came to us, Cass. God sent you to us, I am certain."

Cassian was standing in front of Alain in full armor. He was ready for battle, as was the knight at his side, Sir Beau de Russe. From the enormously powerful de Russe family, Beau had the size, power, and nasty temperament that most de Russe men had. At least a head taller than Cassian, he was built like a marble statue and twice as strong. He was an elite knight with the best training in the world, but he had one critical flaw– he was completely deaf in his right ear and partially deaf in his left. In the eyes of some great lords, that relegated Beau to secondary status because he was not physically perfect.

But not St. Albans.

The man considered Beau, and now Cassian, the best knights he'd ever seen.

And he'd seen plenty.

"I would like to think so, my lord," Cassian repeated, eyeing de Russe. "But right now, we have something critical to discuss. We have an army on the approach and we must evacuate. It is Henry's army and he means to take Broxbourne from you in punishment for supporting John during his reign. We have explained this to you, my lord, at length. We must go."

That was the unfortunate truth of it. St. Albans had indeed supported King John during the last years of his reign, going so far as to open Broxbourne Castle to the king's mercenaries as a safe haven, but that ended just before Cassian had arrived. In fact, Cassian had been traveling aimlessly through Hertfordshire after leaving Lioncross and wandering for months until he was at the end of his money and the end of his mental stability. A chance meeting with Beau in the city of St. Albans had him brought back to Broxbourne where the Earl of St. Albans had lost most of his army. The once-powerful earl had been deserted once John was killed.

No man wanted to be associated with St. Albans and his downfall.

Except for Beau. Beau had remained because he'd grown up at Broxbourne and he loved Alain and his elderly wife, Celesse, as if they were his very own family. St. Albans had been the only lord of elevated status to give Beau the opportunity he needed as a knight and it was something Beau never forgot.

Even now when doom was upon them.

But St. Albans didn't seem too concerned with the approach of Henry's army, which included de Lohr and Marshal troops. The scouts Cassian had sent out had reported back to him on the standards– the yellow and crimson lions were riding, side by side, and that meant de Lohr and Marshal, neither of which Cassian wanted to see.

He was as desperate to leave as St. Albans should have been.

Only he wasn't.

"Cass, I know you are only concerned for me, but I am certain that I can reason with Henry," the old man said. "I supported his father and certainly he will accept my fealty now."

Cassian sighed heavily, looking to Beau, who had his head turned to the right so he could hear what was being said from his left side. He'd caught most of what St. Alban's had said, enough to know that the gentle old earl who only wanted to live a peaceful life and get along with everyone had no sense of urgency in a matter they were trying very hard to impart.

"My lord," Beau said in a deep, raspy tone. "Henry is not coming to accept your fealty. He is coming to strip you of your title, your lands, and your wealth. If you want to preserve your freedom, then you must pack what you can carry so we can take you to safety."

The old earl smiled. "You pack for me," he said. "I would not know what to take. And tell the cook to prepare a great feast for our king. We must welcome him."

Cassian looked at Beau, who simply shook his head. Then he discreetly motioned for Cassian to follow him while the earl returned to his drink and the cards he had spread out over the feasting table. It was an enormous and elaborate hall, with great de Bambeque banners hanging from the rafters, but it was a hall that hadn't seen guests in quite a while. Two old people, living alone, with no family and few friends since John's death.

Cassian followed Beau out into the hall.

"He is not going to leave," Cassian hissed at the big knight. "Unless we want to physically throw him over a shoulder and haul him out of here, he's not leaving."

Beau sighed heavily. "I know," he said. "You have been here long enough to know that he is not being stubborn. He simply does not want to leave his home. He doesn't see the need. The House of de Bambeque has owned Broxbourne for over one hundred years. He was born here."

Cassian scratched his head. "We need to be strategic about this," he said. "De Lohr and Marshal will not take into account the fact that he is an old man. They'll take this place from him and he'll be lucky if he does not end up in the vaults of Pembroke. Those were men who fought against John viciously– especially de Lohr. He will not tolerate someone who supported John, not in the least."

Beau's gaze lingered on him. "You speak as if you know de Lohr personally, Coleby."

