Bold in Honor (Knights of Honor Book 6)

Book 6: Knights of Honor Series

by Alexa Aston

Genres: Medieval Romance; historical romance; medieval romance; medieval; England; knight; romantic heroines historical; 1300s; Knights of Honor

Synopsis

Welcome to Book 6 in the bestselling KNIGHTS OF HONOR series!

1381 A.D. – As the Peasants' Rebellion spreads throughout England, King Richard counts on Sir Ancel de Montfort to restore order in Kent and Essex. The king commands Ancel to secure Highfield, an estate near London, and houses royal troops there to defend the area.

Lady Margery Ormond flees Highfield as the uprising begins and members of her noble family are slaughtered. Sir Ancel rescues her in the midst of battle and returns Margery to her home, swearing to protect her. Margery loses her heart to the dashing knight and is thrilled when the king decides to reward Ancel by gifting him with Highfield and marriage to Margery.

But Margery's stepbrother, Thurstan Vivers, escaped the peasants' onslaught and arrives unexpectedly to claim his inheritance—and control of Margery's fate. Can Ancel find a way to wed the woman he loves, despite Vivers' plan to sell Margery to the highest bidder?

Join Ancel and Margery as they seek an answer that will allow them to unite in holy matrimony.

Each book in the Knights of Honor series is a standalone story that can be enjoyed out of order.

Series Order:

Book #1 Word of Honor
Book #2 Marked by Honor
Book #3 Code of Honor
Book #4 Journey to Honor
Book #5 Heart of Honor

Release date: February 23, 2018

Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.

Print pages: 240

Sample

PROLOGUE

Kinwick Castle—June, 1376

 

Ancel de Montfort made Old Davy’s cottage his last stop of the day. The oldest tenant on Kinwick lands had died the previous week. At the end of his life, Davy had gone blind and usually doffed his clothes when the weather turned warm, complaining that they irritated his skin. Ancel remembered how he and his twin sister Alys had been frightened of Davy when they were young children but as Ancel grew older, he had learned to respect the irascible serf. Davy grew mellow during his last years, and Ancel enjoyed visiting with him each time he returned home to Kinwick on summer break from fostering at Winterbourne.

He checked the inside of the cottage and found it in good condition. The sparse furnishings included a table and two chairs that the next tenant could use. Davy’s bed had been a pallet on the floor near the fire. The threadbare blanket could be tossed away with the old straw. Ancel went outside and examined the walls and roof of the structure and found it needed some new thatching in one spot. That could wait until early autumn, after the harvesting had been completed. He wondered who his mother had in mind to receive the vacant cottage. Merryn de Montfort was always matchmaking among their workers and soldiers, and he had no doubt the cottage would soon have new occupants.

Ancel remounted his horse and wound his way through the forest until he reached the main road which led to the keep. He’d enjoyed his day, visiting with various farmers as he helped work the hay harvest. Tomorrow, he’d spend time with other serfs involved with the June shearing. His father had emphasized that Ancel must get out on the estate frequently and learn everyone’s name, as well as what tasks occurred throughout the year on Kinwick lands. One day, he would become the new earl upon his father’s death, and Ancel wanted to be every bit the man his father was. Geoffrey de Montfort not only had a reputation as one of England’s greatest warriors, but he was a fair liege lord, involved with every aspect of his estate.

As Ancel approached the castle, he saw in the center of the lane a bedraggled young man. The stranger had almost reached the closed gates. Ancel spurred Storm on, curious as to who this visitor was.

“I demand to see Lord Geoffrey de Montfort at once,” the man said, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight as he looked up.

“And what might your business with Lord Geoffrey be?” called down the gatekeeper.

The filthy stranger hollered back, “I have a very important missive from the king for the baron. ‘Tis something Lord Geoffrey must read at once and act upon.”

“And where is this missive?” Ancel asked as he drew up his horse beside the man. “I am Ancel de Montfort, Lord Geoffrey’s eldest son.”

