E. M. Powell

by The Fifth Knight

  Theodosia drew her chin up. “But he did not end well, did he?”

  Edward was on her in an instant, grabbing a handful of her dress. “Do you think you can get the better of me, like you did with him?” His breath was hot on her cheek as he switched his hold to her neck. “When I met him at the quays, sent him to the hostel, I thought I was rid of you for good.”

  She tried to choke out a plea.

  “But you carried on like that dullard Palmer. Now I have to do it.”

  “Then you’ll never find your manuscript.” She rasped her words.

  “Of course I will. It’s poking out of your pocket. And even if I lost it, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. I’d just write another one. Not the best use of my time, but not the worst.” His grip tightened. “I’ll have plenty of time, once Eleanor gets rid of Henry and makes me her new Archbishop of Canterbury. A far better one than Thomas Becket.”

  “Let her go, Edward.”

  The monk wheeled round and gasped in surprise. But he didn’t loosen his grip.

  Theodosia looked up.

  Benedict stood atop the pile of wooden planks that formed the deck cargo.

  She tried to call to him, to warn him of the blade. But the monk squeezed her neck tighter.

  “Hell too hot for you, Palmer?” said Edward.

  “Not a bit,” said Benedict. He jumped from the planks and landed a few strides away. “I came to take you with me. Now, I said let her go.”

  “Don’t presume to issue orders to me,” said Edward. He raised the blade to Theodosia’s eye level. “I shall slit her throat first, then yours. You can watch each other bleed to death.” He readjusted his grip on the blade.

  “Theodosia!”

  Her glance flew to Benedict as the monk paused, distracted.

  “Your reading?” said Benedict.

  She understood.

  “Babbling oaf.” Edward pulled his hand back for his slash.

  Theodosia’s hand went to the thick roll of vellum in her pocket. She whipped it out and parried Edward’s razor blow. The sharp metal stuck in the soft animal skin.

  With a shout of rage, Edward hauled it free. His grip on her slackened for an instant, and she dropped to the deck, free.

  Coughing hard, she clambered toward Benedict as Edward grabbed for her ankle.

  The knight flew forward to crash into Edward with all his strength.

  Edward loosed his hold on her as he did his weapon. The razor flew from his hand and slid into a darkened corner.

  “You peasant!” Edward struck Benedict in the face with a bent elbow.

  Benedict grunted in pain but didn’t let go of Edward. As both men rolled across the deck, each tried to best the other with a punch, a kick, their strength matched.

  Theodosia tried to get to the corner where the weapon lay but couldn’t get past their thrashing bodies. She climbed up onto the planks of wood. She stood up and peered toward the stern to see if she could see Donne. “Captain! I need your help! Please!”

  No reply.

  A roar of pain came from Benedict. To her horror, he stood facing Edward, his hand held to the side of his face. Blood flooded past his palm.

  Edward circled him, razor in hand.

  “Throw me that rope, Theodosia. Now.”

  She responded to Benedict’s curt order. He caught it in one hand, eyes still on Edward.

  “Are you going to try and hang me, fool?” Edward smirked at the looped knot at the end of the rope.

  “Not at all.” Benedict slipped the loop over one wrist. He pulled it tight as he broke into a run and shoulder-charged Edward. His speeding bulk sent them both over the side and into the blackness of the ocean.

  “Man overboard!” She screamed it at the top of her lungs, unable to believe what she’d witnessed. She scrambled across the woodpile, shouting the words over and over.

  “Who’s over?”

  God be praised. A male shout. Donne still stood by the tiller, lamp in hand.

  “Benedict and Edward. Edward tried to kill me.”

  “Saints preserve us.” Donne grabbed a short length of rope and rang the ship’s bell with all his might.

  As if summoned by magic, the other crew members emerged from the hatch, newly disturbed from sleep, pulling shirts over their heads.

  “Theodosia? What’s happening?” Mama appeared too, her face pale in the moonlight. “And what in the name of the Lord have you done to your hair?”

  Ignoring her mother, she climbed across the wood and down the other side to Captain Donne. “Benedict and Edward, they’re in the water. We have to save Benedict, we have to.”