That statement brought Cassian pause. Coleby. That was his mother's maiden name, his oldest brother's first name, but it was also the name Cassian had given as his family name when he'd sworn fealty to St. Albans. Cassian Coleby is what they knew him by.

That was an illusion he intended to keep.

"Everyone knows the rivalry between de Lohr and John," he said evasively. "If you do not, then you have been living under a rock for the past twenty years. All I am saying is that we have to move him whether or not he wants to leave. The countess' family has a townhome in London, do they not? I heard someone mention it, once."

Beau nodded. "On a small avenue called Angel Court," he said. "Her family was not very well to do, mind you, so it's a less than lavish place. Her elderly sister still lives there, but it's a simple life she leads. No great halls or great castles."

"But the house will do for an old couple to live out their final days."

"It will, indeed."

"Then we must plan on moving them there," Cassian said. "Henry's army should arrive by tomorrow, so there is still time. If you start packing their baggage and prepare to move out, I will try to convince him to go."

Beau nodded, but he was clearly frustrated. "I hope you have better luck than I had."

"I'll cry if I have to."

Beau flashed a grin. With that, the knights split up and went about their business. As Beau headed into the enormous keep of Broxbourne, Cassian returned to the hall where St. Albans was entertaining himself with his cards.

Cassian sat on the opposite side of the table.

"Do you see this card?" St. Albans asked, holding up an elaborately painted card with a woman in a blue dress. "This is The Papess. Do you know what that means?"

"I do not, my lord."

St. Albans put the card down. "It means wisdom," he said. "This is a situation that requires much wisdom, Cass."

Cassian looked at the cards spread out all over the table. "Is that what you are doing with the cards, my lord?" he asked. "Looking for wisdom?"

St. Albans nodded, his gaze on the cards. He was a very kind man, but very eccentric. Cassian had never met anyone like him. He carried these elaborate cards with him everywhere he went and used them for nearly every situation for advice, comfort, and clarity.

"The universe around us knows our past, our present, and our future," he said. "The cards never lie. They told me about you when you first came to me, you know."

Cassian smiled humorlessly. "Good things, I hope."

St. Albans picked up one of the cards and showed it to him. "Do you know what this is?"

"Nay, my lord."

"It is The Fool," St. Albans said as he put it down again. "That was the very first card I chose when Beau told me of you."

Cassian's eyebrows lifted. "The Fool ?"

St. Albans held up a hand. "It is not as it sounds," he said. "The Fool represents a man who must recognize his own personal growth. The path in life we take, as it were. It can represent someone's immaturity or foolishness, but it represents a man trying to find his way. You are trying to find your way, Cass."

Cassian stared at him a moment. So he was back at Lioncross, was he? With people telling him he needed to mature? After a moment, he lowered his gaze.

"If you thought that of me, you should not have accepted my fealty, my lord," he said.

St. Albans was still poking through his cards. "You are young and immensely talented," he said. "I knew a man like you, once. He had eyes like you."

Cassian wasn't sure what to say to that. Since they only knew him as Coleby around here, he wasn't going to add fuel to an old man's suspicions.

"Then I feel sorry for him," he said, trying to jest. "Where was he from?"

"Colchester," St. Albans said. "That is not too far from here, you know."

"I know."

"There is an entire family there with eyes the same as yours," he said. "Mixed colors, as it were."

"What is the family name?"

"De Velt."

Cassian knew that was going to be his answer because the de Velt family was, indeed, from Colchester. In fact, that was where he'd been heading when he met Beau on that fateful night and ended up on Broxbourne's doorstep. The physical trait with Cassian's eyes was undeniable– it wasn't as if he could hide them. He was surprised it took the earl this long to comment on the Colchester connection.

But he still wasn't ready to admit anything.

"Then I must have de Velt blood in me," he said. But he shifted the subject. "My lord, we must speak on the approaching army. Will you please give me your attention?"

St. Albans reached out and picked up another card. "Do you see this card?" he asked, completely ignoring Cassian's question. "I chose this card right after I chose The Fool. These are The Lovers."

Cassian could feel himself tensing. "That is an odd card."

