by Merry Farmer
“Get out of the way, Jack!” Ethan had the glazed, stunned look of a man resorting to survival instinct.
“No!” The others, Tom, Toby, and Roderick, rushed onto the board, running towards the middle of the room while most people were running away.
“With the ransom money John would fetch we could mount a real opposition!”
“I protect the prince!” Jack shouted, swinging his blades. In the gallery he saw Crispin’s back disappearing out the door and into the hall. Past Ethan he saw Aubrey sprint up the stairs after them. “We don’t have time for this!”
“The prince can protect himself.” John stepped to Jack’s side, drawing the long knife he carried.
“Forgive me, my liege.” Ethan bowed and then attacked.
Jack swung into action, lunging at Ethan and missing, but turning with both swords outstretched. Ethan jumped back but Toby, who had surged forward to protect his master, was not fast enough and took a blade slice clean across the chest.
Jack didn’t have time for regret. He kept going after Ethan, his sword clanging against Ethan’s and shattering the wood that he had not had time to discard. He saw Roderick coming at him from the corner of his eye and ducked a swing from the mace that he held, turning in time to thrust both swords sideways at the young man. He made contact with something but didn’t have time to see what as both Ethan and Tom rushed at him from his other side.
He swung around, grey eyes set with deadly determination, one sword high and one low, and used the momentum of his body to twist and defend first against Ethan’s attack, then Tom’s. Tom caught him in the arm with the side of his axe, ripping off a piece of flesh. With a strangled grunt Jack fought not to lose his left-hand sword. He pivoted and thrust at Ethan, again hitting something but not knowing what, then used his right hand to slash at Roderick, who rushed him.
He felt the blunt blow to his back but ignored it in spite of how it made his shoulders sting. Ethan had fallen and now only Roderick and Tom faced him. Tom swung and attempted to chop off his arm. He came close enough to take a chunk near his left elbow. He shouted and dropped his left-hand sword, forcing himself to focus and return the blow.
Tom stood gaping at the blood that poured from his arm and for a moment he knew he had a clean shot at his brother’s heart. He couldn’t do it. Instead he slashed low, tearing a gash in Tom’s leg. He watched as Prince John thrust his knife at Roderick’s back, slicing it across his side and meeting Jack’s eyes with a frenzied grin. Jack’s jaw dropped open as he saw the young man stumble. But he didn’t have time to feel pain or remorse or grief. He nodded to the prince. They shot off across the now mostly empty hall towards the stairs, up to the gallery, and out into the hall after Aubrey.
Aubrey struggled up the stairs, pushing through people and knocking them over in her desperation to get to Buxton. She was going to kill him herself.
Once clear of the Great Hall she sprinted down the corridor, turning the corner and racing along the only route he could have taken. He would pay for killing Geoffrey, for torturing Crispin for so long. She would make him pay.
She heard the clang of swords in the Front Hall and as she burst into the scene she saw Crispin and Buxton battling near the door. Her heart faltered for a moment as Buxton sliced a hole in Crispin’s sleeve through which blood poured. But Crispin was focused on one thing. He swung his sword, just missing Buxton’s head as he ducked and bolted for the door. Crispin’s sword crashed into the door, sticking for a moment and raining splinters.
Buxton took advantage of the situation and tried to thrust his blade into Crispin’s stomach, but he was too close. Instead of impaling Crispin he only managed to cut a huge gash in Crispin’s side. It was enough. Crispin lost his grip and his footing and fell backwards, clamping a hand over his bleeding side.
Aubrey blanched. “No!” she screamed in fury and ran across the hall, sword first, at Buxton.
Buxton was stunned by her rage and pushed open the door, stumbling onto the landing above the courtyard before she could reach him. She charged out into the cold air and met him blade for blade at the top of the long stairs. She didn’t care what the odds where or whether she was supposed to be able to fight him or not. She slashed with all of her might, parried his attempts to master his fear of her and slashed again. She brought her sword crashing towards his head, nicking the side of his face as he took moments too long to defend himself. He thrust at her and she caught the blade with her own, deflecting it. Buxton’s momentum pushed into her, and when he lost his balance and stumbled he doubled over and saw the wolf-head dagger in her boot.
