E. M. Powell

by The Fifth Knight

  Close up against it, she could see it rose to ten times Benedict’s height, topped off with the high stone wall.

  “A section of the wall’s collapsed.” He pointed. “Make for that.” He bent to grab her around the hips and boosted her up to give her a start.

  She grasped at the coarse long grass with both hands. It held her weight. Just. She reached for another one. It barely held.

  Benedict was already past her. He climbed with swift movements, hand over hand, never letting the grass bear his weight for more than a second.

  With gritted teeth, she tried to follow suit. But her arms wouldn’t do it. She pushed with both feet. Better. Another handful. And another.

  “Hurry, Theodosia.”

  She tipped her head back.

  Benedict stood atop the fort’s wall, hands on both hips, breathing hard. The mist had closed in; he looked like he stood in a cloud.

  A thump and splash sounded beneath her, then another.

  Le Bret and Fitzurse had made it to the bottom of the ditch.

  Dear God, she couldn’t fall now. She grabbed another slippery handful. Stronger-looking heather bloomed to her left. She took hold of the sharp little branches.

  “Not that!”

  Benedict’s cry came too late. The plant’s delicate roots lifted right into her hand.

  She slipped with a scream and slid back down the slick moat side. Somehow she halted. She looked down past her skirt.

  Le Bret was closest. He stretched to his fullest height to grab for her ankle.

  “Use your sword, man.” Fitzurse.

  A shadow flicked over her, and a grunt of pain came from le Bret. The rock that struck him dropped to the ground with a soggy thud into the wet ground.

  Another rock flew past her head and clipped Fitzurse’s sword.

  “Thank you, Palmer, it needs sharpening. It’s blunted from that Abbess. She was a tough old bird.”

  He’s killed Ursula. Grief and rage flooded Theodosia’s arms with fresh strength, and she clambered on. As she neared the dry stone wall at the top, Benedict leaned down to her from the gap.

  “I’ve got you.”

  He hauled her up beside him, and she stood up. Her legs shook from fear and effort and would hardly support her. The driving mist cloyed her face, dampened her hair.

  “Where can we go?” She scanned the fort top, but all it consisted of was the dry stone wall and a smooth green circle of grass inside it.

  “I’ll hold them off.” Benedict didn’t take his eyes off le Bret and Fitzurse far below. He bent to pick up another couple of black and gray rocks from the fallen area of the wall.

  She gasped. “They’re climbing up here.”

  Benedict flung a rock down, and it caught le Bret on the shoulder.

  “You’re dead, Palmer.”

  “Go along the wall to the other side,” Benedict said to her. “Stay on the top, it’s quicker than cutting across the middle.” He threw another stone, this time at Fitzurse.

  But the element of surprise was lost. The knight swiveled to one side, and it bounced past him without harm.

  Benedict continued his rapid orders. “Once you’re as far across as you can go, climb down and double back for the horses. Take Quercus. And go.”

  “I’m not leaving you.” Theodosia grabbed at a stone and cast it down at le Bret. Her aim was true and caught him on the arm, but had no effect.

  “My, my,” said Fitzurse. “Throwing pebbles, Sister? How unbecoming.”

  Le Bret grunted with laughter as he made swift progress.

  “Go, Theodosia.” Benedict’s look allowed no argument.

  She clambered up onto the high ridge of intact wall. To her left, a drop of fifty feet, to her right, twenty, both veiled in swirling wet fog. Her head spun. She concentrated on the narrow gray path beneath her shoes as she took fast but cautious steps.

  “Le Bret! The wench is making a run for it!” came Fitzurse’s shout.

  Theodosia increased her pace as much as she dared, then slithered to a halt. The wall hadn’t crumbled only where Benedict stood. It had collapsed here too, in a wide gap of fallen stone. What else could she do? She turned to call to Benedict. In time to see le Bret haul his monstrous bulk up onto the wall between her and her knight. She was trapped.

  “Theodosia, don’t stop!” yelled Palmer, as le Bret steadied himself, sword ready.

  The mist shifted in a gust of cold wind. Forcurse it. A gap in the wall. She could go no further.