St. Albans shook his head. "Not really," he said. "The card represents decisions more than romance. You must choose the right people to accompany you in your life's journey."

"That is true, my lord," Cassian said. "I hope I am the right knight to protect you and command your army. You chose me for my skill and because you trust me. Please believe me when I tell you that we must speak of the approaching army. Henry is not coming to negotiate with you. He is coming to destroy you. And as the man you chose to protect you, you are not letting me do my job. Do you understand that?"

St. Albans glanced at him. "You are trying very hard to do your job," he said. "I appreciate your dedication."

"Ah, Cass!" An old woman suddenly appeared in the doorway, carrying a bowl of something in her hands. She placed it in front of Cassian proudly. "You must try this dish. The cook has made it with apples and butter and cinnamon with honey. Candied apples!"

It smelled divine and Cassian smiled weakly at Celesse, Lady St. Albans. She was a sweet old woman who, with no children, looked at Cassian and Beau as the sons she'd never had. Cassian swore he'd gained fifty pounds since his arrival at Broxbourne because of all the food Celesse would feed him. Of course, he couldn't refuse her, so he had to temper all of that eating with a good deal of training so the weight wouldn't build up in places that would only make him sluggish. He'd ended up gaining more muscle mass because of it, rivaling his eldest brother with sheer size and strength these days. But still, he kept eating whatever Celesse would put in front of him.

He stabbed the apples with his dagger and ate them off the sharp end.

"Delicious, my lady," he said, mouth full. "Another success."

Celesse beamed. "I am glad you like them," she said. "I have had some made for Beau, also."

She patted Cassian on the head as if he were a small boy she was proud of and prepared to dash off, but he stopped her.

"My lady, will you join us?" he said encouragingly. "I have been trying to convince the lord that an army is on the approach and that we must leave unless we want a siege we cannot win on our hands. He does not think it is important. May I convince you otherwise?"

Celesse looked at him curiously. "A siege?" she said. "Here?"

In that question, Cassian could see that St. Albans hadn't told her anything. They'd known of the approach of the army since yesterday, but it was clear he didn't see the need to tell his wife, who was going on with her life like everything was rosy.

But it wasn't.

At the risk of angering his liege, Cassian felt that she needed to know.

"My lady, there is an army sent by King Henry heading for Broxbourne," he said. "My lord was informed of this yesterday and does not seem to feel it is a crisis, but let me assure you that it is."

That only seemed to puzzle her further. "Why should it be a crisis?"

"Because your good and noble husband supported King John when most of the warlords of England did not," he said steadily. "You are aware of this, are you not?"

Celesse nodded. "He visited us," she said. "He was not unkind. He is the king, after all. We welcomed him as we always have."

That was the problem with Alain, too. He supported John simply because he was the king and for no other reason than that. The House of de Bambeque had always supported the crown and Alain simply kept with the tradition, no matter what it cost him.

And it had cost him quite a bit.

Before John's relationship with his warlords turned truly sour, Broxbourne was an extremely wealthy place. Fine furniture, fine tapestries, jewels, coin, plate, lands… all of it was quite wealthy and prosperous.

And John knew it.

Somehow, he had been able to manipulate Alain into giving him men and money, which Alain did willingly. That account came from Beau, who had watched it all in horror. He'd watched the rich and generous old earl give the king and his mercenaries nearly everything he had until Beau took it upon himself to hide some of the coin and plate, and tuck away some of the more valuable pieces of jewelry so John couldn't get his hands on it. When John believed he'd taken everything he could from Alain, including the vast majority of his army, he went on his way and left a massive shell of a place in his wake.

What made it worse was the fact that the mercenaries he'd brought with him had repeatedly raided the lands of Hertfordshire, mostly surrounding the city of St. Albans, and they'd stripped it bare. What had once been flourishing lands was now a wasteland with starving people and a lord who couldn't help them.

This was about the time Cassian had come around. He saw the devastation and met the old earl, deciding to remain because something told him that he needed to be here. He had been so lost and desolate that St. Albans' kindness had been something he desperately needed. He could live anonymously at Broxbourne, without a past and without a future, and serve an old lord who gave him a roof over his head and a measly stipend.