  Donne rapped out a series of orders, and one crewman started to pull in the sail, slow the boat, turn it.

  The other peered out over the ocean. “I think I see ’em, Cap’n.”

  Theodosia looked to where he pointed. The distance made her feel suddenly faint. “How have we come so far?” she said to Donne. “Surely the ship doesn’t sail so quickly.”

  “It goes apace and the tide’s under us,” he said. He wrenched the tiller round to change course.

  Another shout from the crewman. “I’ve found a rope!”

  She wrenched at Donne’s sleeve. “Benedict tied himself on before he pushed Edward in. They’re still attached. Pull them in!”

  “Why would Sir Palmer do such a wicked thing?” said Amélie. “Has he lost his mind?”

  “No, Mama,” said Theodosia. “Edward’s been on the side of Eleanor all along. He’s the one who betrayed us.”

  “The devil.” Her mother crossed herself.

  “Did you hear me, Captain?” said Theodosia. “We can get them back.”

  “I did hear you, Sister. But until we slow near to a stop, our speed will continue to pull them along. I’m doing all I can, I promise you.”

  One of the crewmen gave him a doubtful look. “They won’t last long in this cold water. Five, ten minutes. No more. By the time we get them, they’ll be blocks of ice.”

  Theodosia flew at him. “Just get Benedict, get him out of there. You must, you must. Do you hear me?”

  “Hey.” The captain pulled her off. “You’re not helping, Sister. Let us do our job. So why don’t you do yours, and start to pray?”

  CHAPTER 31

  Barely afloat in the freezing blackness of the ocean, Palmer tried to wrestle the monk from him. The ship, already several yards away, pulled them along on the tightened rope. But Grim clutched his neck in a deadly embrace.

  “You madman, Palmer. You’ve killed us both.”

  Palmer’s breath came in high, fast heaves of his chest — too fast, but the cold wouldn’t let him slow. “As long as I’ve done for you, I don’t care.” He flexed his shoulders and prepared to break the monk’s hold. “Now get off me. I don’t want you taking me to hell with you.”

  “The only one going to hell is you.”

  The razor appeared inches from Palmer’s eyes.

  “I’m cutting that rope from your arm, Palmer. I will have it instead.” His actions matched his words.

  Cut suddenly adrift, Palmer turned over in the water once, twice.

  Grim was pulled away, the rope wound round his hands. “You’re a fool, Palmer. I thought you should know that.”

  Screams, shouts, and lights came from the ship.

  “A search party already,” called Grim. “I’ll send them to look for your corpse. While I see to that wanton and her mother.”

  Palmer flailed his arms, treaded water, a terrible numbness already in his legs. Grim was right. He was a fool. He’d gambled. And lost. Worse, he’d delivered death to Theodosia and her mother as sure as if he’d landed the blows himself. His shoulders, knees stiffened with cold. Even the small movements of staying afloat became difficult now.

  “The ship’s stopping. Pity they won’t find you!” Grim was now a bobbing form on the surface of the starlit water.

  Was it confession time? Probably. He’d already begun to feel drowsy.

&n
bsp; “Palmer!” Grim’s panicked scream cut through his sleepiness. “Palmer! Come and help me, man. My robes! I’m sinking. Help me, for God’s sake!”

  Of course. Palmer started to laugh. When the ship had been sailing forward, its momentum had kept Grim afloat. Now that it had stopped, the monk in his heavy wool cassock became a dead weight.

  Choking coughs sounded from Grim. “You have to help me! Please!”

  Palmer didn’t bother to reply. His numbness spread through his whole body, and he felt almost warm.

  Final screams and gurgles came from Grim. Then a blessed silence settled over the sea.

  Peace. Calm. This was how death should be. He brought Theodosia to his thoughts. That was how he’d leave this world, holding her in his soul. His wonderful, brave Theodosia. His beautiful Theodosia. Beautiful with her foolhardiness, her wits. Her clear gray eyes. He looked up at the stars. Soon he’d be amongst them. If that was where heaven was. His eyes slid closed. Heaven was with her, that was sure enough. One day, she’d come to join him. Please, God.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “The rope’s gone loose!”

