Devlin pulled his legs from the table and sat forward so he could see Shain better. “I agree,” he said. “But it is best if you rest for today.”
Shain nodded faintly. “I suppose,” he said, his smile fading. “I am sorry about Freddy, Dev. I should have been more vigilant. I have no excuse.”
Devlin waved him off. “It is not your fault,” he said. “Freddy was out to kill us all, I think. He poisoned my wine. Iver drank it before I did and it killed him.”
Shain’s eyes widened. “Iver is dead?”
Devlin nodded, struggling against the sadness. “It was a swift death,” he said, although it didn’t make him feel any better to say it. “Then Freddy tried to kill you.”
“I was going to kill him,” Shain said softly.
“That is true, but there is no way Freddy could have known that,” he said. “He was unconscious when you took him out of the hall. For all he knew, you were taking him back to his bed to sleep off too much drink. The sentries who saw what happened said he attacked you.”
Shain nodded faintly, recollecting the events from the previous night. “It happened very fast,” he muttered. “I should have been prepared.”
Devlin reached down and put a hand on the man’s arm. “I am simply thankful you are alive,” he insisted quietly. “But now we have a bigger problem; Freddy has fled. If he survived the initial flight into the darkness and in the bad weather, then the question needs to be asked – where would he go? Freddy is half mad with ambition and anger, so I am sure he was not thinking too clearly when he left here. He has no close relatives; his brother Henry was killed during the destruction of Kildare’s armada, although I do believe he has an aunt on his father’s side who lives in Dublin. Would he go there, I wonder?”
Shain was silent for a moment, eyeing a big dog who wandered past him, searching for scraps.
“Think about it,” he said. “If you had tried to murder your liege, and then tried to kill another knight, and you were furious and hurt that your grab for power had failed, where would you go?”
Devlin thought about that for a moment, pondering what his reaction might have been under such circumstances. “I would want revenge, I suppose,” he said. “If it were me, I would want to gain revenge on those who humiliated me.”
“And if you wanted to destroy them, where would you go? Think, Dev; think.”
The line of reasoning was beginning to become clearer. Devlin could see what Shain was driving at.
“My enemy’s enemy is my friend,” he said softly, the light of understanding coming to his eyes. “I could go to O’Byrne and pledge loyalty, or I could go to de Cleveley and ask for amnesty in exchange for what I know about Black Sword.”
Shain turned to look at him, nodding his head. “If Freddy goes to de Cleveley, Lady Emllyn is there,” he reminded the man of what he already knew. “You told me and Iver and Freddy of your plans with de Cleveley, and you further told us that you had posed as a farmer and that de Cleveley’s commander had asked you to return to Black Castle to spy on Black Sword. You agreed to do so to get into the man’s good graces in order to find out if he was planning an attack against you. You wanted to earn his trust.”
By this time, Devlin was on his feet, seized with the idea that Frederick might be heading to Glenteige Castle to betray both him and Emllyn. It was as good a possibility as any.
“He will tell de Noble that I am Black Sword and that Emllyn was in on the deception all along,” he said, feeling his heart race and his palms sweat with panic. “Sweet Jesus, if he does that, de Noble… de Noble could very well put Emllyn in the vault or, worse yet, execute her for treachery.”
“Frederick could have the last word in all of this,” Shain said softly. “He could ruin everything you’ve worked for.”
Devlin stared at him and Shain could see the emotion in the man’s face. It brought back the memory from their trip south, when Devlin had been so protective over Lady Emllyn and had shown her such consideration. Shain had asked him then if there was something between them but Devlin had skirted the subject. But now, looking at Devlin’s face, he could see that there was indeed something between them. Devlin must have sensed his thoughts because he lowered his gaze.
“Shain,” he said hesitantly, “I must tell you something, something I’ve not told anyone.”
“What is that?”
Devlin drew in a deep breath. “The night that Freddy brought Emllyn to me, I abused her,” he said quietly. “I abused her badly. I told her I wanted to fill her full of Irish sons to rebel against the English. But she was strong, Shain; she was so very strong against me. She was wise and she was reasonable. I have never met a woman like her.”