The messenger looked at him warily before he pulled a small, rolled up parchment partly from his shirt. “I’m to put this in Lord Geoffrey’s hands. No others,” he insisted.

“Usually, a messenger sent from the king is riding a horse,” Ancel noted, his eyes skimming their visitor’s shabby appearance. “And he has the king’s banner so that all may recognize where he comes from. You have neither.” He didn’t add that the king’s man would have been dressed in a much better quality of clothing. This stranger, who looked close to Ancel’s age, wore attire that was more suitable for a servant in the royal kitchens.

The young man’s mouth set stubbornly, but his eyes darted about nervously. Finally, he said, “Please, my lord. I swore to the king I would see that Lord Geoffrey read this. The king needs him. If your father reads it, he’ll understood why.”

Ancel studied the stranger before him. Despite the unusual circumstances, for some reason he found this messenger to be credible. He wondered why the king might have sent such an unusual courier, but the answer could lie within the missive itself.

“Open the gates,” Ancel called up. “Our visitor is coming in with me.”

“Oh, thank you, my lord,” the man said with relief.

As the gates swung open, Ancel told him, “Go directly to the keep and wait at the foot of the steps. I’ll drop my horse at the stables and meet you. We’ll go together to see my father.”

“Aye, my lord.”

Ancel rode straight to the stables and left his mount with a groom. The young man supposedly sent from King Edward had drawn Ancel’s curiosity. He hadn’t seen the king in several years now. The monarch had made it a habit to call on the de Montforts every few years by directing the royal court’s progress toward Kinwick, but the sovereign’s health in recent years had been poor and prevented him from traveling across his kingdom as he’d done for decades each summer.

Ancel rounded the corner and saw the messenger nervously pacing at the foot of the steps leading up to the keep. He visibly relaxed as Ancel came toward him.

“Thank you again, my lord, for seeing me let inside the gates. And for granting me an audience with your father. The king was insistent that his missive reach Lord Geoffrey as soon as possible.” He paused. “I know I am not the kind of man the king usually sends, but he had his reasons for me coming all the same.”

 “Come.” He motioned for the man to follow him. As they mounted the stairs, he asked, “What’s your name?”

The courier hesitated.

Ancel laughed. “Surely, you can share your name with me.”

“I suppose so,” he said reluctantly. “I am Jupp.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Ancel teased.

Jupp scowled. “The king told me to be wary. To trust no one till I reached Lord Geoffrey’s estate.”

“I see.” Ancel found himself even more intrigued as he led them inside the keep. He spotted Tilda carrying a tray with food and drink on it.

“Is that for Mother and Father?” Ancel asked her.

“It is, my lord.”

“Are they in the solar together?”

“Aye.” She eyed the scruffy messenger beside him with disdain.

Ancel took the tray from the trusted servant. “I’ll see they get it.” He nodded at the stranger. “This is a messenger from the king. Would you see that clean clothes are found for him? He’ll need something to eat and drink, as well, once he’s met with Father.” He glanced back at the bedraggled young man. “And a bath, I think, before we send him back on his way to London.”

Tilda frowned. “I’ve never seen a royal messenger that looked like this one, and we’ve had plenty of them over the years.” She paused. “And we don’t just go giving baths to strangers, you know.”

The opinionated servant had always had a soft spot for Ancel, so he gave her an engaging smile. “Please, Tilda.”

“Oh, all right,” she said begrudgingly. “But he needs to wash the grime from his face and hands before he meets with Lord Geoffrey. Lady Merryn will be appalled at his appearance as it is,” Tilda declared.

“That’s a good idea,” Ancel agreed.

“But my lord,” protested Jupp. “I need to deliver the king’s message.”

He shook his head. “You heard Tilda. Her word is law inside the keep, Jupp. Clean your hands and face thoroughly, and then she will deliver you to the solar to meet with my parents. I will see you in a few minutes.” He looked at the servant. “Tilda, Jupp is all yours.”