He shoved her and grabbed for the dagger at the same time.
Crispin cradled his wounded side and arm, feeling light-headed from the loss of blood, as Aubrey charged past him into the courtyard. The blast of cold air that came in through the open door reinvigorated him, and he scrambled to his feet and to his sword. As he stood and steadied himself against the wall Jack and Prince John tore down the hall and into the room. That too gave him strength and he pushed himself up from the wall and out through the door.
He saw Aubrey battling with Buxton, her eyes wild and her face red with rage and blood. She was more than holding her own, fighting Buxton off like a master. Buxton pushed towards her and Crispin jumped forward when she stumbled.
Jack and the prince skidded to a stop just outside of the door. Buxton reached for the dagger in Aubrey’s boot. As he straightened he slashed across her stomach. Aubrey cried out in pain as the white tabard she wore was splashed with dark red. She fell backwards.
“No!” Crispin charged. He blasted his whole weight into Buxton, knocking him clean off his feet and away from Aubrey. The two of them crashed down the stairs, leaving splatters of red against the gray stones as they smashed and tumbled across stair after stair and into the courtyard.
When he hit the bottom Crispin lay stunned for a moment. He was broken in several places and his left leg throbbed in agony, but he hadn’t hit his head once. He struggled to his hands and knees, fought the pain and the dizziness and the blackness that pressed in on him from all sides. His sword had fallen out of his hands halfway down the stairs.
Buxton lay groaning on his back, the wolf-head dagger still in his hand. Narrowing his eyes and gathering the last bit of strength he had Crispin clawed his way over to Buxton and wrestled the dagger from him.
“Crispin,” Buxton gurgled, half rage, half entreaty. “Crispin, no! Spare me!” Prince John ran down the stairs to their side. “John! My friend John. Stop him! Save me!” Crispin tightened his grip on the dagger and held it with both hands over Buxton’s throat. The prince remained silent, shaking his head turning his back.
At the top of the stairs Aubrey fought her way to her hands and knees and saw Crispin hovering over Buxton, dagger poised. “Is this how you repay me?” Buxton panted, too weak to push himself off his back. “I gave you power, Crispin, I gave you position. I loved you. Everything you are you owe to me. Is this what you call loyalty?”
Crispin couldn’t catch his breath. The world was growing dark around him. His strength seeping away. “Everything I was I owe to you,” he panted through clenched teeth. “Everything I am I owe to Aubrey. I am loyal to Aubrey alone.”
As he finished the words he thrust with the weight of his broken, tired body and drove the dagger into Buxton’s throat up to the hilt.
He was too spent to do more than balance himself there as his former master sputtered, gurgled, tried to thrash and fight, failed and died. And as the struggling and death rattle stopped Crispin felt the last of his strength give out.
He let go to the blackness and sank to the red-flecked stones.
Aubrey’s arms and legs wanted to give out as she watched Crispin crumple. She opened her mouth in a silent scream, scrambling down the stone steps on her hands and knees, scraping her palms and bruising her legs as she fought her way to where her husband lay. Jack sprinted down the steps after her. When she reached the courtyard she flun
g herself on Crispin’s body, pulling him off of Buxton and into her arm, mad sobs escaping from her as she held him, rocking, her head bent over him, forehead resting against his face.
At the top of the stairs Ethan and his men, Tom with a bandage wrapped around his leg, Toby and Roderick supporting each other, limped through the door and saw the scene below them. Buxton lay spread-eagle, eyes wide, mouth open, dagger protruding from his throat. Aubrey sat rocking over Crispin, whose pale face lay with closed eyes. Jack and Prince John stood in the middle of the scene, gaping.
Ethan rushed down the stairs. “Aubrey,” he spoke her name, reaching out.
“Get away from me!” she ordered, voice jagged, eyes red and glassy.