“I see.”
Devlin shook his head. “That isn’t what I wanted to tell you,” he went on. “She intrigued me more than I wanted to admit. And she is so incredibly beautiful. She is also witty and intelligent. She’s the most marvelous woman I have ever met.”
“Is that so?”
Shain was remaining very neutral about the whole thing and Devlin suddenly looked at him. “I love her,” he blurted, then winced because he had spilled it out without tact. He struggled to recover. “I love her and I do not regret it. She is the most miraculous thing that has ever happened to me, Shain. She has made me feel things I never thought I would feel. She is my sun and the stars. If she wanted the moon, I would give it to her.”
Shain had guessed as much. Although he didn’t exactly approve, he couldn’t fault the man his happiness. Still, it might come at a price.
“If Freddy has headed for Glenteige, then he will be there before you,” he said. “When you return there, and I know you will, you must be prepared for the damage he has done.”
Devlin thought on that long and hard. “It will all depend on if he can convince de Noble of the fact that the farmer he knew as John is actually Black Sword,” he said. “If he is able to do that, then they will know Emllyn was in on the treachery.”
“Not necessarily,” Shain said. “Didn’t you tell me that your story to de Noble was that you were a farmer who found the lady upon the shore? It would be possible that she really didn’t know you were Black Sword and only a man who found her and saved her after she washed ashore.”
Devlin shook his head. “I am not entirely certain she will deny knowing my true identity,” he said. “She is a righteous woman and not given to lies. If confronted, she could very well confess.”
Shain pondered that. “Then if that is the case, you will need to go to Glenteige and be prepared to bargain for her release,” he said. “You have thirty-three English prisoners in the vault. Mayhap they will exchange one small lady for thirty-three English soldiers.”
It was as logical a solution as any, at least initially. But Devlin knew it wouldn’t end there. “I have a feeling they will overlook the soldiers in favor of me,” he said softly. “They will want me in exchange for Emllyn’s freedom. Black Sword, after all, would outweigh the import of thirty-three Englishmen.”
Shain couldn’t disagree. He watched Devlin carefully, waiting to see how the man was going to react to all of this. But Devlin seemed to be oddly calm although it was evident that there was much on his mind. So much had happened, and so much was looming, that it was difficult to consider it all without emotion. Devlin was having to face a situation he’d never before faced; the peril of someone he loved.
“Mayhap I should go and see the English prisoners,” he finally said, rising wearily from his chair. “Mayhap they can give me insight as to how de Noble will deal with Emllyn if Freddy manages to destroy all I have worked for.”
He turned for the door but Shain stopped him. “Dev?” he called softly.
Devlin paused and turned. “Aye?”
“What will you do?” Shain asked. “If they want you in exchange for the lady, what will you do?”
Devlin sighed heavily and averted his gaze. “I will not let her suffer,” he muttered. “I could not live knowing she was imp
risoned, or worse.”
Shain felt genuine apprehension at Devlin’s apparent intentions. “Don’t do it,” he begged quietly. “There can be another way, but if they get their hands on you… everything will be lost. We have told you that before, Devlin. You are the heart of this rebellion and if you are removed, then everything dies. Ireland dies.”
Devlin lifted his head and looked at him. “Ireland will not die,” he said. “There will be others to take my place. As for me… mayhap I have done all I can do. Mayhap it is time for this rebellion, and for me, to evolve.”
He left the hall after that, lumbering out into the early morning. He was a man of deep feeling, of deep intelligence, and now of deep pain. So much had changed. It would probably never be the same again.
Shain lay there with tears in his eyes.
∾
The vault smelled worse than Devlin had remembered. As he headed down the dark, narrow stairs that led to the pit of despair, the pure stench from the urine nearly burned holes through his eyes. They were watering profusely by the time he hit the bottom and he nearly tripped because he was rubbing at them.
