“Somehow, I doubt it. She is accustomed to being in charge. Could you not see that?”
St. Héver merely lifted his white-blond eyebrows in agreement. The very thought was appalling, but Tate wasn’t paying any attention to their chagrin. He was focused on the tavern and obtaining some much needed food and drink. Leaving the horses, they made their way inside the smelly hovel and found a table in the corner where a round woman brought them ale, bread and cheese. The young squire with them shoved half a loaf in his mouth before the knights had finished pouring their drink.
“Slow down, lad,” Tate admonished lightly. “There is more bread to be had. No need to choke yourself.”
The youth grinned and slowed to chew. The two men at arms that constantly shadowed the group of four took position against the wall opposite the table. They were the first line of defense against any potential happening, which was a fairly normal occurrence. England, and the world in general, was a dangerous place.
With the squire no longer in danger of choking and the knights settled with their ale, Stephen put his thoughts into focus.
“Did anyone notice if we were followed?”
Tate shook his head. “I do not think so. I’ve not seen evidence in a couple of days.”
Kenneth took a deep drag of his ale. “We lost them in Rothbury,” he said. “If nothing else, Mortimer’s men are easy to spot. They follow us out in the open.”
“He doesn’t have to keep them to the shadows because he governs the entire country,” Stephen snorted. “What does he have to fear?”
Tate regarded the ale in his cup. “He has to fear a young man on the cusp of adulthood who holds the throne he so dearly wants,” he muttered, more to himself than to the others. He glanced up at the knights. “She asked valid questions, you know.”
Pembury looked up from his bread. “Who?”
“Mistress Elizabetha.”
“What questions do you mean?”
“About the opposition.”
“You were truthful in your answer.”
Tate lifted a resigned eyebrow. “Aye, but minimally; I did not mention that Isabella and Mortimer hold all of Windsor Castle and her wealth. That is the heart of the kingdom. And if we are to oust them, we must strike at the heart.”
“I thought that was what we were doing.”
The squire’s soft voice entered the conversation. Tate looked at the youth, breadcrumbs on his fuzzy face.
“The more I go to these little towns, the more I realize that a rebellion must encompass far less than armies and knights intent on destroying each other,” he explained to the lad. “We must take control of Mortimer and Isabella on a much smaller scale. Balin Cartingdon’s outspoken daughter was correct in some aspects.”
“Which ones?”
A distant look crossed Tate’s face. “By feeding the beast of rebellion, we could destroy everything. Sometimes a largeroperation is not the better tactic than a small, precisely planned one.”
“Will we go back to London and re-think our strategy?”
The squire’s question was posed with curiosity more than anxiety. Tate passed a glance at the knights before answering. “What would you suggest?”
“We still need support. And we need money.”
“True enough; which is why my inclination is to stay the eve in Cartingdon, negotiate for the sale of the sheep with Balin’s daughter, and then make our way back to London. I worry being gone overlong. Much can change in a short amount of time.”
“That is a wise decision,” Pembury said. “Without you in London, Mortimer lulls himself into a false sense of security. I never thought it was particularly prudent for us to have left the city in the first place.”
Tate looked at his squire, reading the boy’s concerned expression. He downplayed his knight’s comment. “It was necessary,” he said simply. “But for now, let us eat and enjoy this moment of peace.”
The squire went back to eating only when the knights did. A group of minstrels struck up a lively song and soon the entire tavern was bouncing. It was a good moment of relaxation for them to remember; the future, Tate suspected, would hold few.
CHAPTER TWO
“They call himDragonblade,” Ailsa Catherine Cartingdon danced around the table in the large hall of Forestburn Manor, the Cartingdon home. “Have you heard, Toby? Dragonblade!”