“I would not ask you and your warriors to come with me. This is my choice to make, not yours. If God sees fit that my life is to be sacrificed then so be it, but I would never ask another to accompany me to the gallows.”
“Good. Because you didn’t ask. Philippe murdered one of my kinsmen. I want blood as much as Mert…Galahad does.”
“Jesus taught us to forgive all transgressions. I do not go to Brittany to fight, but to stop a war. You are not coming with me. It is better if I do this alone.” Sampson pushed past Yrre before he could say anything to the contrary, and headed out of the Hall.
“Good luck with that,” Yrre said under his breath as he watched Sampson leave the Hall. “Foolish youth.”
Eadger, who had been keeping a keen eye on them both, walked over to where Yrre stood.
“Sampson wants to go to Brittany,” Yrre explained in Saxon as Eadger stopped by his side. “He thinks to stop Galahad from seeking vengeance.”
Eadger laughed. “That boy is delusional. I’ve always said it.”
“I said we would go with him,” Yrre stated, glancing sideways at Eadger.
“You did?”
“Hmm,” Yrre answered. “No one knows where Galahad is, but you know what he is like. Galahad always has a plan. Everything he does has a purpose. I think he is making his way to Brittany. If he isn’t there already. We shall make our way back to Cerniw. Alden will want to know what is going on. He won’t like it if we sneak off. I’ll see you later.”
“Why? Where are you going?”
“I am going to put that monk on a leash. I have a mind that he would give me the slip if I let him.”
“Christian monks — they are slithery little bastards that is for sure.”
“This one more so than most. He would make a good warrior.”
“Not in my lifetime,” Eadger stated with horror. “I will not fight next to a Christian monk. The gods would never allow it.”
Yrre chuckled and threw his arm over Eadger’s shoulder. “He might be an asset, you never know. This God of his might really be on his side.”
13
Benwick Castle, The Kingdom of Brittany. One month later.
“You have a look on your face of a man who is destined for the gallows, but has not quite come to terms with it yet.”
Alan chose not to comment as he hurried to pack a bag. He wanted to catch the early morning tide, and he did not have the time to sit and gossip.
“If you don’t want to go, then don’t,” Bastian said as he leant against the doorframe of Alan’s cell.
“My father is on his deathbed,” Alan did not look at Bastian as he spoke but continued to hastily pack. “It is my duty to go.”
“Your father has been on his deathbed for twenty years or more, and you haven’t seen him for fifteen. What difference will it make if you are there for his death or not? You were hardly there for his life, were you?”
Alan gritted his teeth and continued to pack. His father’s ill health wasn’t the only reason he was catching a boat to the mainland, but Bastian didn’t know that. It was his responsibility to reunite the Knights, and he wasn’t going to be able to do that if he stayed behind the high walls of Benwick Castle.
Alan had initially thought that Draíocht had called to him because Philippe had taken the throne, but now he knew different. It wasn’t the dragon that they had to fear — it was the dragon’s master.
Bastian may be blind to what was going on here, but he wasn’t. It was only a matter of time before Mordred Pendragon made his move and they needed to be ready for it. Alan didn’t pretend to understand the politics of what was going on. But he relied on his gut instinct that told him things were about to take a turn for the worst.
What he did know was that Mordred Pendragon was a scheming bastard son of a no good father who should never have been given the position of High King. Lancelot had been a fool to trust in Arthur, and Philippe was a bigger one in trusting Mordred. History had been forgotten, but Alan would be damned if he sat back and let it be repeated. Bastian was right, he didn’t want to go, but he didn’t have a choice. Someone had to do something to put an end to this madness.
Alan thought that the du Lacs would have retaliated by now. They had all been waiting for Alden to bring his knights across the sea. But the tide showed no signs of an approaching army. Alan knew that it was now up to him to restore the order of things and to do that he needed Arthur’s knights. However, he feared that this journey he embarked on was going to be nothing more than a fool’s mission. How could he convince those knights who had sided with Arthur to fight alongside those who had sided with Lancelot? And where the hell was he going to find them in the first place? The knights were in hiding, and they had been ever since Arthur’s defeat.
Alan wished Bastian would leave him alone. He wanted to take the blade out from its hiding place under the floorboards. He needed to hold it in his hand and feel the welcoming warmth of the pommel that told him he was doing the right thing. But Bastian had been hovering over him like an annoying fly ever since he had received the message of his father’s imminent demise.
“I don’t understand you,” Bastian said, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the room. “You have responsibilities here. You are a valued member of this army. I could forbid you to go.”
“You don’t want to do that,” Alan replied. “I am going with or without your blessing.”
“How will you feel if something happens to her while you are gone?”
Alan sighed his annoyance. Of all the things Bastian could have said to him, this was the one that got under his skin. He didn’t want to leave Amandine alone to face the wolves. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a choice. “Nothing is going to happen to her. She is under the King’s protection.”
“While Mordred is away she is, but what happens when he returns?” Bastian hissed the question.
Alan paused in his packing as he realised that Bastian saw it too. He saw the danger that Mordred presented not only to King Philippe, but to everyone. This was not the time, however, to share his thoughts with his general. “That is your problem, not mine. I never asked for this,” Alan responded. “I was content with the King we had.”
“None of us asked for this,” Bastian answered, his voice carefully guarded.
Alan scoffed and shook his head. “I am going,” he stuffed a tunic into the bag. “If you cannot keep her safe, then you deserve not to be the general of this army.”
“Alan, I am begging you, don’t go, not yet.”