Ancel climbed the stairs and went to the end of the corridor. He pushed opened the door to the solar, balancing the tray in one hand, and then closed it from the other side.

His mother’s face lit with a smile. She put her sewing aside. “This is a surprise. I was expecting Tilda to bring us refreshment, not my handsome son.”

Ancel set the tray on the table and kissed her cheek. “Are you making something new for Wyatt and Philippa?”

She smiled. “I am. They’ll grow so fast. Alys has so much on her hands since she gave birth to twins this spring. This is a small way that I can be helpful to her.”

His father laughed. “Your mother would move to Brentwood without a second thought if your sister asked her to.”

“Geoffrey, I would never leave you. You know that. But if Alys does have need of me, I might need to spend a few weeks again with her and Kit and the little ones. Besides, weren’t you the one saying the minute we returned to Kinwick last week that you couldn’t wait to see your grandchildren again?”

He shrugged. “It’s not every day that twins are born. And they are our first grandchildren, my love. I know we are both eager to spend more time with them.”

“I look forward to meeting my new niece and nephew,” Ancel said. “Mayhap when Mother is done sewing these clothes and blankets for them, I can escort her to Brentwood.” He sighed. “It’s funny to think of Alys as a mother now.”

“Well, she’s always mothered your brothers and sister since they are younger than the two of you,” his father pointed out. “Alys has a nurturing spirit.”

Ancel laughed. “Hal and Edward both think they’re too old to be coddled by her anymore, but I know Nan still enjoys the attention she gets from Alys.”

His mother asked, “How did you find Old Davy’s cottage?”

“It’s in very good shape. The roof could stand a little work, but it can wait till we do repairs to the other cottages come autumn.”

Her eyes lit up. “I’m glad to hear that. We may have need of it very soon.”

His father groaned. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and decided to marry off another of my soldiers, Merryn.”

She shrugged. “If you don’t want to know, then I won’t tell you.”

He laughed and turned to Ancel. “Be glad she hasn’t married you off yet, son.”

She clucked her tongue. “I would do no such things, Geoffrey. You know our family believes in love matches. I’d never choose a mate for Ancel. He needs to be free to find a wife of his own choosing.”

Ancel laughed. “And I have no desire to marry for several years, Mother. But I have other news.” He paused. “A messenger arrived from the king just minutes ago.”

“I want to see the missive at once,” his father demanded. “Where is it?”

“The courier doesn’t look like a usual messenger, Father. Jupp was on foot when I came upon him and was covered in filth. I believe he actually walked all the way here from London by his appearance.”

“Not on horseback? That’s odd. Where is he?” Geoffrey asked.

“He should be here any moment. Tilda had him wash up before he came to see you.”

A knock sounded at the door.

“That should be him now.”

Ancel retrieved Jupp from the hallway. He saw his mother’s eyes go wide at the young man’s tattered appearance.

“My lord. My lady.” Jupp bowed awkwardly and swallowed hard. “I bring you a missive from the king. He asked that I see it placed in your hands.” He removed the small scroll from under his muddy gypon and handed it to Geoffrey.

His father took it and frowned. “What? There’s no seal on this. How can I know this is from King Edward, much less take it seriously?”

Jupp implored, “You must, my lord. The king is counting on you. He didn’t call for wax and his seal because he wanted no one to know he sent it to you.”

Geoffrey handed the parchment to Ancel. “Here. You read it. Tell me if it’s worth my time,” he said dismissively.

Ancel sat at the table and unrolled the scroll. The first thing that surprised him were the number of blotches on it. He’d seen missives the king had sent to his parents, and those letters were beautifully written with no ink spots upon them. He scanned it without reading it and saw numerous misspellings.

“Why did a child write this?” he quizzed the messenger, who shuffled uncomfortably.

“Because he couldn’t trust his secretary,” the young man blurted out. “The king said he could trust no one.”

Ancel saw that statement got his father’s attention.

Geoffrey wheeled around and asked, “What has happened at court that would lead to such secrecy?”