  “You’re mine, Sister.” Le Bret closed in on her along the top of the narrow wall.

  “Get away from her.” Palmer aimed a couple of rocks at him. He may as well have thrown a daisy at a bear.

  Theodosia backed away from the sword tip, feet inches from the edge of the long drop. “Never.”

  “Need a hand up there?”

  Palmer looked down. Fitzurse had changed course to le Bret’s path and made steady progress toward the big knight and a rigid Theodosia.

  Palmer bent and grabbed two of the largest chunks of flint he could see. “I said leave her, le Bret.” He jumped up onto the wall and bolted to where le Bret loomed over Theodosia.

  The huge knight adjusted his sword in both hands. He raised it up, preparing to smash it through her skull as he had done with Becket’s.

  “Le Bret! Your back!” Fitzurse’s warning came close below.

  Le Bret paused and turned at his lord’s warning. When his eyes lit on Palmer, he grinned with the unscarred side of his mouth. “Come for a closer look, Palmer?”

  Benedict threw a flint at him. It caught him on one temple, and blood exploded from the blow.

  Theodosia’s hands flew to her face.

  Le Bret roared in pain and teetered on his feet but steadied himself. “I get you after the girl, Palmer.” Le Bret readjusted his grip before he turned back to Theodosia.

  Palmer’s fist closed around his last, heavy stone, Mother Ursula’s words sharp in his mind: Le Bret has a huge wolf bite at the top of his leg. He aimed at the bandage on Le Bret’s thigh. Then he threw.

  Le Bret’s scream of agony echoed through the fort of the ancients as he doubled over. His heavy sword overbalanced him, and he fell into the collapsed section of wall. His massive frame struck the pile of loose rocks. They shifted under the impact and began to roll.

  Fitzurse flung himself to one side as a screaming le Bret and the pile of knocking rubble surged toward him. It was of no help. He too was swept down in the bruising, suffocating flood of rock.

  The avalanche settled in the bottom of the moat, and silence returned to the hillside, save for the moan of the wind.

  Theodosia’s stricken look met Palmer’s. She staggered to him as he came for her.

  She reached for him, clung to him as if in fear she too would be carried over. “You’ve saved me again. I don’t deserve it, with doubting you over and over. Please forgive me. Please.”

  Palmer held her tight, heart still racing, the picture of le Bret and his raised sword seared in his memory. “Like I doubted you. You stayed awake to watch for Satan, which I put down as foolish prating.” He brought a hand to her cold cheek as the wind circled round them. “Yet your watching out for evil saved us both.” Unseen by her, he brushed his lips against the top of her hair and thanked his own God silently in his heart. And may those two bastards rot in the hell of their own making.

  CHAPTER 21

  Palmer led the way through the crowds on Southampton’s busy quayside, Theodosia close behind him.

  “I fear we will not be able to find her in time, Benedict,” she said.

  Though the port was at the edge of a tidal estuary, there was still plenty salt on the wind to make his skin prickle. The ocean, his old enemy. The one that had taken him from his family, set him adrift in the world. The one that would force him to deliver Theodosia back to the church. “We’re not looking for her,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” She grabbed his arm hard enough to stop him and pull him rou
nd to face her. “Don’t be so foolish. We have to. People have lost their lives through looking for my mother. We cannot stop. Do you hear me?”

  Palmer drew breath to match her sharp reply, but guilt stabbed at him. Her gray eyes, haunted by things she shouldn’t have seen, heard. Her pale skin, her clothes, spattered with the mud and dirt of the hundreds of miles they’d traveled. She must be at her limit.

  “What I meant was,” he said, “it could take days to find two people here. Especially as Edward will be wary of being seen. And we don’t have days.” He squinted up at the sun’s position over the town’s castle. “We’re not much later than midday, and from the monk’s letter, tomorrow is the day they sail. That’s why I’m not looking for your mother, I’m looking for the reeve’s office.”

  She frowned. “A reeve?”

  “A reeve’s an official of the king. They control the foreign trade that comes into and out of ports. They’ve the power to raise taxes from foreign merchants and goods that come in from other lands.”

