[THOMAS’S POV]
August 4, 1338
£315,000 in deposits and investments within the initial week alone—astonishing figures that continually surprise me. My son, always keen to defy my cautious advice about avoiding unnecessary risks, consistently proves me wrong. His management of the territory surpasses my efforts, and I can't help but chuckle at his audacity. It's a source of immense pride, to watch him excel beyond my expectations.
The merchants from Norfolk who frequent London never cease to sing praises about Norwich, advocating for its elevation to the kingdom’s capital due to its favorable trading environment and seamless travel. Their commendations extend to the cleanliness of Norwich's streets, a stark contrast to the prevalent garbage littering other city corners. Wymondham, emerging as the second most prosperous city after Norwich, stands as a testament to Edward's transformative influence. Moreover, Cromer, once perceived as a city limited to its glorious past without a promising future, has undergone a dramatic evolution under Edd's guidance. The city now rivals Yarmouth in vessel numbers and outshines it in terms of sheer firepower. Astonishingly, he controls nearly half the land in Cromer and enjoys unwavering support from its populace, owing to the wealth and job opportunities he brings.
As a man, a twinge of jealousy might arise, but the overwhelming emotion of pride, satisfaction, and paternal elation eclipses any semblance of envy. What father wouldn’t rejoice in witnessing his own blood surpass him? He's an extension of me yet an entirely distinct individual, a captivating duality that never ceases to amaze me.
The passage of time is a fascinating phenomenon. It feels like only yesterday when he struggled to navigate the forest by my side at our cottage, yet it's been a span of seven years since those cherished moments. The metamorphosis of that fragile child into the renowned "Dawnblade" is truly remarkable.
“It is time, milord.” My reverie was interrupted by Derek, a concerned expression etched on his face, reminding me of the present moment. As I had been gazing at the clear expanse of sky for the past few minutes, lost in contemplation, I was jolted back to the current pressing matters at hand.
Today marks the culmination of our series of drills, meticulously scheduled across thirteen coastal villages in Wessex. To ensure efficiency, I divided my primary contingent into four smaller units, each comprised of thirty soldiers. The bulk of our forces remained stationed in London, ensuring the capital's security. Bringing a thousand soldiers for drills would merely unsettle the public, serving no practical purpose.
Personally leading these men-at-arms, I journeyed through four of the designated thirteen villages, allocating nearly a week to each for thorough drills. Today, we conclude our activities in Swanage, a coastal village nestled in Dorset, before commencing our return journey to London. The relaxed pace of travel will afford us a leisurely two-day journey back to the capital. Simultaneously, the remaining units of the contingent are set to converge at the royal palace.
A thoughtful move on my part was appointing a leader to oversee each squad. This delegation ensures that reports will be rendered to me without discord or confusion upon our return. My next task involves consolidating these reports and distilling them into a concise summary to present to Eddie. Though he's my nephew, his role as king precedes all else. Additionally, I must reach out to Edd, but considering Gosh's presence in the capital, that interaction might need to wait. Regrettably, I couldn't attend his bank's inauguration—a fact that likely disappointed Marg. While I relish the symphony of clashing swords in battle, the serene melody of birdsong coupled with the warmth of my children's presence on a wintry day holds its own allure.
My thoughts drift toward the future, contemplating retirement from my roles as Earl Marshal and Royal Advisor. The prospect of spending the remaining years in the company of grandchildren, if they arrive by then, sparks a faint chuckle within me. However, if they delay their entrance into the world, I'm content to bide my time until they make their joyful appearance.
Lost in my musings, I find Derek again observing me with his trademark seriousness. Ah, the earnestness of this youth—sometimes too serious for my liking, yet admirable in its steadfast dedication.
"March onward," I directed, initiating our departure from Swanage towards London.
The cohort selected for this drill predominantly comprised youthful individuals, recognizing their dire need for practical exposure in these turbulent times. Within the group I led, the composition included fourteen privates, ten lieutenants, three corporals, two captains, and myself as the Earl Marshal. With expectations of a potentially demanding expedition, I found unexpected aid in Derek. His guidance proved invaluable, offering timely advice to the inexperienced members of our contingent. Despite his youth, Derek's efficiency and competence were evident, showcasing his remarkable capabilities.
It's apparent that Derek encounters occasional prejudice due to being an officer even with his common lineage. Yet, his response to such discrimination is truly remarkable. He navigates these challenges with admirable grace, never allowing bias to undermine his resolve or impact his demeanor. His ability to transcend such obstacles stands as a testament to his unwavering commitment and strength of character.