“Aubrey, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t touch me!” She growled and swiped at him. She lost her balance and fell against the stairs, Crispin slipping out of her arms.
“Let me help you,” Ethan tried again.
Jack stepped forward to hold Ethan off, to protect Aubrey, too stunned to do anything else. Tom limped down the stairs to Crispin. He placed a hand on his chest, examining the many slash wounds on his arms and torso.
Eyes pleading, Ethan struggled out of Jack’s grasp. “Aubrey-”
“I love him!” Aubrey cried out from the depths of her shattering heart. “Don’t you understand that? I love him! His whole life he had nothing, loved nothing, and no one loved him. But he loved me. He always loved me. He made sacrifice after sacrifice for me and I never knew it. I wasted my time believing that I loved you instead! I was a fool! And now it’s too late.” With her last words she broke into a strangled sob. She hugged herself, tears streaming down her face and wails of grief ripping from her lungs.
Tom sat back on his haunches slowly, eyes wide. He glanced at Ethan, but Ethan was in shock, unable to look at Aubrey, unable to look at anyone. Jack glanced back and forth between Crispin and Aubrey, eyes red-rimmed, clutching the rosary and raising it to his lips. The prince watched with regal impassivity.
Tom swallowed and scooted closer to Aubrey. He reached out, but when Aubrey slapped his hand he spoke in a quiet, calming voice, “Aubrey, he’s not dead.”
At first Aubrey didn’t register what Tom told her.
“He’s not dead. He’s breathing. His heart is beating.”
Her whole world stopped. She glanced up at Tom, mouth open, eyes and nose streaming and swollen.
It took several more seconds for the information to seep in. When it did she let out a breath that carried with it a choked sound of disbelief. She pushed past Tom and scrambled over to Crispin’s prone body. She lay a hand on his chest but didn’t hear or feel anything. She fumbled with the clasps of his tunic, wiping her nose and eyes with the back of her sleeve as she did, and ripped open what remained of his tattered shirt and pressed her ear to his chest.
She held her breath. There. Just there. Quiet, faint, but unmistakable. His heart.
She began to cry again, this time tears of joy that shook her body. Yes, she could feel his chest rising and falling. Slowly. She closed her eyes and said a prayer of thanks to God for sparing him. She put her arms around him and whispered his name. “Crispin.”
His arm moved, tentative, weak, and a hand fought its way up to rest on the side of her head, stroking her hair the way he did when they lay in bed on nights when he couldn’t sleep. Her tears turned to laughter. She pushed herself up, barely able to support herself on one arm. His eyes were open.
“Aubrey.” The word was quiet, choked with emotion. He blinked, eyes streaming. “I killed him.”
She shook her head again. “You saved my life. You saved your life. You saved more lives than just ours.”
He closed his eyes and nodded. His expression relaxed into one of peace, peace at last. He let out the breath that he had been holding for decades.
But then he opened his eyes. He saw Tom sitting by his side behind Aubrey, Ethan standing a few feet off watching him and Aubrey with a tortured expression. Toby and Roderick had come down the stairs to stand with their master.
Crispin raised a wavering, weak hand and pointed at Ethan. “A…” he began, drawing on all his reserves to find the energy he needed. “Arrest them.”
Epilogue
The Harvest Faire in Derbyshire would be remembered for generations. For months nobles and peasants alike kept themselves entertained with the story of how Prince John saved the good people of the shire from the corruption of Lord Alfred of Buxton. The stories included the great romance of Sir Crispin and Lady Huntingdon, who had been willing to die to save each other.
As one wild version of the story went, a wound that Sir Crispin had given his lady months earlier when she fought him in disguise as the Derbywood Bandit had saved her life when the slash of Buxton’s dagger deflected off of the hardened scar on her side. But it was ridiculous to think that a woman as kind and gracious as Lady Huntingdon could possibly be the Bandit, or that Sir Crispin would ever hurt anyone.