There were no longer any guards at this level because of the stench. A single torch burned, barely illuminating the darkness, but it was enough light for Devlin to see many weary and distraught faces. They were all gazing back at him as he stepped from the stairs and headed towards the iron cages. The first face he came to was Sir Victor’s.
The man had a growth of beard and the hazel eyes were dull with defeat and disillusionment. Devlin looked around at the others, seeing Trevor buried back in the group. The young knight looked haggard. Dirty, feces-covered straw covered the cells but men were sitting on it, anyway. They had no choice. It was a horrific sight and the longer Devlin gazed at it, the more disgusted he became. Turning around, he hunted for the key that was always kept on a peg upon the wall. They often kept it there to completely discourage the prisoners, who had no way of retrieving the key that would see them to freedom. Collecting the old iron key, he turned to Sir Victor on the other side of the iron grate.
“This is no way for men to live,” he said quietly. “I will release your men and they will follow me to the next destination without resistance. They will obey me implicitly, for the first man that tries to run or refuses my orders will be killed on the spot. Is that clear?”
Sir Victor drew in a long, deep breath and looked around to the men, all of whom were slowly dying. He was willing to agree to anything at that point and the prospect of being released, by Black Sword no less, was almost more than he could bear. Up until a few moments ago, he surely thought they were all going to die here, alone and forgotten. Hearing Black Sword’s proposal was a distinct shock. After a moment, he nodded.
“Aye,” he said, his voice hoarse and raspy. “I understand. No one will run or disobey.”
Devlin nodded shortly. “Then I will trust you.”
With that, he unlocked the first cell, Sir Victor’s cell, and swung open the door. Then he unlocked the second door and forced that one open as well. Men began to move slowly, groaning, as some held on to others for support. As the men were rousing, Devlin went to the stairwell and whistled sharply, producing several of his men who gathered at the top of the steps. No one dared come down into that stench. Devlin called up orders and a couple of the men began to move while the others remained in order to both assist the prisoners and guard them. Slowly, very slowly, men began to come out of the cells. Devlin directed them up the stairs.
It was a slow and laborious process, moving injured and weak men up that skinny flight of stairs. It was like moving a herd of animals. Devlin remained at the bottom, directing men up and steadying a few that wobbled as they moved. But gradually, they all moved up except for three of them who were directing the others. They had remained down in that horrific vault alongside Devlin, allowing the others to go first.
Devlin realized that Sir Victor along with Sir Trevor and another man were still with him, the remaining three knights from Kildare’s stable of twenty-seven that had come over on the battle armada. Even in defeat, they were still following protocol, still thinking of their men first. Their attitude impressed Devlin. He finally directed them up the stairs and followed on their rear.
Once up in the bright morning, Devlin could see that his men had held the prisoners at the mouth of the gatehouse until further orders. The entire group was sagging, dragging, and otherwise shielding themselves from the muted sunlight. To men who hadn’t seen the sun in weeks, it would take some time for their eyes to adjust. Devlin intended to take them all over to the great hall where they would be fed a decent meal and be tended to, but he soon realized that the stench from the vault had followed them into the daylight. The entire group smelled like hell. He wasn’t about to bring that kind of smell into the great hall.
So he set about cleaning them off. In the bright morning, oddly void of the clouds that were so prevalent this time of year, he had his men heat up vast iron kettles of water, and in the stable yards, they forced the English prisoners to wash themselves down. Clothes were taken from them and boiled, laid out in the sun to dry, and the English used lumpy bars of white soap to wash weeks of filth and despair from their bodies. Moods and manners soon perked up as the English scrubbed away.
But they were heavily guarded by Devlin’s men. The Irish lined the stable yard, armed with spears and swords, as the English washed themselves and each other. Razors were produced, only a pair of them so they could not be used as weapons, and the English were permitted to shave their faces. Since the sun was out, and vaguely warm at that, hair and bodies and clothes dried quickly. It was a perfect day for it.