…………..
As the sun began its descent, casting elongated shadows across the land, our weary band stumbled upon an inn nestled along the roadside. A haven in the encroaching darkness, an inn holds a special place for a traveler, offering respite in a way few other places can. The rhythmic thud of hooves heralded our arrival, prompting the appearance of the innkeeper—a slender young man of no more than twenty-five, with an abundance of jet-black hair and matching dark eyes. His immediate bow, likely triggered by the distinctive golden and red hues of the House Plantagenet, hinted at a gesture of respect, despite his unfamiliarity with me.
“My men and our trusty steeds are worn from the journey. Would you have space for us to rest?” I inquired, my tone genuine and considerate.
“Crimson Moon Inn welcomes you, milords. I'll swiftly arrange for helpers to tend to your horses and ensure they're well-fed for the morrow. As for rooms, there are plenty available, but alas, not enough to offer each individual a separate accommodation. You might need to adjust a bit,” the innkeeper responded, his voice tinged with a hurried tone, a clear sign of his youth and relative inexperience.
“No worries. My men can manage,” I assured him, projecting a calm and accommodating demeanor.
Acknowledging my words with a nod, the innkeeper hastened inside, returning moments later with three men and a woman, likely a couple given their similarities in age. Their faces bore no resemblance, prompting the assumption of their relationship. But such matters were of little consequence to me. Swiftly dismounting my steed, executing a graceful descent to the ground, the sound of armor and weapons echoed as my men followed suit. This inn, though not an opulent establishment, would serve as a temporary sanctuary for our fatigued bodies and our loyal steeds alike.
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As my men and I stepped inside the inn, we were greeted by the comforting glow emanating from the fireplace nestled in the corner. The flickering light danced across the space, casting elongated shadows and painting the room in a warm, inviting ambiance. Tables and chairs dotted the area, offering patrons a place to dine, indulge in a drink, or simply unwind—a profitable arrangement for the innkeeper, no doubt. Despite its unassuming exterior, the two-story inn revealed its true size within, its length extending far beyond initial perceptions.
The ample space unfolded, revealing a surprising expanse that belied its modest façade. Spread across both floors, the inn boasted a greater capacity than anticipated. Even on the ground level, there were rooms discreetly tucked away, hinting at the inn's hidden depth. It was a well-structured establishment, efficiently accommodating a varied clientele seeking respite and shelter.
Shortly after our arrival, the woman returned to the inn, presumably recalled after being initially excluded from the horse-related tasks. My attention lingered upon her for a prolonged moment, allowing me to discern a couple of observations about her.
Her trembling form caught my attention immediately, a sight quite perplexing considering the absence of any noticeable chill in the air. The curious juxtaposition of shivers and beads of sweat adorned her brow, painting a picture of discomfort that piqued my curiosity. My gaze settled on her midsection, noticing a subtle but distinct protrusion that wasn't indicative of excess weight; rather, it hinted at a pregnancy.
Pregnant women, I've been told, endure an array of unique and peculiar conditions, and far be it from me to judge or comment. Recollections of Alice surfaced in my mind—a wave of nostalgia washing over me as I remembered her peculiar cravings for cold water baths during winter months. A rather odd inclination, but then again, the transformative experience of harboring another life within oneself for several months might indeed evoke these inexplicable alterations in behavior and preferences.
Reflecting on these thoughts only served to transport me back to the days when Alice was among the living. Despite not witnessing Edd's transformation into the capable young man he's become, she devoted the majority of her time to him. The nurturing of our son largely fell upon Alice, as the nanny tended to focus more on the girls. The nanny’s approach wasn't exactly accommodating; she demanded strict adherence to her instructions, showing little tolerance for any deviation from the girls.
Much like Edward, Alice grappled with a fragile constitution. I'm certain she was aware that bearing another child after Edd might jeopardize her health, possibly even marking the end of her childbearing journey. Yet, despite these concerns, she pushed herself to bring one more life into the world. Sadly, this decision took a severe toll on her well-being.
Following the birth of our youngest daughter, Alice's health began to falter. It was a gradual decline, marked by subtle signs initially—a struggle with walking, progressing to a point where she needed support to move around. Eventually, the situation demanded that she be confined to bed rest under the care of the physician. A mere two years after the birth, she peacefully passed away in her sleep.