The best versions of the story were those spread through the city of Derby by Sir Crispin’s ginger-haired man. Jack Tanner was everywhere, organizing, arranging, and overseeing everything in the castle and the city as his master and friend recovered from his wounds. Some rumors said that he was a horse thief, that he had been rescued from certain death by Lady Huntingdon, but anyone who wanted to be taken seriously knew that he was a noble from some far-off shire who had just disguised himself as a thief to serve the prince. Jack wasn’t about to set them straight.
Prince John returned to Derby just after the new year. The snow of a few days before had hardened into ice and the sunshine of the morning of his arrival glistened off of icicles hanging from the walls and turrets. A feast was held in his honor and many of the nobles who had been chased off by Jack after the faire returned to enjoy it. The prince sat at the head of the table in the newly painted and redecorated Great Hall. Every sign of the chess match was gone and Buxton’s blue and green colors had been replaced by the royal standard of England. Crispin sat at the prince’s right hand and Aubrey at his left, with Jack on Crispin’s right.
The hall was bright and people laughed and talked. Even still, all Crispin wanted to do was go home to Windale. He missed the coziness of the manor, the intimacy of his and Aubrey’s bedroom. When the prince stood to speak he had to drag himself away from those fond thoughts, glancing to Aubrey who smiled and winked at him.
“My good people,” the prince announced, holding out his arms. “As I understand it, Derbyshire has had a bit of a shake-up this past season.” The assembled nobles laughed and a few applauded. The prince soaked up their praise, his smile smug and warm. “But as I understand it, the shire has not been without leadership during this time. My most loyal vassal, Sir Crispin of Huntingdon, has battled through his own near death and grievous injuries to continue to keep Derby and the surrounding country in order. I think it only appropriate to make that formal.” The assembled nobles cheered their agreement. The prince stepped away from his chair and walked around the end of the high table, striding out to a spot in the center of the floor. “Sir Crispin, would you please step forward.”
Aubrey grinned across the table to Crispin as he stood, head lowered and face coloring under the attention. He took hold of the thick cane he was now using to support himself as his broken leg healed and limped to the spot where the prince stood. The nobles all around applauded. It was a feeling like nothing Crispin had ever experienced. He remembered the long-ago promise that Buxton had made him; that he would make him wealthy, powerful, respected. He had kept true to that promise, though never in the way he would have expected.
“Sir Crispin, please kneel,” the prince commanded him.
Crispin leaned on his cane and lowered himself to his knees. Just when he thought he was going to stumble and fall flat on his face, Aubrey was at his side, holding him steady. He grinned at her and was nervous for a moment that he would show too much emotion when she took his hand and leaned her head on his shoulder.
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“Well this is unusual,” the prince laughed, “but perhaps appropriate.” He motioned for one of his attendants who brought forth a small polished and bejeweled sword. He took the sword and held it over Crispin. “Sir Crispin of Huntingdon, in thanks and in honor of the great sacrifices and services you have made to me personally and to England, and on behalf of my brother King Richard, I hereby appoint you Sheriff of Derbyshire.”
He lay the sword on Crispin’s shoulder and a great cheer went up from the nobles. The prince wasn’t done. He held out his hands for the nobles to quiet, and when they did he went on.
“Furthermore, as a reward for the unswerving loyalty that you have shown,” a mischievous smile lifted the corners of his mouth as Crispin glanced questioningly up at him. “I hereby also confer upon you the title of Earl of Derby, granting you all the land and jurisdiction inherent with it.”
A gasp went up from the nobles. Crispin had just been named as lord and master of all of them. He glanced up at the prince, eyes wide with surprised. “My liege,” he frowned, his tone daring to question him.
Prince John leaned closer to him. “You once told me that you did not want more, that all you wanted was to go home to your manor and raise a family and grow old with your lovely wife.” Aubrey looked from the prince to Crispin with a bright, stunned smile. “You are exactly the kind of man I will need watching my back.”
The prince smiled and bid Crispin and Aubrey rise. Crispin struggled to his feet, gripping his cane. As overwhelmed with gratitude as he was at his new status he felt the twist of obligation inside of it. The prince went on.