“The Black Prince is dead,” Jupp revealed. “He summoned the king and John of Gaunt to his bedside as he lay dying. The Black Prince had both his father and brother swear an oath that they would recognize Richard as king. And King Edward will ask Parliament to do the same.”

Although Richard was the son of the Black Prince and should be next in line as heir to the throne with his father’s death, Ancel knew there was always the possibility that John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster, would try to seize power once King Edward passed. As the king’s second oldest son, Lancaster might feel he would make for a better monarch than a small boy. England had been stable, thanks to King Edward’s long rule. A nine-year-old boy was hardly a replacement for a king who’d sat on the throne almost fifty years.

“When did this happen?” his father asked.

“Prince Edward died last week on the eighth of June. King Edward knows that the duke has spies everywhere. The king wants to see you in person, Lord Geoffrey, and he didn’t want his son to know you’d been summoned to court by him.” Jupp paused. “I’m only a servant in the royal household. The king told me that you’d find a place for me at Kinwick. He said by the time I reached you, his son’s spies would know I’m missing. That I’ve been gone. If I return?” Jupp shuddered.

Geoffrey looked to Ancel. “Read the missive aloud.”

 

To Lord Gefrey de Monford –

Grandfather says to tell yu that these are his words, my lord, but I am writting them down for him. I am Richard, son of Edward of Woodstock, known as the Black Prince of Englund.

Lord Gefrey, I have need of yu. My helth is fayling, and I must see yu at once. Bring yur oldest sun when yu come. I warn yu—there’s danger evrywhere.

Pleas keep Jupp at Kynwyk. He’s a good workur and will serv yu well.

Hurry, my lord.

Sorry, Lord Gefrey. I’m not the best speller in Englysh. My Latin is beter.

 

Ancel glanced to his father. “That’s all there is.”

He watched a look pass between his parents. They had been married long enough that they could communicate without words. His mother nodded, but Ancel saw tears mist in her eyes.

His father took his wife’s hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “We must go, my love. Our king has need of us.”

“I understand,” she said softly.

He looked to Ancel. “Will you ride with me?”

“Of course, Father.” Ancel could barely contain his excitement. Intrigue at court? Going on a mission with his father to see the king? He’d never been part of anything like this.

Geoffrey took the scroll and held it to the flame of the candle sitting on the table. The parchment caught fire and began burning. Ancel realized that his father destroyed any evidence of the king’s command.

His father dropped the burning paper in the fireplace and looked at the messenger. “Lady Merryn will find you a place at Kinwick, Jupp. You can work the land or help with the horses.”

“Does your blacksmith have need of someone?” Jupp asked. “I was training to be a smithy before my father died. That’s when I went to work with my mother in the royal kitchens.”

“We can arrange that,” Merryn said.

His father told Ancel, “Find Gilbert. Tell him I want twenty of our best men to go with us to London.”

***

They arrived in London at night after riding for two days at a quick pace. Ancel had never been in the city, much less at any of the royal residences. He’d only heard Alys describe them from her time spent in service fostering with Queen Philippa. Leaving their men outside the Palace of Westminster, he and his father moved through a myriad of long hallways and cut through many groups of people collected in small clumps. Ancel couldn’t believe the size of the magnificent rooms, much less the sumptuous tapestries and luxurious furniture and tiled floors. He’d thought Kinwick a beautiful place, but the king’s palace left him speechless.

Finally, they stopped near where a small group of men gathered. Their clothing and bearing told him they were some of the most important men at court. His father motioned one of them over.

“Lord Geoffrey,” the balding man exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were in London. Did you hear about the Black Prince’s death? Such a shame. Edward of Woodstock would have made a most excellent king for England.”

“I did hear the news. I would like to offer my condolences to the king, as well as speak to him regarding other matters. Can you arrange an appointment with him? As soon as possible, since I’m only passing through London.”

The man hesitated. “That might prove difficult, my lord. The king’s schedule is quite full.” He thought a moment. “It will probably be a good two months before you’ll be able to see him.”

