Medieval Brides. Anne Herries
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of Geoff’s chest as the boy still slept on the low bench. Christian stood and stretched, trying to loosen muscles long unexercised. At the call of his name, he turned and faced the soldier making his way down the low corridor of cells.
“Aye, you, Dumont. You are to come with us.” The guard was joined by two more soldiers, while another stood nearer to the dungeon’s door.
Christian smiled at the thought of them needing four to take his one. In better days, mayhap, but certainly not now. The toll of not enough food, not enough rest and not enough practice was a stiff one. He looked over at Geoffrey and wondered if they were both called.
“Nay, not the whelp,” the guard answered before he could ask. “Only the elder son of the traitor is called now.”
Christian grimaced at the insulting reminder of his new position. A traitor. His father had dishonored all who bore the Dumont name before and after him by his treasonous acts. As one of the men took his arm to pull him along, he shook off the hand that grabbed him. It was replaced by two more that pulled him even more strongly and swiftly out of the cell and along the corridor.
The group moved quietly through the damp lower floor of the castle, then up two flights of steps to the main floor. Prisoners called out words of encouragement and words of insult as he passed them. Christian fought to keep up with the pace. He did not want to be dragged to his fate. He would face whatever awaited him like a man, like the warrior he had trained to be. He would uphold the shattered honor of his family in spite of his father’s failings.
The bright sunlight, pouring into the hall through high windows of glass, tortured his eyes. The darkness of the dungeon left him unready to face the full power of daylight. He tried to raise his hand to shield his eyes, but the guards would not let go of his arms. They moved farther into the cavernous room, the clip-clopping of their boots on the stone floor echoing ahead and behind them.
They came to a stop before the dais at the front of the room and tossed him to the ground. Unable to regain his balance, he sprawled on the cold stone floor for a moment, dazed and out of breath. A few muted snickers and whispers wafted through the room. Although he could not see clearly yet, he looked from side to side, searching for those who spoke. Pushing his matted hair from his eyes and rubbing them to clear them, Christian climbed shakily to his feet.
A heavy hand on his shoulder forced him to his knees. Christian looked up on the dais and saw the reason he knelt—he was in the presence of the king. Lowering his eyes, he swallowed and prepared to face his judgment. As the eldest son, he could accept death, not without question, but he would not lose control. His only thought was to somehow save Geoff from that same fate.
“Ah, the Count of Langier, though not of late it appears.”
The king began to laugh at his own wit and the others joined him. Christian looked at those surrounding Richard and recognized no one—no one who could speak a word or two of support in his cause.
“Rise, Dumont, I would look on your face as you speak.”
Christian struggled to his feet and tugged on the frayed edge of his sleeve. Standing in the presence of the king, who was splendidly attired, he felt ashamed of his appearance for the first time in his life. Magnificent fabrics and decorations had never mattered to him before, but his months of imprisonment had turned his mind to the simple things he never paid attention to in the past. He even dreamed of things such as clean, well-fitted clothes, food and water and fresh air and the sun’s light.
He faced the king and then realized that Richard and the others were eating at the high table. The aromas of well-cooked beef and hot bread and cheeses surrounded him and his mouth watered. Without thought, he licked his dry lips with his parched tongue and inhaled once more the luxurious smells.
“Come, Dumont, join us at table. I am certain that the fare below is not quite up to the Count of Langier’s high expectations.”
Although he knew Richard mocked him, the thought of hot food, freshly made and free of crawling vermin, was too much for him to resist. His feet moved forward to where the king pointed and he dropped onto the bench. Although his seat was at the far end of the table, several of those seated nearest to him slid away, wrinkling their noses and grimacing at his appearance. Only the king’s presence and invitation kept them from bolting completely.
A servant filled his cup with wine, placed a trencher of food before him and stepped away quickly, another sign of his putrid condition. Christian did not care—the food before him was the first like it in over two months and he would not be driven off by their sensitive noses. Startled by a young boy’s sudden appearance at his side, he sat dumbfounded until the boy lifted the laver of water closer to him.
Table manners were not required in the dungeon and he’d grown out of practice with even the simplest. After a hesitation, he dipped his hands into the scented water and took the drying cloth from the page. Humiliated even more by the filth he left behind in the bowl and on the towel, Christian turned his attention back to the food in front of him. Before a morsel passed his lips, he looked once more at his clothes for a way to wrap some of this food and take it back to Geoff. A chunk of bread and cheese would go quite far in their present situation, especially if he ate now and then did not need to share in what he took back with him.
Desperation filled him and his hands shook as he reached for the bread. Tearing off a piece, he lifted it to his mouth. Closing his eyes he savored the crisp crust and soft, chewy inside of the loaf. Too long, much too long since food of this quality had passed his lips.
“I have only seen such reverence for a piece of bread when it is consecrated in Communion. What do you think, Ely?” Richard’s mocking continued from his place at the center of the table.
The Bishop of Ely, Richard’s embattled chancellor, murmured words Christian could not and did not want to hear in response and the others laughed out their agreement. Refusing to look into their jeering faces, he swallowed the bread and reached for his cup. The bread sat as a lump in his throat and would not move. Only a mouthful of the wine helped it pass.
The pain in his gut was not only from his long hunger, but also from the realization that just a few short months ago, he would have gleefully participated in this game. And he would not have felt a moment of shame or compunction in taking part in shaming someone less in the royal favor. Many lessons had been brought home to him during his imprisonment and none of them had been easy to learn.
His hands shook less as he reached for another piece of bread. He chewed slowly, both to enjoy the taste and feel of the food and to keep his stomach from clenching while eating too fast. He fought a battle within himself not to grab and shovel the food into his mouth as he wanted and needed to do. Knowing that acting as the disgusting prisoner he now was would simply give those around him more to mock, he held himself under an iron band of willpower and forced his hand to take but one piece at a time. He would show them the dignity of the Dumonts of Langier.
A few minutes later, Richard signaled the end of the meal and, with a wave of his hand, dismissed their company from the table. Panicking, since he’d been unable to hide and save any of it for Geoffrey, Christian searched his shirt for a pocket or someplace that would hold a hidden cache of bread and cheese.
“Guillaume? Since the count was so lately called to table, make certain that his plate is delivered to his cell.”
The man standing at Richard’s elbow nodded and stepped toward him. Lifting the trencher from the table, the servant piled the small loaves of bread and cheese on top.
“And Guillaume? Make certain that it is delivered there immediately and as it is.”
Richard mocked even in his generosity. Christian would get on his knees and kiss Richard’s hands and feet if that was what it took to get this food to Geoffrey. The servant covered the food with a large linen napkin and carried it from the room. In another moment, he was alone with the king. Now he would discover the reason for this summons, and he knew that generosity had nothing to do with it.
Richard stood and walked to the end of the table where he still sat. Christian started to rise, but Richard motioned with his hand