by Merry Farmer
“Why would Alfred want to threaten me?” The prince pulled himself to his full height and stepped closer still to him. “I have given him power. I have given him position.”
“I believe he wants more. I know he wants more. But I do not know how far he would go to gain more.”
“And you, Sir Crispin of Huntingdon.” The prince raked him with a glance. “Do you want more?”
Crispin’s heart hammered in his throat. “I only want to go home to live a peaceful life with my wife,” he answered with naked honesty. “I want to have children, raise a family with her, grow old with her, die, and be buried next to her for eternity.” He could see the wonderful dream stretching out in front of him, but never had it seemed farther away.
The Prince watched him, shrewd eyes calculating. Crispin knew the game was up. He had been too emotional, played poorly and given himself away. Then, when he thought he would crack under the pressure of the prince’s stare, it softened into a smile. The prince patted his arm like a brother. “Women do that to us, don’t they. They make us dream of being old men.” He chuckled and kept on walking.
He let out his breath and followed, stunned. Sweat broke out on his back as they continued down the stairs. All he had needed to do was plant a few seeds. He had no idea if he had done that or not. But when he walked into the War Room side-by-side with the prince and saw the look of fury on Buxton’s face, in one blinding moment he knew that if his seeds did not grow it would mean his death.
“Ah, my liege.” Buxton bowed and held a hand out to the small round table with three chairs in the middle of the room. Pennington stood behind one of the chairs and bowed in deference to the prince. “We have been waiting for you.”
“I was having breakfast in my room, Alfred.” The prince smiled and took Buxton’s hand. He shook it and patted him on the back. The sudden gesture made Buxton bristle and when the prince let him go he wrung his hand. “I always prefer to negotiate on a full stomach and your kitchens have been good to me.”
“Yes, of course,” Buxton laughed. He held a hand out to the largest of the three chairs. “Do sit down.”
The prince sat first, followed by Buxton and Pennington. Crispin took his place behind Buxton’s chair. Normally he would stand against the wall when attending Buxton, but one fleeting glance from the prince kept him where he was. His skin prickled as he fought not to interpret the look. He was now following the prince’s orders and not Buxton’s.
“We all know why we’re here.” Buxton unrolled a small parchment on the table.
“To kill a king.” Prince John grinned and laughed. Pennington laughed along with him and Buxton pretended to. Crispin remained silent, face stone. His worst suspicions were confirmed.
“My price is a hundred thousand pounds,” Pennington stated with a smile.
“Payable in installments,” Buxton followed without pause.
Crispin had never heard anything close to this before. It was more money than he would see in a lifetime for a royal assassination.
“Of course,” Pennington nodded.
“Ten thousand to be delivered today,” Buxton went on happily, “the rest to be delivered twice a year in nine deliveries of ten thousand each to you in … wherever it is you choose to retire, Venice or something.”
“By the woman, Lady Aubrey,” Pennington finished.
Fire pulsed through Crispin’s blood with the words and with the lascivious smile that Pennington gave him from across the table. “My lord, no!” He itched to draw his sword and drive it into Buxton’s heart right there, and Pennington’s right after.
“Huntingdon,” Buxton cooed his name and twisted in his chair to gloat at him. “Where is your loyalty to the cause, man? We are saving England from a negligent king here. We all have to make sacrifices. Or are you not loyal?” Buxton glanced to Prince John.
The trap strangled him. “I am loyal, my lord, but-”
“Then take one for the team!” Buxton snapped. “Or rather, let your wife take one for the team.” Rage drained the blood from Crispin’s face at the suggestion. “You will be well compensated you know, and it’s not like she’ll be gone all year. Just most of it.”
“My lord, you know as well as I do-”
“Shut up, Huntingdon, it’s already been decided.” Buxton dismissed him with a self-satisfied wave and turned back to the table. “As for the gory details of the assassination-”
“I’m not so sure I’m ready to go on to the gory details quite yet.” The prince’s words sucked the air out of the room. “I wish to change the terms.”