“That’s not acceptable,” his father said evenly.

Ancel shivered inwardly. He knew that tone. He’d tried pushing the boundaries with his father when he was younger. Geoffrey de Montfort tolerated nonsense from no one. This nobleman would do well to beware.

“I see.” The court official frowned and glanced around surreptitiously. “I must confide in you, my lord. The king is actually quite ill. Mayhap you would like to meet with the royal council instead? I can consult with the Duke of Lancaster to see when they might be able to accommodate you. If you’ll come back tomorrow afternoon, I can let you know.”

“Thank you, my lord. We’ll see you then.”

Ancel wondered why his father agreed to putting off being seen, but he knew he would soon learn why as his father marched from the room and down a hallway. Ancel kept pace with him as they continued down several corridors and found an empty chamber.

“I doubted we’d be able to see the king,” his father confided. “The Duke of Lancaster will have him insulated since the Black Prince’s death. Especially if the king is also ailing.”

Ancel suggested, “Remember when Kit and Lady Thea sought an audience with the king? Kit said they spoke to him the first thing in the morning, before he’d even broken his fast.”

His father grinned. “It’s worth a try. We’ll stay inside the palace and try to see him before most noblemen begin to stir. The guards on duty won’t question me if I appear. I’ve been there many times before.”

They found a bench and leaned their backs against the wall so each could take a turn at getting a couple of hours of sleep. Then before servants even began stirring, they made their way down a maze of hallways to the king’s chambers. Ancel saw members of the royal guard stood at the door as they approached.

“The king is expecting us,” Geoffrey said easily. “And how are you, Manfred? It’s been some time since I’ve seen you.”

Ancel listened with one ear as his father made conversation with one of the soldiers on duty. What drew his interest instead was a small boy that slinked along in the shadows. Ancel made eye contact with him, and the boy motioned to him.

“Is that Lord Geoffrey?” the boy whispered when Ancel came to stand beside him.

“Aye. How did you know?” Ancel asked.

But he didn’t receive an answer. His father caught his eye and waved him over. They entered the royal rooms. Just as the guard began to close the door, the boy scurried in behind them without a word from the guards. He ran ahead through another door and then poked his head out and indicated for them to hurry.

As they entered the royal bedchamber, Ancel was again astonished by its size and opulence. A servant lay on a pallet next to the king’s bed.

“Open the curtains!” a deep voice commanded. Ancel recognized it as that of King Edward.

The portly servant scrambled to his feet and pushed the bed curtains aside.

“Leave us.”

“But sire—”

“I said leave. Bring me some bread and ale. And not a word to anyone. Do you understand?” The king’s stern look would have frightened a grown man.

“Aye, sire.” The servant fled the room without a backward glance. The young boy closed the door once the servant departed.

“You came.” Edward looked old and tired to Ancel, nothing like the tall, vigorous figure he remembered from half a score ago.

Geoffrey bowed to the king. “I did, sire, and I’ve brought with me Ancel, my eldest son, as you requested.”

Ancel also bowed and said, “And we’ve brought someone with us.”

He saw a fond smile appear on the king’s face as the old man patted the bed. The boy rushed over and climbed up next to the king, taking his hand.

“This is Richard of Bordeaux, my grandson. He’s my heir now. I want everything to go smoothly for him since my time draw nears.”

“Grandfather, you aren’t going to—”

“Nay, Richard,” the monarch said sternly. “We’ve spoken of this. ‘Tis best to be prepared.” He looked at Geoffrey and Ancel. “Though my son John promised his brother that he would see Richard on the throne upon my death, John always was a greedy boy—and a greedier man, amassing land and wealth. Thank the heavens that Parliament acknowledged yesterday that Richard will follow me when I’m gone. So for now, John will try to rule through the boy. I know what that’s like.”