Those years were a trying time for me, marked by the shadows of profound loss. The year she passed, and the subsequent one, felt like a descent into an abyss of despair. The weight of losing Alice was already immense, and the following year brought the loss of my brother. Despite our differing paths and the complexities between us, he was still my kin. His passing left a void, intensifying the agony of an already burdened heart.
It was during those dark times that I made a solemn vow—a commitment etched deep within me—to never relinquish hope, neither for my own life nor for those dear to me. The agony of loss became a driving force, a resolve to protect and cherish those close to my heart, fortifying my determination to weather any storm life might hurl my way.
Over the following three years, I managed to navigate through the sorrow that engulfed me after Alice's passing. Seeking a semblance of solace, I ventured into a new chapter of my life by entering into another marriage. Yet, any semblance of peace was shattered into countless fragments upon receiving the news of Edmund's execution. I recall the day vividly, as it brought an eerie emptiness, a void that consumed my heart entirely.
Oddly, there was no surge of emotion that day—no fiery anger, no raging fury—just an overwhelming sense of nothingness. It felt as though a crucial part of my being had been hollowed out. Even as I engaged in battle against Mortimer and his forces, there was a stark absence of emotion within me. Our victory in that conflict was marred by the lasting damage inflicted upon my spirit.
My fear of losing those dear to me was so consuming that I fervently pleaded with Eddie to retain me in his royal advisory circle. My devotion to him was unwavering—I became relentless towards anyone who dared stand against him. This unwavering loyalty, however, earned me a reputation for being ill-tempered and ruthless.
In Edward's earlier years, he perceived me as an obstacle in his path, an imposing force that restricted his freedom. Yet, as he matured, he began comprehending the rationale behind my actions, gradually opening up to understand the reasons behind my seemingly overbearing behavior. There was a shift in our dynamic—he began to see beyond the strict exterior, recognizing the underlying intentions rooted in my deep concern for his well-being.
Simultaneously, in an attempt to safeguard my children, I practically confined them within the fortress of Norwich, ensuring their protection under heavy fortifications. When I resided in Norwich, my watchful eyes were a constant presence, ensuring their safety and security. Even when I was in London attending to matters of the kingdom, I entrusted my most reliable men to remain behind and oversee their well-being.
I often overheard whispers branding me as "paranoid," a term that echoed among those who observed my vigilant guardianship over my kin. Yet, if they could fathom the experiences that shaped my apprehensions, I'm certain their perspectives would shift. The trials and losses that shadowed my past molded my caution, creating an unyielding resolve to shield my loved ones from harm, regardless of how others perceived it.
As the savory aroma of the evening meal wafted through the inn, I wasted no time in savoring every bite, my hunger urging me to swiftly consume the nourishment laid before me. Without delay, I excused myself and ascended the staircase, eager to retire to my own quarters—a solitary haven I wouldn't have to share.
The commotion of footsteps echoed throughout the premises for a while, the sound of my men finding their respective accommodations resonating in the air. Gradually, the clamor abated, indicating that my men had settled into their rooms, finding respite after the day's travels.
It struck me that the innkeeper had directed us to the first floor rather than the ground level. Perhaps the ground floor was less desirable, its construction dating back to the inn's earlier days. It seemed plausible that subsequent renovations favored the upper level, emphasizing better quality and care in its design.
As the minutes passed, thoughts whirled through my mind, contemplating the day's events and the nuances of the inn's structure. Eventually, I decided to embrace the solace of slumber. The day had been a relentless stream of activity, leaving me fatigued and ready to surrender to the embrace of sleep. Closing my eyes, I succumbed to the quietude of the night, welcoming the rest that beckoned, an end to the day's endeavors.
Startled from slumber by the distinct sound of water cascading onto the inn's wooden floor, I jolted upright, instantly alert. Positioned at the far end of the row of rooms, a swift survey with my eyes assured me that the peculiar sound did not emanate from within my quarters. With a rapid assessment, it seemed the source lay in the adjacent room to my right, occupied by Derek and another captain. Confusion seized me momentarily—why would there be such a disturbance?
Before I could ponder further, a stifled, abrupt noise erupted from the neighboring chamber, snapping my thoughts back to the immediate situation. A surge of alarm propelled me into action as I swiftly retrieved my longsword, an instinctual reaction to the unsettling circumstances unfolding next door. Anticipation coursed through me as I braced myself for whatever might unfold, the unknown stirring a sense of urgency and caution in the stillness of the night.