Both Buxton and Pennington goggled at him as if he had grown another head. Crispin swayed on the balls of his feet, hand flexing over his sword hilt, ready to strike or run if it would save Aubrey.
He froze when the prince glanced to him with a look that commanded him to wait. “Let’s leave Lady Huntingdon out of this, shall we?”
“But, my liege….” Buxton squirmed in his seat. He hissed out an breath before continuing. “She is intelligent enough to do the job, Pennington wants her.” The emissary narrowed eyes at Buxton as he spoke. “And frankly she’s a constant thorn in my side. I mean, she’s ruined Huntingdon. If anything should go wrong-”
“Are you expecting something to go wrong?” For the barest fraction of a second the prince’s eyes flickered to Crispin, so quickly Crispin wasn’t sure he had actually seen it.
Buxton gaped. “No, my liege, but we worked all this out already. Look, it’s already on the parchment. You can’t go back now!”
“Are you suggesting, Alfred, that a prince cannot change his mind? That he should bow to the demands of his vassals?” Buxton sputtered. Prince John rose from his chair and towered over the table. “Perhaps it is not Sir Crispin’s loyalty that should be questioned.”
Crispin swallowed hard. His hands shook and his head swam. He closed his hand around his sword. He could feel the rage radiating off of Buxton even if he couldn’t see his master’s face.
“My liege.” Buxton stood on uncertain legs and bowed to his knees. “You know I am your most loyal subject. I have sought for years to help you gain the throne. I have raised half of the money due for this payment, recruited an assassin from within the royal household at great risk to myself.” He backed up as he spoke. Crispin could now see his pale, panicked face.
“One wonders how you came to know such an assassin, Alfred,” the prince challenged him.
Buxton smacked dry lips and raised his eyes to the prince. “He … he came highly recommended, my liege.”
There was a moment of thick silence in the room. Prince John glared at Buxton, who was making a great show of bowing his head in deference. He was making a grave mistake by not meeting the prince’s eyes.
“I will make a deal with you, Pennington.” Prince John ignored Buxton and turned back to the table. Pennington bowed his head. “I will give you ten thousand pounds and I will give it to you now. I will provide you with a personal bodyguard for as long as you like. I will guarantee your immunity in any land held by the English crown. If you accomplish my brother’s demise upon his return to England, I will give you twenty thousand more and an escort to anywhere you want to go to live out the rest of your life in regal splendor.”
Pennington smiled. “But not the woman.”
“Not that one, no. She’s already taken.”
Another tense silence filled the room. Pennington nodded in agreement. A huge weight lifted off of Crispin’s shoulders. He fought not to show it beyond the involuntary breath that escaped from sheer relief. Buxton strangled a groan.
Prince John straightened and looked at each man in the room in turn. When he had met each of their eyes he softened into a smile and relaxed. “Well now, that’s done. I believe we have some entertainment to engage in.”
Pennington stood and met Prince John with as humble a bow as Crispin thought he was capable of. They walked towards the door together.
Buxton turned on Crispin as Pennington and the pr
ince passed through the doorway and into the hall. He drew a foot-long dagger from a concealed scabbard against his side. Crispin caught the move and jumped back fast enough so that when Buxton thrust at him he was out of reach. Seeing that he had missed his target Buxton rushed forward, dagger thrusting at Crispin’s heart. Crispin backpedaled, reaching for his sword but unable to draw it in time. Buxton chased him up against the wall and had the dagger ready to thrust into his stomach when the prince strode back into the room and shouted, “Alfred!” Both Buxton and Crispin froze, eyes locked. “Stop dawdling.”
Buxton concealed the knife in the folds of his cloak before the prince could see it. A grin spread across his thin lips and sunken eyes. “You are dead, Huntingdon,” he seethed, black hatred in his eyes. “You and your precious Aubrey and your boy Jack will all be dead before the sun sets today.”
“Sir Crispin, you too,” Prince John called again.
