Vampire Outlaw (The Immortal Knight Chronicles Book 2)

by Dan Davis

  The sheriff looked horrified at the insult. The ridiculous, sham bodyguard, Eva, smirked.

  “Very amusing, my lord,” I said. “The king goes north to deal with the barons there before he faces the French.”

  “There,” the archbishop said. “Not so difficult after all, is it. The rebel barons are giddy with joy. The Scots, in league with the French, have invaded the north of England. The French had sent a few knights and plenty of marks but the Prince has landed with thousands of men. The rebels feel assured that victory is theirs. The king’s army is made from the men of us few loyal lords but the bulk of it are mercenaries. And mercenaries have to be paid. The king will isolate and crush each baron on his way north to deal with the Scots. One by one, he will fine those traitor lords for every mark and shilling they have squirrelled away, if they wish to keep their lives and their lands.”

  Roger and I nodded in agreement. It was a sound and necessary strategy. The Scots could be beaten. They were a rabble, who were used to fleeing at the first sign of resistance. They counted on the lack of forces in the North.

  “And,” the archbishop continued. “When the king has enough gold to pay for his army for a season or two, he will come south and defeat the French.”

  “By which time,” I said, “the French will be in possession of London and a dozen castles in the south. It could take a year or two or more to grind them out of each one.”

  “Which is precisely why you must go south and slow the French advance.”

  “Me alone?” I said it in jest. “Certainly I can defeat a thousand men with a single lance.”

  “You should not attempt wittiness, Richard, it does not become you.”

  “Tell what men you are giving me.”

  “None,” Archbishop Hugh said. “You will ride south for the Weald, in Kent. South of London. The king has a loyal servant with lands there. His name is William of Cassingham. You will go to him and together you will slow the invasion.”

  “How many men does he have?”

  “It is uncertain,” the archbishop said, looking at Roger.

  “At least two hundred,” the sheriff offered the figure reluctantly.

  “Two hundred knights,” I said, amazed at the audacity. “Against ten thousand?”

  “Ah,” Roger said. “Two hundred archers. Not knights.”

  “Dear God,” I said.

  “Yes, quite right, son,” the Archbishop Hugh said. “Put your faith in God.”

  “Why me?” I asked, appalled. I was being given an impossible task. All I could do was pretend to obey and then lay low. Perhaps I would ride to the Weald, find this man and stay back from the fighting while he was crushed. No one could say I was shirking my duty if the Kentish archers were all dead.

  “Most loyal knights are flocking to the king,” the sheriff said. “We all must throw our lots in with him now. If the French win, if the rebels rise to power, we shall all lose our lands and everything we hold dear. Even our lives.”

  “What the sheriff means to say,” the archbishop said. “Is that you are a great knight. You have fought in countless skirmishes, raids, sieges and even pitched battle. You have the vigour and countenance of a man half your age, with the experience of one twice as old. Who better but you?”

  “And unlike many knights,” I said, “I cannot say no.”

  “Indeed.” The archbishop stood in front of me, almost of a height with me but bulky beneath his robes. “Think of this as an opportunity to regain your position. When you do this for him, the king will be willing to overlook any past rumours that surrounded you in the past.”

  “You give me your word that this will happen? That I and my men would be welcomed at court?”

  “What do you want at court?” my lord said, looking horrified.

  “I can teach John’s sons the lance or the sword,” I said. “Anything suitable that pays well for me and my men.”

  The archbishop relaxed when he realised my ambitions were so meagre. “What men?”

  The sheriff spoke up. “He means Jocelyn de Sherbourne.”

  “Ah, your son, of course. Yes, of course. Yes, yes. No, you shall be welcomed by the king, of course, and I will myself extend your lands and find you a better place to live than tired old Ashbury Manor. So full of dark memories and tainted with death. You could even bring that beautiful daughter of yours back into the world. She is still of childbearing age, is she not? She would dearly love to converse with ladies of her rank once more, I am sure. A suitable husband could be found. And is your boy married yet? He will have wealth enough to find a proper wife.”