But it was the fact that St. Albans had been willing to give him any chance at all that had his loyalty more than anything. The earl had helped him when he needed it and, now, he wanted to help the earl.

If the man would let him.

"My lady, I have explained to you that the king was unjust and unkind to a great many people," he said. "Those who helped the king during his lawless time are frowned upon and, now, an army is coming to take Broxbourne from you. You cannot fight them off. You cannot offer them your fealty. You and Lord St. Albans are being stripped of everything. You will have nothing left and, if you do not leave now, I fear you may be imprisoned."

That seemed to draw some concern from Celesse. She looked at her husband.

"Alain?" she said. "Do you hear what he is saying? Have you listened to him? Cass would not tell you something that was not the truth."

St. Albans was still looking at his cards. As they watched, he flipped them all over so only the backs were exposed. Taking a deep breath, he picked one card and turned it over.

He sat there and stared at it.

"Alain?" Celesse said again. "What is it?"

He held up the card to them. "Do you know what this is?"

Celesse peered at it, shaking her head. "Nay."

"It is Death."

Celesse gasped in terror. "What does it mean?"

St. Albans continued to stare at it. "My dearest," he said calmly. "Will you please bring me some apples, too?"

Nodding fearfully, Celesse darted away. St. Albans waited until she was out of the hall before speaking.

"It is not that I am ignoring you, Cass," he said quietly. "It is simply that a man does not want to admit that he is a failure, especially in front of his wife."

"How are you a failure, my lord?"

St. Albans looked at him, then, nearly the first time he'd really looked at Cassian since he'd sat down at the table. "I should think that is obvious," he said. "Broxbourne has been in my family since it was built more than one hundred years ago. Generations of my family have lived here. I was born here, as was my father and his father before him. My family made its fortune in barley and brewing. We had many breweries, as you know. That is where the money came from. I am not the fool you believe I am, lad. I know that John's mercenaries stole from the land and burned the breweries."

Until that moment, Cassian wasn't entirely sure if St. Albans had even realized that. The old earl was in his own world so much of the time that it was difficult to tell.

"Two of the breweries are running again," Cassian said. "But the barley harvest was ruined. The people are struggling, my lord."

St. Albans nodded. "I know," he said with regret. "You think I do not hear you when you tell me things, but I do listen. I know enough to know that I have failed my family, my vassals. When you speak of an army approaching, do you think I want to acknowledge such a thing? I know why they are coming. Please do not tell my wife anything more again. I can fail in your eyes, but not in hers."

Cassian felt sorry for the old earl. A good deal was becoming clear in this brief conversation.

"Forgive me for telling her, my lord," he said. "It is only that I did not even know if you heard what I told you. I thought she could help me explain things to you."

St. Albans put his hand up to ease him. "You needn't apologize," he said. "I do realize the army is approaching. And I know why."

"Will you leave with us, then?"

St. Albans looked up at the ceiling of Broxbourne, strung with standards. It wasn't just his colors, but the colors of allies. So many allies. His expression changed as he looked upon them.

"Do you see the standards up there?" he said. "Some of the greatest armies in all of England. De Winter, Summerlin, de Warenne, de la Rosa… great houses, indeed."

Cassian glanced up. "I know," he said. "I have seen them. But I fear that some are suffering the same fate as de Bambeque. William Marshal and his warlords will punish those who supported John."

"My family came over during the reign of William, you know."

"So did mine."

Cassian almost said more but he stopped himself. He stabbed into the bowl that Celesse had left him, picking up more candied apples and eating them. He wasn't aware that St. Albans was watching him closely.

He, too, realized that Cassian had stopped himself from elaborating on his family.

"Tell me something, Cass," he said. "Do you truly believe we must flee?"

Cassian nodded. "I do, my lord," he said with a mouthful. "William Marshal is coming to confiscate your castle and strip you of everything. He may even arrest you and I do not want to see that happen."

"Then we must run?"

"Aye, my lord," Cassian said, swallowing the bite. "We have about one hundred men against an army of thousands. Broxbourne is a great castle; certainly the greatest in Hertfordshire if not the entirety of England, but we cannot hold her with only one hundred men. Though I am not an advocate of surrendering because it is not in my blood nor in my nature, I am also a pragmatist. If we stay here, they will take the castle and then you will be at their mercy."