  “That’s no help. My mother and Edward are not coming in from abroad.”

  “Such a man will know all of the ships that come and go. Including the one your mother will be on.”

  “Then why are we wasting time?”

  Limit or no, she could fair try his patience. Palmer set off again along the quay, Theodosia alongside him.

  Ships of different size and age took every space at the dockside. Men loaded some, unloaded others. Some vessels sat full in the water, some empty. Between them, choked with seaweed, spoil, and rotten wood, the ocean lapped still and dirty. Men carried out repairs with hammers, saws, mallets, quick to get back to sea.

  Ahead, a group of men with heavy muscles unloaded a large cog. Each man carried an oak barrel on his bent shoulders along the sagging wooden planks of the gangway. They carried their loads across the dock, then up through one of the arches set into the high defensive banks surrounding the town.

  “These men will know,” said Palmer to Theodosia. “Those are wine barrels.”

  As one of the dockers returned to collect another load, Palmer stopped him. “A word, fellow.”

  The man looked from Palmer to Theodosia. Sweat dripped from his face, and his leather jerkin moved in and out from his toil. “What is it? I’m in a hurry.”

  “Where are the harbor reeve’s rooms?” said Palmer.

  The man jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Fifty yards along,” he said. “Goes by the name of Rodger Oswin.” He spat on the ground in contempt. “Hope you’re not bringing aught in. He’d tax the shite dropping into a privy, that one.”

  “My thanks.” Palmer put his arm around Theodosia’s shoulder and drew her away with him.

  With a wave, the man continued on his way to the cog.

  “How ill he speaks of Mr. Oswin,” said Theodosia, eyes rounded at the man’s response.

  A wood-and-stone building, battered from storms and the elements, caught Palmer’s eye. “Look. That’s it.” It stood at the end of a row built leaning against the town’s defenses, each one between an open brick archway.

  A large wooden board, painted with a crown, hung from a metal bracket above the open door. The building’s contents spread out across where people walked. Bags piled up, barrels stacked one on another. A chair. Earthenware pots. A bale of straw. Piles of mangy animal pelts.

  Palmer went to the doorway and looked inside. Here, the jumble was worse. Huge metal weighing scales sat on the wooden counter with piles of parchments and papers, a songbird in a rusted cage, and one old leather boot.

  Palmer met Theodosia’s glance, and she pulled an unimpressed face. “Hello?” he said, unsure if anyone was there.

  A man rose from behind the counter, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He wouldn’t be much more than Palmer’s age but was not a man of action. His stained clothing stretched tight over rolls of soft flesh. Greasy hair clung at either side of his pale, puffy face.

  “Yes? What?” For a heavy man, his voice didn’t match: high-pitched and close to a woman’s.

  “I’m looking for Rodger Oswin,” said Palmer.

  “I am he. Who might you be?”

  “My name is Sir Benedict Palmer.”

  “What is your business? Jewels? Wine?” He gave Theodosia a pointed look. “Silk?”

  “None of these, sir,” said Palmer. “We’re trying to find my companion’s mother. She is due to sail to France in the next two days.”

  Oswin rolled his eyes aloft. “You expect me to know who this woman is.” He addressed Theodosia. “Is your mother a merchant?”

  “No, Mr. Oswin. She is not. But her companion is a Brother Edward Grim. Perhaps he arranged the sailing?”

  Oswin sighed long and hard. “Is he a merchant?”

  “No. He’s a holy brother,” she said.

  “Then they’ll be nothing to do with me.” He waved a filthy hand to his papers. “My only concern is to get the rightful taxes owing from foreign merchants and our own good countrymen who bring in any kind of goods from abroad. A monk and a matron traveling to France are of no concern to me.” Sudden interest weaseled across his shiny face. “Unless they’re going to buy something valuable and bring it back?”

  “Oh, please, sir.” Theodosia clasped her hands together. “Could you not check the sailings and see if you could tell us which vessel they might be on?”

  “I could. But I won’t.” Oswin smirked at Theodosia’s beg. “I’m far too busy on the Crown’s business. Good day to you both.”

