Terri Brisbin - The Dumont Bride

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 for him to stay seated. He did so. Feeling a growing sense of dread, he reached for his cup of wine and drank it down in several mouthfuls. He sat in shocked silence as Richard lifted a pitcher and refilled his drink and then sat down on a bench next to the one where he sat.

“Your father is dead and your lands and fortune are in my control,” Richard began. “Only you and your brother remain, and it will take only a lack of action on my part to see to the end of the Dumont family forever.”

Christian could do nothing but nod in agreement at the king’s words. He knew how precarious his and Geoff’s situation was; this was simply a reminder from Richard about who held the power.

“I find that I am in need of a service that you are suited to provide.”

“A service, sire?” Christian fought to stifle even the smallest of hopes at Richard’s words.

“Aye, my mother has asked that I send you to her in England so that you may prove yourself free of the taint of your father’s sins.”

“England? Is there no way for me to prove my loyalty to you here or at Chateau d’Azure?” Christian ached to return to his family’s lands, to the place of his birth.

“Do not worry, your lands have been cared for during your imprisonment, unlike some others.” The reference to John’s raping of Richard’s English estates was not lost on him.

“What must I do in England?” Christian wanted to get this out into the open—discover why Richard seemed willing to let him live and what task he faced.

“My mother asks only that I send you and, in her own inimitable fashion, has declined to give me an explanation.” Richard chuckled as he spoke. “I learned long ago that my mother explains herself to no man unless she chooses to. My father complained of this fault of hers many, many times.”