St. Albans seemed to ponder that seriously. "And it seems that anyone in my service will also be at their mercy," he said. "You and Beau are good men, Cass. You, in particular, were not even here when John was using Broxbourne. Your only crime would be serving a man who swore allegiance to a hated king. You did not serve me during that time."

Cassian shook his head. "Nay, my lord, I did not, but I will stand with you, whatever you choose to do."

St. Albans' dark gaze lingered on him. "I know you will," he said quietly. "You are a man of honor. I have known that from the beginning of our association. Tell me something, Cass."

"Anything, my lord."

"Have you been happy here?"

Cassian nodded. "As happy as I can be, my lord."

St. Albans sat forward, looking deeply into Cassian's two-colored eyes. "Have I treated you with trust and respect?"

"Most assuredly, my lord."

"And you want me to flee?"

Cassian nodded, hoping they were getting close to a breakthrough. "Aye, my lord," he said. "Beau says that you have a London townhome, but it is not a great house. We can take you there and you will be safe. No one will think twice about an elderly couple in a house that blends in with other houses."

St. Albans pondered that. "I see," he said. "And Beau is bringing the money he stashed away for me when John was here at Broxbourne?"

A twinkle came to Cassian's eyes. "I am not entirely sure you are supposed to know about that."

St. Albans grinned, displaying teeth he'd not taken good care of. "I know what he did and I know how much," he said. "It is enough to provide for me and Lady St. Albans and mayhap a servant or two, but it is not enough to pay for knights. The truth is that I've not paid you in almost a year, Cass. I simply do not have the means. I gave you nearly the last thing I had of value in that brooch."

He was indicating the pearl and ruby brooch that Cassian had on his tunic, the one that formed the letter "C". He'd worn it every day for the past year, ever since Alain gave it to him as payment for his services. The "C" was for Celesse , but Alain had tried to tell Cassian it was for Cassian and instructed him to sell it and take the money, but Cassian didn't have the heart to do it. Celesse loved the brooch, a gift from her father, so Cassian simply wore it to honor her.

There was no way he was going to sell it.

However, he wasn't destitute. He did have a little money that he'd earned from St. Albans, something he'd set aside. He hadn't had new armor or any new clothing since he left Lioncross, but he took good care of his things, his horse included. He'd even picked up a second warhorse from St. Albans because the horse belonged to the old man and he hadn't ridden the animal in years. It was a big-boned, expensive Belgian warmblood that, if he sold it, would fetch him one hundred pounds or more.

He knew St. Albans didn't have the funds to pay him any longer.

But still, he remained.

"I am your knight until you send me away," he said. "And even then, I will still be your knight. You took me in when I needed it and that is something I shall never forget, my lord. You will always have my gratitude and my service should you need it."

Reaching over the tabletop, St. Albans clasped Cassian's hand in a surprising display of affection. His gaze was warm.

"I appreciate that more than you know," he said. "But the moment I leave these walls, I shall cease to be the Earl of St. Albans. The title, the lands, the privilege will no longer be mine and I know that. You cannot serve a man who cannot pay you and holds no title or power. Your time with me was simply to rest from whatever you were running from but, now, you must go forth and find your calling, Cass. You must find a way to earn your living from someone with more means than I have."

Cassian looked at the old man he'd become fond of over the past couple of years. He was saddened to realize that St. Albans knew that all of this was coming to an end for him, a truly kind old man with a great family legacy. He was losing everything, yet there was no weeping. No cursing God for it. Simply acceptance. In that realization, something Jax had once said to Cassian came back to him.

That is all I want for you– the wisdom and experience that age can bring.

Looking at St. Albans, he was starting to understand what his father meant. Maturity, perspective, and wisdom.

That's what it meant to be noble.

"I wish I could help you, my lord," Cassian said softly. "I wish I could do more for you. If you want to remain, then I will remain, too. I will speak to William Marshal personally and advocate for you. I will see if he'll allow you to remain in your home. I doubt it, but I will try."

