Read Online A Friar's Bloodfeud: (Knights Templar 20) by Michael Jecks - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Jecks
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because he refused to discuss anything with him until he’d rested.
‘The best thing after a knock like the one you took is plenty of rest. Have some wine, then sleep.’
‘But where am I?’
‘You’re safe. And being well looked after.’
‘My leg,’ he remembered. He tried to get up to look at it,but the shooting pain that slashed through his skull at the movement made him want to heave. He sank back on to the sheets.
‘You’re fine. The leg’s still there, although it took a grievous cut. Don’t worry, friend. You’ve made your name today.’
Yes. Of course I have, Odo thought to himself cynically. There must have been thirty or forty men on that drawbridge, and
he was sure that he’d heard the gates slam even as he sank down on to his face. ‘The castle wasn’t won?’
‘No. Now go to sleep.’
The next thing he remembered was being dressed in a new tunic, and Hugh de Courtenay and Sir John Sully being there to help
him on with his sword. His leg hurt like the devil, but he was all right apart from that. If he turned too quickly, he would
feel dizzy, but that would pass, he knew. He’d been thumped about the head often enough when he was a child and learning his
fighting techniques, and he recognised this wound as one of those unpleasant ones that would leave him feeling tired and wanting
to throw up if he wasn’t careful.
Not today, though, he had vowed. Because today he was being taken to see the master of the fourth squadron, the team he had
served with. And the youth who was in charge was waiting for him.
Only seventeen he was, but you could tell he was a prince from his courtly disposition. He was polite, handsome, and a strong
fighter. Even as Odo stumbled towards him, the future king drew his sword and held it aloft, while trumpets blew and the men
all cheered. Odo the squire walked to Prince Edward, but
Sir
Odo left him.
It had been a great day, and although Odo felt much theolder man, he had been impressed with Prince Edward’s calm and unassuming nature. He and his companions had been bold enough;
certainly none of them seemed wary of fighting, or fearful at the clamour of battle.
Which was why Odo clung to that memory. It was good to recall the prince the way he
had
been.
He rode eastwards, and then north, crossing the ford under Crokers’s place. He’d heard of the attack there, but there was
no sense in approaching it now, just in case Sir Geoffrey had put in a force to guard it. It could be hazardous to go unprotected
to a place like that.
Instead, he left the track and took his horse up the hill to the old road, which, muddy, stone-filled, with tall hedges on
either side and a thick wood on his right giving glimpses of fields between the trunks, was pleasant enough. It was this land
that the Despensers wanted, from what Odo had heard. They wanted to take all the manors owned by John Sully on the east of
the river, making their own holdings that much more extensive.
It was always the way: when a man of ambition grew rich, his first inclination was to increase his wealth. Odo couldn’t understand
it. Hugh Despenser was fabulously rich. Odo had heard men speculate on his worth, and the general view was that he was the
richest man in the country after the king himself. A terrible man, avaricious and ruthless. He would take men and torture
them for sport, or to make them sign away their inheritances. Not only men, either. It seemed strange that the prince Odo
had met all those years before could have grown into a man who tolerated advisers like Despenser.
There were the other rumours, of course. That the king was infatuated with his friend; that his friend had supplantedthe queen in the king’s affections, that he was the king’s lover. It was possible. Odo had no opinion. He did not care particularly.
A twinge of pain in his thigh made him frown, and he massaged his old wound with his fist. It always played up during the
winter.
‘The best thing after a knock like the one you took is plenty of rest. Have some wine, then sleep.’
‘But where am I?’
‘You’re safe. And being well looked after.’
‘My leg,’ he remembered. He tried to get up to look at it,but the shooting pain that slashed through his skull at the movement made him want to heave. He sank back on to the sheets.
‘You’re fine. The leg’s still there, although it took a grievous cut. Don’t worry, friend. You’ve made your name today.’
Yes. Of course I have, Odo thought to himself cynically. There must have been thirty or forty men on that drawbridge, and
he was sure that he’d heard the gates slam even as he sank down on to his face. ‘The castle wasn’t won?’
‘No. Now go to sleep.’
The next thing he remembered was being dressed in a new tunic, and Hugh de Courtenay and Sir John Sully being there to help
him on with his sword. His leg hurt like the devil, but he was all right apart from that. If he turned too quickly, he would
feel dizzy, but that would pass, he knew. He’d been thumped about the head often enough when he was a child and learning his
fighting techniques, and he recognised this wound as one of those unpleasant ones that would leave him feeling tired and wanting
to throw up if he wasn’t careful.
Not today, though, he had vowed. Because today he was being taken to see the master of the fourth squadron, the team he had
served with. And the youth who was in charge was waiting for him.
Only seventeen he was, but you could tell he was a prince from his courtly disposition. He was polite, handsome, and a strong
fighter. Even as Odo stumbled towards him, the future king drew his sword and held it aloft, while trumpets blew and the men
all cheered. Odo the squire walked to Prince Edward, but
Sir
Odo left him.
It had been a great day, and although Odo felt much theolder man, he had been impressed with Prince Edward’s calm and unassuming nature. He and his companions had been bold enough;
certainly none of them seemed wary of fighting, or fearful at the clamour of battle.
Which was why Odo clung to that memory. It was good to recall the prince the way he
had
been.
He rode eastwards, and then north, crossing the ford under Crokers’s place. He’d heard of the attack there, but there was
no sense in approaching it now, just in case Sir Geoffrey had put in a force to guard it. It could be hazardous to go unprotected
to a place like that.
Instead, he left the track and took his horse up the hill to the old road, which, muddy, stone-filled, with tall hedges on
either side and a thick wood on his right giving glimpses of fields between the trunks, was pleasant enough. It was this land
that the Despensers wanted, from what Odo had heard. They wanted to take all the manors owned by John Sully on the east of
the river, making their own holdings that much more extensive.
It was always the way: when a man of ambition grew rich, his first inclination was to increase his wealth. Odo couldn’t understand
it. Hugh Despenser was fabulously rich. Odo had heard men speculate on his worth, and the general view was that he was the
richest man in the country after the king himself. A terrible man, avaricious and ruthless. He would take men and torture
them for sport, or to make them sign away their inheritances. Not only men, either. It seemed strange that the prince Odo
had met all those years before could have grown into a man who tolerated advisers like Despenser.
There were the other rumours, of course. That the king was infatuated with his friend; that his friend had supplantedthe queen in the king’s affections, that he was the king’s lover. It was possible. Odo had no opinion. He did not care particularly.
A twinge of pain in his thigh made him frown, and he massaged his old wound with his fist. It always played up during the
winter.
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