  The call that came from the front of the ship pierced Theodosia’s heart as well as the night.

  “Oh, dear God, Mama. Benedict’s not tied on anymore. But I saw him. Why? What’s happened?”

  “I don’t know, my blessed.” Mama’s voice was fearful.

  Hanging over the wooden deck rail, Theodosia squinted at the night ocean as she tried to track the progress of the little rowboat that had put to sea, her last hope now for Benedict. The weak moonlight meant she could see little.

  Her mother squeezed the back of her hand but said nothing.

  Theodosia knew what the gesture meant. “It’s been too long, hasn’t it?” Anger built in her throat. “It’s too cold. The water will be like melted ice.”

  The ship, head to wind, sat listlessly in the water, the proud square sail moving in a slow, useless flap.

  Dead in the water. Like her Benedict. “What have I done?” Her cry echoed across the silent ocean as she dug her fingernails into the rail. “I let Edward guide me where it should have been Benedict. If I’d made the right choice, Benedict would still be alive.”

  “No one could have guessed what Edward was really up to,” said Amélie. “Remember, I also trusted him. Followed him like a meek little lamb, when all the time he was plotting against Henry.”

  “But I should have — ”

  A hullo came from the water.

  “That’s my crewman,” said Donne.

  Theodosia gasped as the rowboat emerged from the darkness, low down in the water.

  “Any luck?” said Donne.

  “We found one,” said the first crewman as they pulled alongside.

  Theodosia craned over the edge. Her heart leapt. A man lying in the bottom of the boat, long legs clad in breeches. It had to be Benedict. Edward wore robes.

  She dared to hope. “Is he all right?”

  The crewman looked at her as if she wasn’t in her senses.

  “I’m afraid not, Sister,” said the captain.

  “Oh, dear God. No.”

  Her mother spoke to her, but she didn’t hear a word.

  The rowboat was hoisted to the side, and the crewmen battled to lift out her dead knight. They laid him on the wet planks of the deck, his eyes closed, dark wet hair plastered to his forehead, a red slash down one cheek from Grim’s blade.

  She sank to her knees, cradled his cold, cold face in her hands, sobs tearing from her throat.

  “We should pray for him, Theodosia,” said Amélie, bending to her.

  “I don’t want to pray for him. I want him. Can’t you see that?”

  Her mother shook her head slowly and crossed herself.

  “He’s gone, Sister,” said one of the crewmen. “There’s no heartbeat, nothing.”

  She could hardly see through her tears, breathe through her grief, as she stroked and stroked his face.

  “He was barely alive when we got to him,” said the second crewman. “We was too late.”

  “Tried to get a word out, though,” said the first.

  “Aye,” said the second. “Made no sense to us.”

  “What did he say?” said Theodosia. Please let it be a last message of love to her. Please.

  “Sounded like ‘Knaresborough’ to me,” replied the second man.

  She stared at the man, tears stemmed with hope. Knaresborough. Where she’d almost frozen to death. But Benedict had brought her back, told her how. She shot to her feet. “There might still be a chance,” she said. “Take him below to Edward’s cabin. Now.”

  “Oh, Theodosia.” Her mother shook her head.

  “Sister, he’s dead.” The captain’s face reflected the view of all present that she’d taken leave of her senses.

  “Bring him below. At once! Do you hear me? Now, God rot you! Now!”

  Madness and rage brought their own authority. Gaping, the men hoisted Benedict’s body between them and climbed below.

  Theodosia pushed into the crowded cabin as they placed him on Edward’s mattress.

  Amélie squeezed past the men to the bedside. “We should cover his face.” She went to match her words with actions.

  “No. Get out, Mama. All of you. Get out!” Theodosia hustled them all out and slammed the door shut behind them. With a hard shove, she barred the door with the small chest.

  She hurried over to the bed and ripped Benedict’s soaked shirt from his body. His chest remained utterly still. No breath in or out. She put her ear close to his mouth and nose, hoping against hope for a tiny stir of air. Still nothing.