  “You lay it on thickly,” I said. “But I will take you at your word, as witnessed by the sheriff here, is that not correct, Roger?”

  “Yes, yes,” he said, waving his hand at me.

  “Every day is vital, Richard, every single day. You will ride in the morning. I will see you provisioned. Eva, give Richard his money, will you.”

  The woman moved like a wolf, stalking toward me with her eyes fixed upon mine. I felt that I was the prey.

  “Here,” she said, her voice deep but clear and strong. She dumped a heavy purse into my hand and slid back.

  I hefted it and held it up. It was good to feel such riches, heavy in the palm of your hand. “I will ride at first light for the Weald and there I shall find this knight Cassingham. We shall fight the invasion with our two hundred peasants until the king comes. This Cassingham knows to expect me?”

  “I would not say that he expects you, precisely, no,” the archbishop said, walking away from me. “In fact, you may need to encourage him to stay and to fight the French.”

  “We have prepared you this letter for him,” the sheriff said, handing it over. “It has both mine and the archbishop’s seal upon it.”

  I had been given an impossible task but I could see no way out of it. What could I say? I laughed and nodded, tucking the letter away.

  “One final thing,” the archbishop had the good manners to at least look embarrassed. “You must take Eva here with you.”

  I could not understand for a moment. “A woman?” I looked at her. “I care not that you bristle, so, girl. My lord, I cannot escort a young woman through England when it is beset by war.”

  His great forehead knitted together and his voice became a growl. “She is more than capable of taking care of herself. And you will do as I command.”

  “Very well,” I said to her. “I will come for you at the Castle at first light. Do not be late as I shall not wait for you, not at all, do you understand me, woman?”

  “Perfectly,” she said, her lips tightening, curling up at the edges.

  I knew that I had to abandon her.

  ***

  As I was led through the keep, the bailey and the outer gate, I felt a deep, profound fury at the thought of William slipping away once again.

  The sheriff had insisted that I be escorted all the way out of the castle. No doubt, he wished to keep me well away from Marian so I was accompanied by three of his men. Burly fellows with stout clubs, no doubt very good at keeping townsfolk in order. I could have killed all three in the blink of an eye but, of course, Roger knew I would not create a disturbance for the sake of the young woman. But it confirmed how much he was concerned for her.

  I looked for her but did not see her until I was well outside the walls.

  At the bottom of the pathway up into the castle main gate, a short, stocky servant with stick-thin legs swept the path outside a large, newly built two-story house. It was by that time very dark so it was strange that she be working so furiously when she should have been resting. Bent-backed and swaying, she swept ineffectually, glancing around from deep within her hood. I assumed she had lost her wits.

  “Sir Richard,” the old lady hissed as she sidled up to me keeping her back to the gate and the guards standing inside far up the slope. She peered out of the shadows of her hood.

  “Sweet Jesus Christ,” I said. “It is you, Marian.”

  It
took a moment for me to recognise her because she was dressed in a peasant’s garb that was far too large for her. Her clothes were bulky and lumpy around her abdomen, like she was a deformed old crone.

  “Keep your voice down,” she said, her eyes glaring up at the castle walls.

  I drew her into the shadow of the house. “What in the world are you wearing?”

  She grinned. “My maid Joan brought me some clothes. I have stuffed my own garments inside to make me appear fat. Rather ingenious, is it not”

  “It is madness,” I said. “How did you get out?”

  “I am no prisoner,” she shot back. “Well, not precisely. I simply have no place to run to.”

  “You went through all this to speak to me?”

  Her eyebrows knotted together over her nose. “What? No. No, I wish to come with you.”

  I drew her deeper into the shadows as two squires strode by, their arms full of linen. “I am going to war.”

  “I know that. I heard them speaking. I had to warn you and beg your help. Please, you must get me out of here.”

  “Warn me of what? What did you hear?”