St. Albans shook his head. "Why would you do such a thing?" he said. "He will only view you as an enemy, a supporter of John, and possibly arrest you, too."

Cassian sighed heavily and hung his head. "He knows I am not a supporter of John, my lord."

St. Albans didn't say anything for a moment, but it was clear his mind was working on the enigma of Cassian Coleby. The man was now giving him clues to a past life that, so far, remained elusive.

"How would he know you are not a supporter of John, Cassian?" he asked.

Cassian sighed heavily again, only there was some exasperation to it. "If I tell you, you must swear to me that you will never repeat it. You will take the information to your grave."

"I swear."

Cassian looked at him, then. "Because he knows me, my lord," he said quietly. "My father and brothers are his allies."

St. Albans looked at him curiously. "The House of Coleby?"

Cassian shook his head. "Nay," he muttered. "The House of de Velt."

St. Albans blinked in surprise. "You are a de Velt?"

"My father was Ajax de Velt," he said. "He was known as The Dark Lord in his youth, the most ruthless mercenary in England."

That brought recognition and St. Albans' eyes widened. "I have heard this name," he hissed. "The knight who stormed the Welsh Marches? The one who brutally killed his captives back during the time of Curtmantle?"

He used Henry II's sobriquet and Cassian nodded. "The same," he said. "But that was only in his youth. When he married my mother, he gave that up. He became a trusted ally of many."

St. Albans' grip on his hand tightened. "But I do not understand," he said. "Why did you use the name Coleby? Why did you not tell me the truth?"

Cassian could feel himself getting emotional and he fought it. He'd come to realize that bursts of emotions and tempers never did anyone any good, so he fought down his natural reaction to such a question.

"Because I did not want you to know," he said. "My lord, please understand that I mean no disrespect, but I do not wish to speak on my past. I have done some things that I am not proud of and my family does not know where I am and they surely do not care. I want to keep it that way. But you have been so kind to me that if you wish for me to speak with William Marshal on your behalf, I shall. Then he will know I am here and he will undoubtedly tell my mother."

St. Albans squeezed his hand again. "Nay, lad," he said. "I agree with you. Speaking to William Marshal would be futile, I am sure. When I spoke of being a failure, that is my burden to bear. Broxbourne is bereft now. I have no money to pay for it or to pay for you. Mayhap it would be best for us to leave tonight and go to London where we can take a smaller residence and live off the money Beau hoarded for us. As much as I would like to fight for Broxbourne, I cannot. I do not have the resources."

Cassian was greatly relieved that the old earl was seeing the light of the situation, but he was still saddened by it. He offered to help, at his own expense, but St. Albans had mercifully declined. Perhaps it was for the best.

They could get out while they still had time.

"Beau is preparing an escort into London," he said. "He is packing your possessions as you instructed him to, but mayhap you should tell him what you wish to take. What is important to you."

St. Albans let his hand go, his attention moving back to his cards. "I already have what is important to me," he said. "As long as I have Celesse, that is all I care about, but I will select a few treasures for Beau to pack."

"Good," Cassian said as he stood up from the table. "I will help him."

"Then go," St. Albans said. "I must tell Celesse of our plans and there is no time to waste. And, Cass?"

"My lord?"

"Thank you for your show of respect," he said. "For not making me feel as if I have failed."

Cassian smiled weakly. "I told you that you would always have my service," he said. "Once you are settled in London, I will visit you to ensure you have all you need. I told you that I would tend to you and I meant it."

"But I cannot pay you."

"You do not have to. You took me in when I needed help. Let me return the favor."

St. Albans smiled, acknowledging both the kindness and the debt. They understood each other now, probably far better than they ever had. There was total truth now where there hadn't really been any before, but more than that, the old earl knew that Cassian and Beau were trying to help him.

Finally, he would let them.

The Earl of St. Albans packed up his precious card deck before going to find Beau to help the man select the most important things to take with them to the townhouse in London. The residence was in an older part of the town, far less fashionable, but when it had been built many years before, it had been part of a small collection of adjoining homes built around a central courtyard with a pond in the center. Lady St. Albans' family, the House of de Fortlage, had built the house for their warlord patriarch who had served William Rufus.