  His trousers were next. His male nakedness didn’t shock her, it made him seem abandoned, vulnerable. She choked back a sob as she grabbed the bedcover, rubbing him hard all over to dry his skin, warm it somehow. She grabbed Edward’s heavy woolen cloak and laid it over him to try and bring some warmth. Dear God, I’m only a sinner. Hear my prayer. Let him live. Please. Please.

  She brought her ear to his face again. Silence. This couldn’t be happening. She brought her hands to his face. She might as well be touching the stone floor of the cathedral. He’d gone. Gone. And it was her stupid, selfish fault.

  A brutal, harsh keening seared her throat. As her tears fell, they splashed on his face, made him look as if he wept too, with tears that caused the wound on his poor face to run.

  She choked back her sobs, wiping his face dry with the cloak. “You should have let Edward kill me. I deserved it, I’m the one who caused all this death. Not you. But you always knew better, didn’t you?”

  Pinheads of blood appeared in the wound again, beaded larger and larger.

  Her breath stopped.

  The beads grew still more, then slid down his cheek.

  Dead men didn’t bleed.

  “Oh, dear God. Benedict.” She ripped her dress off over her head and climbed in under the coverlet. Her nakedness was the best warmth, the only warmth she had. She locked her body around his, willing him to take heat, life from her. “Come back to me, please. Come back to me.”

  Benedict’s blue lips parted, then he drew in a shallow breath. Opening his eyes, his gaze found hers and he gave a feeble nod.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Theodosia held her Benedict, rubbed his body, covered him with her own. She did not dare to stop, no matter how much her arms and shoulders ached, no matter how weary she became. At times, the worst, terrifying times, he barely seemed to know her, looked at her as if she were a stranger, muttered words that made no sense. Holding back her desperation, she redoubled her efforts, forcing life back into him.

  Time meant nothing. There was only the dim cabin, the roll of the ship, and her own frantic efforts to keep him breathing, living. But it seemed to be working. Praise God, it seemed to be working.

  A loud rap came at the door. “Theodosia?”

  Mama. “Yes?”

  “You’ve been in there for hours, my blessed. You must let him go now. T
he good Captain Donne will take care of him.”

  “One moment.” Theodosia slipped her dress over her shoulders. She shoved the chest aside and opened the door to her mother.

  “Come now,” said Amélie, her face drawn in exhaustion. “We shall pray for his soul together. I have already been doing so.”

  “But, Mama, we don’t need to.” Theodosia swallowed the lump of overwhelmed tears in her throat. “I’ve saved him. He’s alive.” She clutched her mother’s hands in joy.

  “What?” Amélie thrust her away as if she’d been burned. “You mean to tell me you’ve been in here all of this time with a man?” She cast a horrified glance past Theodosia. “And please do not tell me that man is naked, for if he is, then you have committed mortal sin.”

  Theodosia stared at her mother in disbelief. “He’s not just a man. He…he’s Benedict. He’s the man I love, a man who nearly died, and might still, trying to save my life. Your life too.”

  “If he drags your soul to hell, he has saved nothing.” Amélie’s nostrils flared in disapproval. “Better he had sunk to the depths of that ocean, or that you had listened to us all when we told you to leave him to — ”

  “Mother!” Theodosia’s yell shocked Amélie to silence. “Stop it. Now. Can’t you hear yourself? You never find anything in me except wrongness, sin. Even when we were at Canterbury, when I was too young to want anything other than to please you, to have you love me as a mother should. But you never did. You’re so unyielding, so unforgiving, so…” She threw her arms up, dropped them again. “Cold.”

  Amélie turned white. “How can you speak to me so? All I ever wanted was to protect your soul.”

  “Because you were so busy concentrating on my soul, you forgot about my heart. Your own heart.” Theodosia put a hand to the door. “You’re not a mother, not to me. You never were.” She slammed it shut before Amélie could say another word.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Benedict lay in her arms, in a peaceful, natural sleep. Theodosia stroked his thick dark hair, rejoiced in every strand, drank in every inch of his sleeping features. They’d lain like this for hours, as the ship made its rolling progress. She wished they could stay here forever, cocooned from the world, where it would just be the two of them in warm, sensual bliss.