  “They wish to get you far away from Nottingham. I think they are expecting that you will die.”

  “You have warned me and you have my thanks. Now you must return.”

  “I shall not return. If you do not take me, I shall run anyway. I have food, wine.” She tapped her bulky body. “My good, kind friend Joan will take my place, calling out through the door if asked. She is old and fat but she has the voice of a girl. She will slip away back to her own rooms at dawn before I am discovered to be gone.”

  “If he is truly infatuated with you, his men will bring you back.”

  “I must act. I must at least try. I cannot simply sit and wait and allow myself to become that man’s wife.”

  “Would it be so bad?” I ventured. “To be the husband of an enormously wealthy lord?”

  She set her jaw. For a moment, I thought she was going to hit me. Instead, she softened. “Will you not be a true knight and save a maiden in need of rescue?”

  “The ballads are not true to the world. You will find that out in time.”

  Marian leaned into me, looking up with her big eyes. “They all say how you are a true knight. That you risked your life to save that of the Lionheart. That you risked your life to rid the holy land of an evil band. That you fought bravely for King John in Normandy and Gascony, storming the wall after wall-”

  “Stop, stop, you think I am so weak as to be won over by flattery? Do you take me for a fool?”

  She straightened up. “Yes,” she said. “The sheriff is lying to you, using you, sending you into harm’s way. Would taking me with you not be a way to set even the score against him?”

  I looked at her then up at the castle. Then back at her again.

  “Hide your face, look down. You will have to spend the night in the stables.”

  Jocelyn had paid generously for the stable boys to look the other way. No doubt, word of a blood-soaked monk tied up in the stall would get back to the sheriff by morning but he had troops to muster so I hoped I could be away the moment the gates were opened.

  “Who is this?” Jocelyn asked.

  “You wanted me to hire servants, did you not?” I said, ushering Marian into a separate stall to Tuck’s. The horses were yet nervous of the man but Jocelyn had worked his magic on them and they stood quietly and slept. My grey courser was even laying down to a deep sleep.

  “Men servants,” Jocelyn said. “Not an old scrubber woman.”

  I was silently gleeful at the prospect of his regretting those words when he saw the young lady. I felt her resist my hand as I guided her into the stall by the grey but I pushed gently her inside.

  “She is joining us and we will have not another word on the matter until we are on the road. Not another word until then, do you hear me?”

  Jocelyn understood something was up and he must have died to ask what. I whispered to the girl that I would find her some clean straw and a blanket.

  “The monk was groaning,” Jocelyn whispered. “I had to knock him about the head. He sleeps now but when he wakes I fear his cries may wake the dead.”

  “He is perhaps dying of thirst,” I said.

  “Thirst for blood?” Jocelyn asked, with a heavy emphasis.

  “I have only felt I needed it when gravely wounded,” I said. “Other times it is an urge I am able to resist.”

  “You can resist,” Jocelyn whispered. “But this fellow appears unable to last much longer. Come and see for yourself.”

  “It is too dark,” I said. “What would I see?”

  “He has the appearance of a corpse,” Jocelyn said. “I paid a couple of grooms to bring water, wash the fiend and change his robe for a peasant’s garb while I stood guard.”

  “Good man,” I said.

  “But I saw that his skin was green and mottled, fetid and taught. As if he were dead.”

  “Yet he breathes.”

  “I do not like it,” Jocelyn said. “And the grooms were as disgusted and disturbed as I was. No doubt word will be spreading that you keep this creature. No, I do not like this, Richard.”

  “You will like what the sheriff and archbishop said even less.”

  Of course, I should have known that Jocelyn would embrace the chance for glory. To save a kingdom, single-handed, was all Jocelyn ever wanted. That and fame, riches and a well-bred wife to give him sons while he spent every day out hunting. Not too much to ask of God.

  “We must be together at the gate and ride out through it the moment it is opened. We shall be miles away before the archbishop’s woman realises she has been abandoned.”

