When Constantine looked back at Baldwin, the king had one eyebrow raised. “It’s a short journey. You will be free of my tyranny forever upon my return.”
It was not in Constantine’s nature to beg, but he could not help expressing the yearning pain in his heart. “I want to go home, Baldwin. My son was only four when I last saw him—little more than a baby; Christian’s nearly seven now. He needs me. Have I not served you faithfully for two years?”
“You have, and I am grateful. But you’ll stay until my return or risk besmirching an otherwise exceptional career.” Baldwin paused and then pressed, “Your answer, General?”
Constantine’s anger simmered. “As you wish, my liege.”
Baldwin turned to Felsteppe. “I’ve not passed judgment on you before the men as of yet and so you will probably be safe. All the same, it is best if you do not encroach on the soldiers’ common areas this eventide.” He glanced at the piles of coin and weaponry still on the floor. “You may, however, see the return of your purse and yourpenny.”
The king turned and, as he limped toward the doors that led to his private chambers, called out, “And do pick up the mess on the floor before you’re off.” He slung the door closed with a crash behind him.
Constantine looked back at Glayer Felsteppe, whose reddened, watery eyes and curled lip gave evidence to his rage.
“You son of a bitch,” Felsteppe snarled. “You just couldn’t stomach the idea of me being in charge of Chastellet, could you?”
“I couldn’t care less who Baldwin retains to fill my appointment after I am gone,” Constantine replied, turning his back on the loathsome man to walk to the large cask mounted on its side against the wall. He watched the liquid flow into his cup and wished it was wine. “But while I am responsible for the welfare of this hold, I will report anything I feel the king needs be aware of. Especially if it is of a traitorous nature.”
“You’re only trying to further your rank,” Felsteppe continued behind him as Constantine raised his cup to his lips and let the cool water flood his mouth. “Lazy, entitled bastard! You deserve not even the tiniest fraction of the power you claim at Chastellet.”
Constantine swallowed and then sighed, his eyes trained on the smooth stone above the cask. He called to mind the verdant landscape stretching out around Benningsgate, the wet greenness of the very air in her forests. He imagined sitting in his own hall of an even, drinking from his own casks and speaking of things such as crops and flocks and servants. Hearing the gossip about the town. He thought of the moment—delayed now, true, but only by weeks—he would approach Benningsgate and see the blond little boy running for him, leaping into Constantine’s arms....
He felt slightly calmer. “Any power I have here has come hand in hand with my duties, and both were given to me after I proved myself worthy.”
Felsteppe sputtered. “Did you earn your title? Benningsgate Castle? Did you work your way into your earldom? Your wife’s bed? I’ve heard the latter at least can be done with little effort.”
Constantine ran his tongue along his teeth and closed his eyes for a moment before turning to face the man, who seemed so distraught that Constantine wouldn’t have been surprised to see him collapse to the floor to pound his fists and boots against the tile.
“You can’t keep blaming others for your failures, Felsteppe. Eventually, you will have to claim responsibility for your life and the choices you make.”
“Choices?” Felsteppe said on a false laugh. “You mean like the choice Baldwin has made? You know it’s only a matter of time before Saladin orders the attack on Chastellet now that ourkinghas turned him away yet again. The fortress isn’t even properly completed!”
“It’s almost done,” Adrian Hailsworth muttered from his corner, his head still down. “Only the glacis to complete. Strong enough now.”
“The foundation is exposed!” Felsteppe cried out to the architect. When Adrian failed to respond, Felsteppe faced Constantine once more. “You’re all fools! Baldwin has guaranteed your deaths.”
Constantine’s eyes narrowed. “It is our duty to defend this stronghold and the river crossing below. That’s what you swore to do when you accepted your charge.”
“I came here to make my fortune, same as all the others.”
“Perhaps you should have sought assignment in one of the ports, then. Promise of riches is not why men come to Chastellet.”
Felsteppe stared at Constantine and then sniffed a half laugh, his thin lips quirking in some semblance of a grin. “Oh, yes. That’s not whyyou’rehere, is it, Gerard?”
Constantine’s back stiffened, but he kept his expression neutral as he gestured to the pile of armaments still littering the floor. “Do as the king commands and retreat to your cell before the sun sets. Some may lie in wait for you.” He turned and started to cross the floor, heading toward the double doors and his own chamber in order to grieve the delay of his departure.
Perhaps many men’s futures—indeed, the future of the world—would have been quite different had Glayer Felsteppe held his tongue and allowed Constantine to leave without further comment.
But, alas.
“You’re herebecause your wife is a very rich whore with a constant itch and everyone doubts the son she bore is yours!”
Constantine halted, still facing the door.
Baiting you again. That’s all.
He started forward once more, and this time he saw that Adrian had raised his head and was now watching Constantine with a wary expression.
“That’s right—I know.Everyoneknows,” Felsteppe taunted. “Who can predict how many children you’ll have to your name upon your return? Perhaps even now, little Christian is on some other man’s lap, sitting in your chair at supper, calling him papa.”