Ancel understood what the king spoke of. Edward had been crowned at fourteen when the queen and her lover, Roger Mortimer, deposed Edward’s father. Mortimer ruled England through Edward for three years until Edward led his own coup against Mortimer and seized complete control of the throne. So the king had experience and was looking out for his grandson.

“My son will try his best to maneuver around the royal council once I’m gone. They can only keep him at bay for so long. Lancaster has a powerful personality and friends in many places.”

Geoffrey asked, “So what do you ask of me, your majesty? Do you wish me to remain in London and take a place on the council to insure that young Richard here keeps his throne?”

The king grunted. “Nay. I know you wouldn’t, though I’ve asked you to sit on the council several times over the years. I can’t blame you, Lord Geoffrey. London and the royal court aren’t the same place since my beloved Philippa’s death.”

Edward pushed aside the covers and swung bony legs over till his feet touched the floor. “I have a different favor to ask of you, my lord. Actually, more one your own boy can provide.”

Suddenly, Ancel felt the king’s intense gaze upon him. Ancel saw steely resolve in the monarch’s eyes.

“I need someone to look after my grandson. Someone to protect him. A man willing to give his life to do so. I’ve trusted Geoffrey de Montfort for many years.” The king eyed Ancel carefully. “You’re so much like your father. Will you come to London? Will you watch over my Richard and keep him safe?”

Ancel glanced to the young boy who still held his grandfather’s hand. A boy of only nine. One who’d recently lost his father. Ancel remembered the first six years of his life when he didn’t have a father, thanks to Geoffrey being imprisoned by an enemy. Ancel had been lonely and unsure throughout that time.

Richard looked at Ancel hopefully, and he knew his decision had been made.

Without hesitation, he said, “It would be my pleasure, sire.”

“Teach him all you know, Ancel de Montfort. He’ll have tutors for his education. They’ll deal with his atrocious spelling and appalling penmanship. But you? You will guide him in other things a man should know. Swordplay and weaponry. Military strategy. How to treat his horse and how to treat a woman. Teach him about the important things in life—honor, duty, respect. How to be a good man. And most important of all? Keep him safe from the dangerous men who walk these halls. Help Richard mature. Help him become the man he needs to be to rule this kingdom. Can you do that?’

“I accept, sire. I will do my best to help shape him into becoming Richard the Second, King of England.”

With those words, Ancel knew his life had changed forever.

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

London—June, 1381

 

Ancel saw the billowing clouds of black smoke in the distance. Moments later, the wind blew the acrid smell his way. It invaded his nostrils and left a harsh taste in his mouth.

London was burning?

He spurred Storm on, covering ground more quickly than he had in the past week. He hadn’t wanted to leave the king, but Richard had insisted that Ancel ride north to Scotland to be his eyes and ears. A bulk of the royal forces had been scattered along the border because of the rampant rumors of an impending Scottish invasion. The king wanted a show of force in the north to prevent any type of rebellion from taking place. Since other English troops were still stationed on the continent, it left the monarch with only a few hundred men at his disposal.

That left London vulnerable. But who had attacked the city?

Ancel remembered his promise to Richard’s grandfather and how he’d pledged to keep King Edward’s grandson safe from harm.

What if Richard were already dead—and the Duke of Lancaster had finally seized the throne?

Ancel pushed that thought aside. He wouldn’t let worry cloud his judgment. He’d make his way to the king. Find out what took place in London. And do whatever it took to protect the young royal.

Even if it meant giving his life.

Richard had matured in the five years since Ancel had come to court. At ten and four, the young king was already as tall as any grown man. He was also intelligent and well read. Unfortunately, he still had a tendency to stammer when he became agitated, but Ancel believed once Richard took on more responsibility, he would begin to have faith in his own abilities and leave his nerves behind.

The harsh smell from the fire irritated his nose and throat as he drew close to the city. Ancel saw hundreds of people on the road headed in his direction and more pouring through the gates. He wondered how many had lost their homes in the fires—and who was responsible for the setting the flames. He maneuvered his horse through the disheveled crowd. Londoners carried their possessions in their hands and wore a lost look on their faces as they shuffled in mass.