“Coming, my liege.” Buxton turned and smiled, holding his hands wide to show that there was nothing in them. He strolled to the prince’s side, straightening his tunic with a sniff. Crispin dropped his arms and glanced at his tunic. A slice went through to his shirt and drew a faint red line along his abdomen. He heaved a long, shuddering breath before forcing himself to recover and join the others.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Great Hall was swarming with preparations for the chess match when they arrived. Pennington disappeared into the colorful throng of nobles. Buxton sent Crispin one last glare before charging up to the gallery. He waved his guards to him and whispered wild instructions, sending Crispin another glare coupled with a toothy grin that made his blood run cold. Two of the guards nodded and rushed off.
“Go find your lady.” Prince John rested a hand on Crispin’s shoulder. His eyes dropped to the clean cut in his tunic. The hand weighed heavily on his shoulder. Then the prince patted him again and sent him off with a nod.
All he wanted was Aubrey. Everything within him was desperate for her. He had to find her and the sooner the better. There was no going back now.
She was busy to the side of the room, handing out white tabards with black chess pieces painted on them. Jack was by her side. At least something was right. When he reached them they both looked at him as if seeing a ghost. Aubrey dropped the tabards and clasped both hands on either side of his face.
“You’re pale as a sheet,” her voice quavered. His eyes flickered to the hole in his tunic without a word. She saw it and hardened into cold steel. “What happened?”
He didn’t answer. With her touch some of his life was coming back. He bent over and picked up the dropped tabards, taking out one marked with a knight and throwing it over his head, hands shaking.
“There is no going back now.” Jack stepped forward to close their small circle, a look of understanding in his eyes. Crispin assumed Aubrey had told him of the pseudo plan and he was more grateful for it than he thought he would be. “He’s promised the three of us will be dead by the end of the day.”
Aubrey nodded, turning pale herself. Jack clasped his friend’s forearm in a show of solidarity. Aubrey darted off to a carved chest against the wall and returned with a long wooden practice sword. She handed it to Crispin, showing him without words how a tiny latch on the handle turned to free the sharp steel sword from its wooden casing. “I have one too,” she told him. She nodded down to her boots and Crispin saw the glimmer of his wolf-headed dagger concealed there. He noticed with a sudden flicker of a smile that she wore the outfit she had once worn as the Bandit with a white queen’s tabard over top.
Crispin glanced to Jack. “I got two, mate.” He drew two swords from his belt. They also appeared to be wooden.
“Two?” Crispin found strength in his voice for the first time all day.
“Yeah.” A rogue’s grin touched Jack’s face as he swung the swords in quick circles in front of them, blades intertwining in a wicked dance. “I’ve learned a few tricks, thought I might show ‘em off.”
A blast of trumpets called them to the game. A buzz went up from the assembly as the servants began ushering the nobles up to the gallery or to a platform that had been raised at the far end of the room. It cleared the painted chess board in the center of the room. The prince, who had been laughing with one of the parties of nobles, started towards them.
“Jack, I want you to protect the prince at all costs. All costs. Whatever happens you stick by him and do not let him leave your sight,” Crispin ordered, eyes dark and serious.
“Right.” Jack grinned in anticipation.
“Thank you, Lady Huntingdon.” The prince bowed to Aubrey as she handed him his king’s tabard. “And thank you, Sir Crispin.” He flicked his eyes to Jack to show that he had heard the order.
“No, my liege,” Crispin bowed, “thank you.”
Aubrey glanced from one man to the other, miserable with worry over all that those words could imply, over Crispin’s announcement that there was no going back. “Are we all ready?”
“This should be interesting.” The prince smiled at her, taking her gloved hand and kissing it.
They set to work on last minute preparations, Aubrey making sure all of the men on her team were armed, had their tabards, and knew their places. The nobles who she had let into the game preened and showed-off for each other as she cursed their stupidity. Crispin and Jack scanned the room, assessing the space, the noble spectators, the opposing team, looking for exits, weaknesses, traps. Aubrey studied the men on Pennington’s side of the board. Most were nobles decked out in their finest, but one or two had their faces concealed under long hoods. They must be the ringers.