However, as was the fate of many old and great families, new monarchs and the tides of political change saw them face ruin. The entire collection of homes on Angel Court had suffered the same fate, one by one. Now, there were only six left and five of the six were occupied by multiple families. The pond had become a sewage dump. The only townhome that didn't have multiple families was, in fact, the de Fortlage house.

It was to this four-storied and rather run-down structure that Cassian and Beau delivered their exhausted Lord and Lady de Bambeque two days later. Lady de Bambeque's elderly sister welcomed them with tears and after Cassian and Beau went through the entire home, making sure it was adequate for Alain and Celesse, they delivered their possessions from the two wagons carrying everything they could take from Broxbourne. Out of one hundred men, only six of them had chosen to accompany Lord and Lady de Bambeque to their new home.

Just six.

But those six were good men. One of them had to be eighty or more years of age, having served de Bambeque's father, but he was quite devoted to them. For a roof over their heads and one solid meal a day, the soldiers remained with the elderly couple.

The knights, however, did not.

It was true that they needed to make their living, which was going to be far more difficult for Beau than it was for Cassian. All Cassian really had to do was swallow his pride and find the nearest Marshal ally. He knew they would accept his fealty, no questions asked, but Beau in his nearly deaf state would have much more difficulty. On the night that Cassian and Beau left Lord and Lady de Bambeque at Angel Court, Cassian made a vow that he would do all he could to ensure that whatever position he secured, Beau would come along with him.

He wasn't going to leave him behind.

Beau knew this. He was proud, but he was also grateful. In his position, he couldn't afford to be stubborn about it and he was grateful that he'd made a good friend out of Cassian. As Cassian had explained it, Beau had helped him find meaning and direction on that dark night in Hertfordshire when he was nearly at his wits' end. Now, Cassian was going to return the favor.

He was going to help Beau.

For the first few months, they stayed around the London area as mercenaries, a disparaging term for such elite knights but the truth was that they were knights for hire– hence, mercenaries. They found work that way, for example, as extra men in an escort or additional guards for a gathering in one of the great houses along the River Thames. Because of Jax and his connections, Cassian knew nearly every great house in London, but they didn't know him. He did throw out names like de Lohr and de Lara and Marshal occasionally simply to get the job because the pay could be lucrative. A couple of houses even offered him a permanent position, but he wouldn't take it, knowing the house was close to any number of de Lohr or Marshal allies and he didn't want to be recognized amongst their ranks.

For the moment, he simply wanted to drift.

Cassian and Beau were able to make good money in those few months they remained in and around London, far more money than de Bambeque had paid them in the past few years. They returned to the house on Angel Court frequently to bring food, which the old couple was most grateful for. They tried to make it a weekly event, returning for the entire day and pretending to be sworn knights to the Earl of St. Albans. It was one day every week that restored Alain's pride as he was once again the lord of the castle. For just that one, brief day, he was great again, thanks to Cassian and Beau.

The honor of an old family was restored.

Until that one day when things changed rather drastically.

Cassian and Beau were far to the north of the city of London, looking for work near a town called Watford. It was a large town and as they neared the city limits, they saw great banners announcing a tournament and inviting participants. The money was substantial. That was all the prompting Cassian and Beau needed to add their names to the lists and compete for several good purses.

And they won.

Cassian quickly realized he didn't need a lord to serve if he could make this kind of money on the tournament circuit. It was an honorable profession, especially for the winners, and he knew he'd found his calling. Beau, too– he didn't need to hear when he was competing. He simply needed to use his skill and power, and with his size, the man proved unbeatable in the mass competition while Cassian cornered the joust in a very short amount of time. The fat, seldom-used Belgian warmblood that had belonged to Alain proved to be perfect for those short, powerful bursts of speed.

Suddenly, the paths of two wandering knights became clear.

It was apparent after the tournaments in Watford and neighboring Amersham that there was a bold new force on the southern tournament circuit and the rumors began to spread like wildfire. Men and women in droves began turning up to see the latest, greatest additions to the games.

The Dark Conqueror and the Bringer of Nightmares had arrived.