  “Couldn’t you just — ”

  “No, missy. I could not. Who do you think you are, plaguing me with questions, a tattered baggage like you? Now, clear off before I have you arrested for endangering an officer of His Grace.”

  “Come, Theodosia.” Palmer brought her outside before he punched the oaf in the face.

  “Oh, why couldn’t he look at the sailings?” She flung her hands up. “It would not have taken him long.”

  “Because he was in too much of a hurry to get back to his flagon of wine under the counter.” Palmer’s steps treaded hard on the wooden dock. “Seized no doubt because someone couldn’t pay the toll. Like everything else he had piled around him, curse him. We’ll have to keep looking, asking.”

  Theodosia stopped to pull the money pouch from her pocket. “There is another way to find what we need from Mr. Oswin.”

  “Bribery? No luck with that. There’s only a couple of coins left. I had to leave almost everything at that tavern to secure the horses.”

  She eyed the crowd. “Not bribery.” She darted from his side.

  He tried to catch her up as she bent toward a filthy small lad.

  “You look hungry, my sweet,” she said. “Have you eaten today?”

  “No, mistress.”

  “Would you like to earn this coin?” She held it up and his eyes lit.

  “Yes, mistress.” A wary look. “How, mistress?”

  “All I want you to do is go into Reeve Oswin’s office and tell him you saw a Saracen steal off that ship, carrying a large sack.”

  “Which ship?” The lad stuck his head around her muddy skirts to get a better view.

  “Theodosia, don’t annoy the reeve any more,” said Palmer. “He wouldn’t think twice about having us arrested.”

  She ignored him. “The one where the barrels are being unloaded,” she said to the boy.

  “That’s all?” said the boy.

  “That’s all,” she said.

  The lad gave her a huge grin, pocketed the coin, and sped off.

  “Didn’t you heed a word I said?” said Palmer.

  “Of course,” she said. “Hurry, we do not have a lot of time.” She led the way back to Oswin’s rooms, but with a hand to Palmer’s arm, hung back in the shelter of the crowd.

  The boy went inside, and within seconds, Oswin waddled out, face dark with outrage. He hurried down the quay toward the unloading vessel, deep huffs with every step.

  The boy came out
, gave Theodosia a confirming nod, then lost himself in the crowd.

  “Wait here.” She raised a finger to Palmer. “Whistle if you see Oswin return.” She went into the reeve’s office.

  Forcurse it, she’d done it now. Oswin would have her carted off if he caught her. Palmer watched the crowd for any sign of the reeve. What could she be doing in there? He hoped to his boots she wasn’t stealing something. The man was a leech, but a leech with the King’s authority.

  He caught the bob of a greasy head on its return journey through the crowd. With two fingers between his lips, he blew a sharp whistle.

  She didn’t come out.

  Oswin pushed his way through, a sheen of sweat on his angry face.

  Palmer took a quick look over his shoulder. Still no sign of Theodosia. He squared his shoulders. She’d left him with no choice. Avoiding Oswin’s line of sight, he made straight for him.

  “Oof!”

  Oswin’s stomach bounced against his elbow. “I beg your pardon, sir.” Palmer turned to the breathless reeve.

  Oswin’s eyes opened wider as he recognized who’d thumped into him. “Clumsy fool! Can’t you look where you’re going?”

  “I beg your humble pardon, sir. My companion’s got lost. I’m worried she’ll come to harm in this rough place.”

  “Then you’re blind as well as a fool. She’s right behind you.”

  Palmer turned to see Theodosia, breath quick but with a pleased look. “Ah, you’re there,” he said through set teeth.

  “Get yourselves out of my sight, the pair of you. Ragged ruffians like you can be up to no good. Now clear off before I have you arrested. This is your last warning.” The reeve headed back to his shop, rubbing his stomach.

  “What have you done to him?” she whispered to Palmer.

  “I thwacked into him to stop him. He’s not hurt — he’s lined with his own blubber.”

  To his surprise, she caught back a giggle. “Let’s do as he says. We do not want to make him any more suspicious.”

  “No. I can’t believe you just did that. If he’d caught you, it could’ve been the end of everything. What did I tell you about doing as I say?”