Devlin stood and watched everything with a critical eye. He was mostly watching Sir Trevor as the man washed his tall, sinewy body and his dark hair. He was rather handsome, as Devlin was coming to discover, and he could feel the pangs of jealousy clutch at him. It was little wonder that Emllyn had fallen for the man. But as he continued to watch, he noticed that Sir Trevor and another man seemed particularly close, washing each other, laughing together, or passing what could have been interpreted as rather meaningful glances. It was rather odd. As Devlin pondered the behavior, he was approached by Sir Victor.
Shaven and clean, Sir Victor remained in his damp breeches and bare feet as he respectfully acknowledged Devlin. Massive arms folded across his chest in a somewhat intimidating stance, Devlin bobbed his head slightly.
“St. John,” he said. “I must say that you look rather different.”
Sir Victor smiled weakly. “I suppose that I do,” he acknowledged. Then, his smile faded. “I wanted to thank you, de Bermingham. What you are doing for us… you did not have to do this. I have never heard of any man treating prisoners this way and I am genuinely humbled. On behalf of my men, I thank you deeply.”
Devlin eyed the man. “I am not the beast that everyone thinks I am,” he muttered, looking out over the gang of washing men. “And your men are not animals. The vault you were in was not meant to hold so many men. It is only humane that I remove you and tend you. But know this; I have done this for a purpose. If I did not have a purpose, I could have very well left you down in that hole to rot.”
Sir Victor held an expression between curiosity and wariness. “What purpose would that be, my lord?”
Devlin looked at him, sizing him up. “I will tell you when you’ve had food in your belly, but for now, I must ask you something.”
He motioned the man over and Sir Victor went willingly. When he drew close to the big Irishman, Devlin spoke.
“That young knight,” he said, pointing over at Sir Trevor as he spilled water over his head. “That is Trevor le Mon?”
Sir Victor nodded. “He is,” he replied. “Why? Do you know of him or his family?”
Devlin shook his head. “Who is his family?”
“The le Mons of Chateroy Castle, descended from the kings of Anglecynn,” he replied. “He comes from a fairly important family. I am su
re they would pay a hefty ransom for his return.”
Devlin cocked an eyebrow at him. “And you would willingly divulge this information to me?”
Sir Victor shrugged. “You will want to know it eventually, and we wish to return to our families. I see no reason to withhold truths if it will get us home faster.”
It was the logical thought process from a seasoned veteran. “I take it that you have been ransomed before, then?” Devlin asked.
Sir Victor smiled ironically. “Twice,” he said. “My family is fairly wealthy as well. Name your price and I am sure they will pay it. I have a wife and five daughters waiting for me at home.”
Devlin grunted his disapproval. “Then I must send you home if for no other reason than to give your wife a son,” he said. “No man should be publicly thrilled with five daughters.”
Sir Victor laughed softly, surprised by Black Sword’s sense of humor. Or, at least de Bermingham’s sense of humor. Somehow, the two entities were becoming separate as a result of de Bermingham’s humane treatment. There was the legend… and then there was the man.
“They are good girls,” he said. “But I must find husbands for them eventually, so do not ransom me for too much. I will need that money for dowries.”
Devlin’s lips twitched with a smile. “You will need to kidnap men in your own right to hold them for ransom so that you may pay for that brood,” he said, but le Mon caught his attention again. “Le Mon… he and that man he is with seem like good friends. Is it his brother?”
Sir Victor glanced over at the pair as le Mon ran his fingers over his companion’s wet hair. He shook his head. “Nay,” he replied, the humor gone from his tone. “That is his lover.”
Devlin tried not to look too shocked. “Lover?” he repeated. “He is not… that is to say, he prefers men?”
Sir Victor nodded and looked away from the affectionate pair, rolling his eyes. “Pity,” he said. “The man is a fine knight, a good commander, and comes from an excellent family. He could command a very fine wife, but he has no interest in women. In fact, my eldest daughter has made no secret of her interest in him but he repeatedly rebuffed her.”
Lords of Eire: An Irish Medieval Romance Bundle Page 60