  “She is supposed to watch you for him,” Jocelyn said.

  “Of course. But why not send a man? Surely, he must have expected me to reject her and he will somehow later use it against me. Bah, I have no mind for these things. Go, eat, find the squires and send them to me. We must buy up supplies for the road. The prices will be as high as Heaven but the archbishop has bought me with these coins.”

  Marian slept curled up on the straw without complaint. It was as we mounted at dawn that Jocelyn realised that the old scrubber was, in fact, a great beauty. I thought his eyes would burst from his head but he controlled himself and we rode out as quickly and quietly as we could.

  Brother Tuck was almost dead but I bound him in sackcloth and carried him over my shoulder. I told the porter I was taking one of my men home for burial. He did not believe me but he let us through the gate.

  Our little company headed west. I meant to stop at home on the way South.

  Not five miles along the road from Nottingham stood a knight with his horse, a very fine black courser, waiting for us.

  “Is it a trap?” Jocelyn said, drawing his sword and looking all around at the fields beside the road for signs of waiting ambush.

  “Of a kind,” I said. “That is no knight. That is Eva, the archbishop’s bodyguard.”

  Chapter Six – The Weald

  We rode east for the morning, as I wanted the sheriff’s pursuers to think I was heading for Derby and my own land. But well before midday, I instead took us through a narrow track that led roughly south. We weaved our way through wooded hills toward the River Trent, where I knew of a little-used ford used mainly by drovers.

  If we avoided trouble right away, we still had two hundred miles or more to go before we made it to Kent. I had decided immediately to avoid London because I was afraid that the French would have taken it by the time we got there. So we would continue to edge west of south from Leicester, perhaps to Cirencester and cross south of the Thames high upstream, then hook around London and keep on east, all the way to Kent. It was the end of May when we left Nottingham and the damp, misty morning turned warm and stayed that way.

  A strange company we made as we set out that first day. Eva, the archbishop’s supposed bodyguard, had impressed me by stealing the march on us, presumably sneaking out f
rom one of the town gates in the dark or earlier and spending the night out by the side of the road. The archbishop had clearly meant for her to spy on me and she meant to carry out that duty with no regard for her own wellbeing. Women are born to bear pain and they do so better than men, yet they do not endure discomfort with the same fortitude.

  Her woollen cloak hung heavy with dew and under it, she wore her full hauberk, black surcoat and a fully enclosed great helm hung from her saddle. It was clear from the way it clung to her when she moved that her hauberk fit her perfectly. There was no doubt that it had been made for her, fitted exactly to her shape, rather than some lad’s cast off. It was excellent quality and would have been a significant investment for any knight. In her case, the archbishop had presumably paid for it and he was wealthy beyond the limits of my imagination. At least, before the king had bled him dry over the years.

  “I had hoped to leave you behind. But as you are here, well, of course, you are most welcome to join us,” I said, feigning acceptance of her outmanoeuvring of me.

  “Just as your lord commanded you,” she said, looking me square in the face before mounting her fine horse.

  She barely spoke a word all morning. I did not ask her questions and she volunteered nothing of herself. She rode well and her gear appeared well worn and well cared for. Barely any rust at all. I doubted I could give her the slip easily but I intended to get rid of her as soon as I could.

  Jocelyn was tight-lipped, confounded by her sudden appearance and her arrogant style of dress. But he was barely aware of Eva. Marian had caught his eye.

  She was wrapped in my cloak, with the hood up over her own, sitting very well in the saddle of the ageing palfrey I had provided for her. That palfrey was old when I bought him years before but still he had cost a small fortune for his gait was as smooth as a maiden’s belly. Aged as he was, I rarely taxed him with my weight but he was an ideal mount for a young lady. Marian had seemed touched by my generosity, offering to ride one of the packhorses instead and I warmed to her even more. She wore the servant garb, still stuffed with clothing and food and the Lord knew what else so she looked as round as a ripe apple. Even with her face down and in shadow, she could not hide her beauty.