Always an Alternative: Part IX

Sept 1,1105
Camelot Castle
Britain

Change was coming; it was in the wind

Ian stood by at a spot on the castle wall that afforded him a far view down the hill into Camelot Town and to the bay beyond, brushing his hair back out of his face after another gust of wind had blown it into disarray. A call from the stairs behind forced his attention back to the here and now. A moment later, a page appeared at the head of the stairway.

"Lord Blackthorn, someone's here to see you. He says he has a message for you."

Ian grinned. "Steady on, lad. Take a few breaths. Now, who sent the message?"

The boy did as instructed and then spoke. "From someplace called Thierry, sir. That's in France!"

Ian raised a brow at that name, then nodded. "Well done. Next time, don't run up those stairs unless the message is urgent. Now let's go down and see what this is all about shall we?"

They took the stairs at a normal pace, Ian smiling to himself as the page nearly bumped into him from behind once or twice in his eagerness. Down in the courtyard a horseman sat calmly awaiting them, a servant standing nearby with two large wicker baskets on the ground beside him. Marcus and Timmons emerged from the barracks across the yard to hurriedly join the group.

The rider swung down off his horse and bowed with respect as Ian reached him. "Have I the honor of addressing the man named Ian Blackthorn who visited Thierry some twenty years ago?" The speaker was a young man wearing clothes of good cut and material. His tunic bore the Thierry emblem.

"Yes I am, although visit perhaps is too kind a term. My companions here, Lt. Marcus and Sgt. Timmons were also at Thierry at that time. And who sir might you be?" Ian asked, although he had a fairly good idea what the answer would be from studying the man's features.

"I am Sir Richard de Thierry, and I have been asked by my parents to deliver this message and these items," he gestured to the basket "to you. I am on my way to London and they asked that I stop here to help them make an agreed upon payment." There was a questioning look on young Sir Richard's face as he handed Ian a sealed letter.

Ian smiled and took the letter. "Of course. It is late in the day, Sir Richard. Please stay for the evening before continuing on your journey. We've an empty chamber or two and excellent meals. We'll speak more at dinner."

"Thank you, milord." Richard bowed. He had his mother's light hair, but the face and eyes favored Lord Martin and brought back the memory of that hillside battle.

"Very well. If you and your man follow this page, you'll be shown to your room for the night and I'll see your mounts are cared for as well. Until dinner, Sir Richard."

The young man bowed and moved off with the page. Ian began to open the letter, then stopped as heated whispers between Marcus and Timmons made him look over at them. "Alright, what are you two arguing about now?"

Timmons looked a bit sheepish. "We can't remember the wager."

"Well, it was over twenty years ago!" Marcus added.

Ian shook his head and turned his attention to breaking the seal. "As I recall, Timmons wagered that Lord Martin would hire an assassin to kill me for the affront to his honor. Marcus wagered he wouldn't."

Timmons scowled, then fished out a gold coin and tossed it to Marcus. "Nothing personal, Ian. I was younger then and more pessimistic."

"Aye, as opposed to the older, more mellow man you are now." Ian laughed, then finally broke the wax seal and opened the letter.

The others moved closer. "What's it say?" asked Marcus.

Ian held it out so all three of them could read:

To Sir Ian Blackthorn of Camelot:
Greetings!
We regret so much time has passed until now without contacting you. But after your departure for Thierry there was much anger within us for you and when it had finally faded away, you were no longer in France. It was only news of the recent events in Camelot that told us of your present whereabouts.
I eventually came to realize why you spoke as you did that afternoon so long ago when you visited us here. It was my anger at you that forced me to make the choice you knew I had to make, and it was the right choice. Richard, who bears this letter to you, is our second son. Our eldest, Jehan, remains here at Thierry. He is married and now awaits the birth of his own first child; God willing, we will hold our first grandchild in our arms next spring. Without your words that day, none of this would have comer to pass.
We owe you more than we can ever repay.
But we do have the means to repay one debt: we never paid you the agreed upon ransom of two bushels of apples. Richard bears our payment to you with one small adjustment in remembrance of that afternoon. We think you'll understand. The fruit is not from Thierry land, but was purchased just before Richard's ship sailed, so with any luck it will still be fresh by the time it reaches you.

With deepest regards and thanks.
Lord Martin de Thierry

P.S. My thanks as well. May God bless you!
Lady Elaine de Thierry

Ian grinned as he folded the letter. "Well, two sons, eh?"

Marcus nodded and chuckled. "What do they mean, an adjustment?

Ian walked over and opened the baskets. The first contained apples. When he opened the second, he paused and then laughed.

Timmons looked over his shoulder. "Pears? What is this supposed to mean?"

Ian reached down, picking out a large juicy looking one and took a bite. He chewed then swallowed.

"It means…" he took a second bite. "there is always an alternative."