Ancel rode over the bridge. Either no one was on duty or the soldiers had abandoned their posts when the chaos broke out. As he galloped through the streets, the scope of the destruction stunned him.  

He came to Savoy Palace, home of the Duke of Lancaster—or what had been the duke’s home. Embers still smoldered around the little that remained of the structure. The best Ancel could tell, the blaze here had occurred in the last day or two. He traveled further and found the entire legal district of the Temple also in ruins. Remnants of burnt law books lay scattered in the streets, their pages floating in the wind.

Then scores of dead bodies came into view. Some by themselves, others piled together. A quick assessment told him these weren’t men who’d perished in the flames.

They’d been murdered.

He spun his horse around. Bodies lay in every direction. Not all were connected with the government. By their dress, he recognized several of the dead to be Flemish in origin. A deep prejudice ran against the Flemish weavers who’d practiced their trade in London for decades, invited there by Edward and Philippa. Had a group from the English weavers’ guilds killed these artisans? Even if they had, who’d murdered the rest and set fire to the city?

Ancel saw a man picking his way through the dead and called out to him. “What happened here?”

The man tucked something shiny inside his gypon before he looked up. “’Twas the rebels. They did it all.”

“What rebels?” Ancel demanded. “I’ve been gone from London the past month.”

“Them from Kent and Essex way. They’ve set fires across the city. They’re killing anyone associated with the royal government. Their mob marched in over London Bridge two days ago. No one dared to stop them. A lot of townsfolk even joined in. They stormed Westminister Gaol and Newgate Prison. Freed everyone imprisoned there.”

Ancel’s mind reeled with this information. He knew how unpopular Lancaster’s taxation policies had been. The duke’s poll tax instigated just before King Edward’s death had been revised twice, and Ancel knew common folk were at their breaking point, giving up coin and livestock to pay the heavy burden.

“Is there any news of the king?” he asked, almost afraid to hear the response.

The man shrugged. “I heard he’s locked himself up safe in the Tower, but that could be a rumor.”

Ancel thanked the man and turned Storm in the direction of the Tower. He reached it minutes later only to find it in shambles. People running in every direction. Screaming. Looting. It was a city gone mad. His eye caught a large mass of men moving toward Tower Hill, so he followed them at a discreet distance. Shock reverberated through him as he recognized the Lord Chancellor and Lord High Treasurer being dragged before a jeering crowd by armed rebels. Sudbury looked terrified, while Hales seemed numb to everything going on around him.

Both men were forced to their knees and beheaded within seconds. Bile rose in Ancel’s throat. He wouldn’t allow the king to suffer such a punishment.

He spun his horse around and spurred it back toward the White Tower, where the monarch kept rooms.

“Sir Ancel! Sir Ancel!”

He spied a member of the royal council rushing toward him on foot.

“Help me!” the nobleman cried as he reached Ancel.

“Where is the king?” Ancel asked, his heart beating frantically.

“He’s gone,” the man panted. “To Mile End in east London. To meet the rebels.”

Ancel didn’t wait for further information. He galloped away from the Tower, ignoring the pleas of the royal councilor to rescue him. Reaching the king was paramount. He pushed his horse hard, hoping to come across Richard before the young man met with the rebels. If these men were burning London to the ground and beheading royal councilors, he couldn’t imagine what they might do with the king.

Ancel cursed the Duke of Lancaster and his group of friends that had inserted themselves into every aspect of royal life. Lancaster managed the throne, and his taxation policies had caused this unholy mess. Ancel knew the time drew near for Richard to assert his authority and force his uncle aside.

If he lived long enough.

Cresting a hill, Ancel saw thousands of peasants gathered, as far as he could see. He spied the king’s banner and rode straight toward it, yelling for those in front of him to get out of his way. Ancel made it through the throng and caught sight of the king. A lump formed in his throat. He’d grown to love this young man as a brother and would shield him from any harm. 

