Free The Reckoning - 3 by Sharon Kay Penman

huddled in this hellish no-man's-land, the wretched villagers began to die of hunger and cold and plague, and so desperate did they become that they seized and devoured a newborn baby. That reminded the English of their King
John, who had cast into a dark dungeon the wife of a rebel baron, then starved her to death. Hugh thought that last story was rather tactless, given that
King John was Guy and Bran de Montfort's grandfather. But they made no comments; they had so far taken no part at all in this grisly contest of griefs.
Someone then brought up John's brother Richard, the King called Lionheart, who had put to the sword at Acre more than two thousand Saracens, most of them women and children. Others were quick to point out, though, that infidels had no souls. Walter de Baskerville mentioned John again, this time for hanging twenty-eight Welsh hostages at Nottingham Castle, many of them mere lads. But as with the Saracens, the nationality of the victims diluted audience sympathy; Wales was too foreign to the Tuscans and French, and too familiar to the English, to stir up much pity for its murdered children.
Count Ildebrandino now came up with a crime so cold-blooded that Hugh involuntarily crossed himself, for this was a brutality not safely shrouded in the past. Twelve years ago, Michael Palaeologus was chosen as regent for his six-year-old cousin, rightful heir to the Byzantine Empire. Michael insisted upon being crowned with the boy, but swore a holy oath that he'd relinquish all authority once his young cousin came of age. Instead, he ordered the boy blinded, thus effectively rendering him unfit to rule.
Men murmured among themselves. For the moment at least, the Count seemed to have won the bloody laurels. Glancing toward his sonin-law, he queried, "You've been curiously quiet, Guy, for a man who has seen so much of war himself. What say you? What wrongs do you judge beyond forgiving?"
Guy raised his head, and there was something in his face that silenced the conversation in the hall. "That," he said, "is a question I
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find very easy to answer. What more despicable, cowardly act can there be than the mutilation of the dead?"
Hugh instinctively looked toward Bran. He'd made no outcry. Nor had he moved.
But there was an unnatural stillness about him; he scarcely seemed to be breathing, his eyes riveted upon his brother's face. All other eyes were upon
Guy, too, as he shoved his chair back. "Let's drink to that," he said loudly, "drink to the victors of Evesham. May they not be forgotten!"
Walter de Baskerville was also on his feet now, rather the worse for wine. "To
William de Mautravers and Roger de Mortimer, sons of perdition, spawn of the
Devil!"
Others were raising their wine cups, echoing this bitter toast. Hugh leaned over, whispered to Niccolo that de Mautravers was the man responsible for hacking Lord Simon's body into bloody pieces. "And de Mortimer sent Earl
Simon's severed head to his wifeas a battlefield keepsake! They put it up over the gate of their castle at Wigmore, left it there till it rotted ..."
Guy reached for a wine goblet, held it aloft. "And what of his Godcursed
Grace? Edward Plantagenet, my father's godson, my kinsman who would be King!
Why do you think scum like de Mautravers dared to butcher my father as he lay dying in the mud of Evesham? Because he knewthey all knewthat Edward would approve, that Edward wanted it done! No, give credit where due, Walter, to my cousin Ned, may we meet in Hell!"
And with that, he flung the goblet into the fire. Hissing flames shot up wildly, ashes and embers rained into the floor rushes, clay shards ricocheted off the hearth stones, and men watched, mesmerized.
Later, when Hugh had time to think upon what he'd witnessed, he would decide it was the unexpectedness of Guy's fury that was so frightening. Lightning searing a sky without clouds. A sudden burst of flame in a doused hearth. It was over almost as quickly as it began. Guy glanced at the clay fragments,