Page 76 of The Scot

“I am but a minor baron. My land borders Lord Ulster’s. I was imprisoned by the king at the time of your order’s meeting for refusing to pay this latest wave of taxes.”

“And you found yourself fighting alongside him despite it?” Lance asked.

Berkshire was about the age his father would have been had he lived. His eyes were thoughtful, and they never left Terric’s.

“When I learned he was bringing men to Dromsley, I knew it was my opportunity to fight back.”

Terric thought of the moment just after Ulster’s men first spotted the smoke. When Berkshire had leaned down to speak with the other lord.

“You told him to set me free.”

Berkshire’s lips flattened. “Convinced him it would be cowardly to do otherwise. I assured him we were not afraid of one man.”

“Why did you refuse to pay the king’s taxes?” Rory obviously did not trust the newcomer, and Terric didn’t blame him. The situation was unusual, to say the least.

The baron didn’t flinch at Rory’s harsh tone, another mark in his favor. “My only son was killed in Bouvines,” he said, his eyes filling with grief and anger as he spoke of his son.

The chamber went silent. Only the sound of crackling wood could be heard, the mood shifting immediately from suspicion to acceptance. The Battle of Bouvines had been the turning point for the order. The crushing French victory in a battle none but John had wanted had been the catalyst for their rebellion.

“Did Ulster not suspect? Surely he knew of your loss and the imprisonment. Why would any man stand with his king, rather than against him, after that?”

Lord Berkshire raised his chin. “That I agreed to fight against you, and the others, was the only reason the king set me free.”

That managed to surprise everyone present. “So it is true,” Gilbert said. “King John commands these forces against us while he delays meeting with us.”

“A meeting he does not intend to hold,” Lance said angrily.

“Aye,” Berkshire confirmed. “He could be sending men from the west and south as well. His reticence to share details with his barons makes me believe he attempts to do both—prepare for war and give the appearance of cooperation.”

Terric had suspected as much. “Whatever happens at Dromsley . . . whether ’tis a decisive victory or a defeat, he will claim ’tis a local dispute. Insist he planned on meeting with the rebels all along.”

“Aye,” Berkshire said again. “You are correct.” He smiled for the first time. “I’d not expected that delay. The bridge. Nor had Ulster. My men pulled away from Ulster in the night just two days ago. He will likely be here on the morrow.”

Terric and Lance exchanged a glance.

“My men are ready to fight with you,” Berkshire said. “Give me your orders.”

Terric said nothing.

After some time, his brother finally prodded him.

“Terric? We must wake the others. What are your orders?”

Now that he had come to the moment of truth, he felt almost . . . unsure, something unusual for him. They had a better chance of winning the battle now more than ever, but was that the right move?

Or should they declare a siege, giving John exactly what he hoped for? Was his need for vengeance against King Henry, and now his son, swaying him toward the wrong decision?

“I need a moment to think.”

“The men are ready,” he heard Gilbert say as all four men filed out of the solar chamber. “For battle or for a siege. We are ready. You only need say the word.”

A good man, that.

Then they were all gone, and silence fell. Terric was left alone with a decision that might very well break them.

He dropped his hands in his head.