“Sir Ancel!” the king called.

Ancel jumped from his horse and hurried toward the monarch. He gave a quick bow and asked, “Are you all right, sire?”

“Aye.” The king motioned for Ancel to come close as he turned aside from the small guard that surrounded them.

“How is the border?” Richard asked. “Has it held?”

Ancel felt a moment of pride in the young boy who’d become a young man. Surrounded by thousands of his angry subjects, he still thought as a king despite the danger that encircled him.

“The Scottish border is secure, sire. I will share reports from the various commanders I spoke with when the time is right. But what’s happened here?”

The king’s mouth flattened in displeasure. “’Tis Uncle’s taxes. These men are calling for me to hand over my uncle, two archbishops, and key members of my royal council.”

Ancel glanced around. “I don’t see Lancaster present.”

Richard snorted. “Funny how Uncle has made himself scarce these past few days. I don’t plan to hand anyone over, but they have a charter they want me to sign.”

He frowned. “What else do these peasants want?”

The king held up a sheaf of papers in his hands. “I’d just finished reading this when you arrived. It calls for the abolition of serfdom and wants me to grant a general amnesty for the rebels.” Richard gave him an earnest look. “I can do both in good faith, Sir Ancel. These men have told me that they support me and the monarchy. They simply wish to rid the royal council and courts of the corrupt officials within them.” He hesitated. “Do you think this a good course of action?”

Ancel had often given the boy king advice, but this went beyond anything that had ever been asked of him. He chose his words carefully, knowing what Richard did and said today might influence the course of England’s future.

“I agree that you shouldn’t hand over anyone to these rebels, your majesty, no matter what they demand.” Ancel decided now wasn’t the time to tell the king of what he’d witnessed happening at the Tower. They needed to deal with the situation in front of them. “I do think abolishing serfdom would be a wise move on your part. The Black Death’s killed half our workers. Serfs have been able to bargain for higher wages due to the lack of manpower. Your action would give them the chance to leave the land they’re tied to and travel where they wish. It would allow them to negotiate fair wages for their labor.”

Richard nodded in agreement. “And the amnesty they wish for?”

“You could say that is coming without guaranteeing exactly who would receive it.”

The king’s eyes narrowed in thought. “I like that. It’s a good plan, Sir Ancel. I knew I could look to you for wise advice.” He gripped the parchment in his hand. “Come, join me. Let us meet with these rebels.”

Ancel watched as the king walked proudly to where the leaders of the rebellion awaited him. The royal guard followed Richard. Ancel hurried to take a place near the king.

The monarch held the parchment high above his head. His voice rang out loud and strong.

“Good people, I choose not to hand over any of the officials you seek. Instead, it is my solemn vow to personally see that justice will be meted out to those who deserve it.”

Before the crowd could grumble in discontent, he quickly added, “What I will sign, here and now, will be an order that will forever abolish serfdom in all of England. Riders will be sent immediately to every corner of the land. Englishmen will be able to negotiate fair pay for a good day’s labor. And I plan to grant general pardons to most men involved in the rebellion of this past week.”

A rousing cheer went up at the king’s words. Richard called for a quill and ink and quickly signed his name to some of the papers. He handed these over to the leadership of the rebellion, who seemed stunned that the monarch had accommodated their wishes so easily.

Ancel took a few steps that closed the gap between him and the king. He leaned and whispered into Richard’s ear, “We should leave with all haste, sire, while they are happy—and before they decide to press you on the issue of your uncle and royal council members.”

“Good thinking, Sir Ancel.” The king moved rapidly away from the center of Mile End to where his horse awaited him, along with almost two hundred soldiers.

Before he could mount the animal, Ancel told him, “You cannot return to the Tower, sire. I was there earlier when I rode in from Scotland.” He didn’t want to say anymore until they were safely away.

“Then we’ll go to Blackfriars,” Richard decided. “And I want to hear everything, Sir Ancel. About Scotland.” He paused. “And whatever’s happened at the Tower.”