Jack saw what she was thinking and turned to study the men. His eager expression tightened. “Ethan,” he seethed in a low voice.
“Where?” Crispin scanned the room through narrowed eyes as Aubrey swallowed.
“Black queen,” Jack told him, pretending that he hadn’t noticed. The men on both sides were coming out to take their places on the board as the trumpeters sounded another fanfare.
Crispin sent a questioning glance to Aubrey. She wasn’t surprised. Ethan had spent the last seven months tying her in knots. Why should he stop now. Crispin took her hand and squeezed it, kissed her forehead, then handed her over to the prince.
The crowd of nobles applauded as Aubrey and the prince walked to the center of the board and bowed before heading to their places. She stood with only the castle’s master-at-arms, York, in a bishop’s tabard, standing between her and Crispin. He glanced from the Prince to Harrow, one of the few guards they knew they could trust, in the other bishop’s tabard to Jack. The two men’s eyes met and they nodded.
The trumpet fanfare stopped and Buxton appeared in the gallery above the board. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced. “We are here today to witness a symbolic gesture of peace! For this very morning Arthur Pennington, emissary of King Richard, and our own Prince John have taken the first steps to begin the process of reconciliation between brothers which will bring stability to Derbyshire and England!” A cry of delight swelled from the crowd. The prince and Pennington waved to the assembly and accepted the praise that was offered. “And so as a symbol of the end of conflict, Pennington has challenged our own Lady Huntingdon,” he growled out her name, “to a human chess match.” As the crowd cheered Aubrey tried to smile and wave. She glanced to Crispin for support.
“The rules of the game are simple. The pieces move like any other chess game. When one piece is in a position to take another, the two men, or woman in the case of Lady Huntingdon,” Buxton said her name as if it were something sour, “will engage in combat. No, not real combat. Pity about that. There’s a few people down there I wouldn’t mind seeing bloodied.” The nobles laughed at Buxton’s apparent joke. “No, they battle with imitation weapons, if you will. Combat will continue until one side yields. And if there are any disputes, well, as host of this game I will be the judge.” As he announced this Buxton sent a murderous glance to Crispin. Crispin met B
uxton’s threat with eyes of fire. “Pennington has graciously given Lady Huntingdon the white tabards and the first move. Let the game begin!”
The trumpeters played a long, elaborate fanfare as the crowd applauded and everyone took their final places. Aubrey stood in her square, heart pounding, gathering all of her resolve. She would win this match. But more importantly, she would find a way to create enough chaos so that Crispin could go after Buxton. She looked to the prince on her left and tried to be reassured by his smile. Then she took a deep breath and announced, “Queen’s pawn forward two!”
The crowd applauded the first move of the game and the chunky nobleman who had spent a solid hour the day before begging to be on her team stepped forward two squares.
Pennington grinned across the board at Aubrey, his eyes shadowed. He countered with “Queen’s pawn forward two.”
One of his men, a noble with curling black feathers in his cap, rushed to face her pawn. The two men made a show of staring each other down until they both laughed.
Aubrey couldn’t laugh. She needed to attack. “Queen’s knight to King’s row, third square.” She sent Crispin an stoic glance as he walked through the two pawns in front of him and took his new place with a glance over his shoulder to her. The crowd murmured and a few shouted to the black pawn that he had better watch out.
“Queen’s bishop’s pawn forward one.” Pennington protected the pawn he already had in play with another. The queen’s pawn made a show of being relieved, playing to the crowd.
In her mind Aubrey was trying to map two games; the chess match in front of her and her own plan to position Crispin and Jack where she needed them. “King’s knight to Queen’s row, third square.” Jack nudged his way through the pawns in front of him to a spot mirroring Crispin. The two men glanced at each other, tense. The crowd was disappointed by the move. They thought they were going to see a battle at last.