“Why not?” Alan asked over his shoulder as he headed towards the door. “The kingdom is at peace. There is no apparent threat.”
“You know that is not true,” Bastian said, grabbing his arm. “I am losing control of the men.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. You lost my respect the day you sided with Philippe.”
Bastian frowned and shook his head. “How good it must be up there on your high horse. Does it make you feel powerful to condemn me when you haven’t got a clue what made me betray Budic in the first place?”
“I know why you betrayed him. You turned Judas — you wanted the money.”
“The men were on the brink of mutiny. You knew that. We talked about it. You even said that the only way you could see a resolution was if Budic paid the soldiers what they were due. Your words. But you were not prepared to do anything about it. I was. Budic was going to lose his throne one-way or the other. I thought fewer people would die if Philippe took the throne and I was right. You know as well as I that it could have been so much worse. So do not stand there and look down your nose at me. Do not condemn me for trying to do something about the situation. You are not going, and that is final.”
“If you do not let me go then I will go to Philippe and tell him just how the du Lacs escaped his dungeon.”
Bastian let go of his arm and took a step back.
“Go on then,” Bastian sounded like a father who had finally given up reprimanding his son
. “Go. Go if you must. Go run home to your father with your tail between your legs. But don’t bother coming back. You weren’t worth half a siliqua anyway.”
“You are right. I wasn’t. But then there are some things money can’t buy, like loyalty.” Alan paused, taking a moment to will his temper back under control, for it served no man any purpose. “I will come back, Bastian. I swear.”
Bastian seemed to want to say more, but he turned his head away and bit back a retort.
“Goodbye,” Alan said. He would double back on himself and retrieve the knife, but for now, it was best for Bastian to think him going.
“Are you going to tell her or am I?” Bastian asked, his voice hoarse as if he too were trying to hold back his rage.
Alan turned slowly back around. “Keep her safe until I come back.”
“Western wind, hear my cry. Carry my message through the sky. Western wind, find my love, And tell him I’ll wait for…”
Amandine stopped singing and leant her head against the cold stone wall. She looked out the tiny gap of what was supposed to be a window. The window offered her only the view of the sky. No western wind would find its way into her chamber. She sighed heavily and turned away from the window. She felt restless today, the sea was calling her, and she was desperate to answer the summons.
With another deep sigh, she walked over to her loom. At least Philippe had now given her something to do. What with the loom and helping Philippe prepare for this elaborate feast of his, Amandine had more than enough to keep her hands occupied. But try as she might, she could not rest her mind.
Philippe visited her daily now. The feast was fast approaching, and it was important that he got everything right. He was quite the fanatic when it came to detail. Amandine had told him it would be easier if she could show him what needed to be done rather than tell, but he would not be swayed by her argument. She was safer locked away in this room. It was for the best.
Amandine didn’t want to like Philippe. He was her enemy. He always would be. But it was hard to keep him in his role as torturer and executioner. She knew she couldn’t trust him. She knew he was using her and yet…he was attentive and kind. Sometimes he was even funny. She wanted to hate him. She did hate him. At least, she thought she did. Her mind was in such a muddle. Amandine didn’t know what was right and what was wrong anymore. Had Merton been a demon? Had she misjudged him?
“NO,” she said the word loudly, and with force. She must not forget. She must always remember what Philippe did, and how Merton made her feel.
“Only death would make me leave you behind…”
Merton had said that to her, she could remember him saying it. He had kissed her on the forehead after he said those words. If she concentrated hard enough, she fancied she could still feel the brush of his lips on her skin. She bit her lip, for the tears were once again threatening to fall. How much longer would this insufferable grief last?
There was a loud knock on her door, and she quickly blinked away the tears and tried her best to compose herself. No doubt that would be Alan with something to break her fast.
“My Lady,” Bastian opened the door and stepped into her room, not bothering to shut the door behind him. One of the guards peeked into the room with a mix of curiosity and hatred.
“Traitor,” the word was out of Amandine’s mouth before she could stop herself. She had not seen Bastian since that fateful day, and she had hoped never to see him again.
“Alan has been called away. I will personally take responsibility for your safety from now on.” Bastian avoided eye contact as he spoke, and as soon as he had said his piece he turned to leave.
“Isn’t that what you promised Budic?” Amandine asked. She couldn’t help herself. “Isn’t that what you promised them all?”
Bastian shut the door with a loud bang, for what he had to say was for her ears alone. He turned slowly back around to face her, his eyes blazing with anger. “I told Merton to leave. I told you to leave. Do not blame me for the situation you now find yourself in. If you want someone to blame, then look to Merton, he chose to stay—”
“Because he wanted to save his brother.”
“Because he wanted to play the hero,” Bastian contradicted. “He believed the stories they told of him. He thought himself immortal, a god. But he is no god,” Bastian paused, hoping she had not picked up on his slipped word. Merton was alive the last time he had seen him. Bastian wondered if he still was. But he dared not say any of this to Amandine. She would have too many questions. Questions that he would be unable to answer. No one knew Merton was alive. Apart from his brothers, the monk, the Saxon bastards Merton had been travelling with, and of course, Budic’s bitch of a wife. Bastian wanted it to stay that way. It was for the best if The Devil stayed dead. Bastian had meant what he said; he was in charge of her safety. If he gave her such dangerous knowledge and she let it slip in either word or action that Merton was alive, then it wouldn’t be just her neck on the block. Bastian had a family that depended on him. He would not put them in harm’s way.
Looking back, he realised that he should have put a blade through Josephine’s black heart when he had the chance. She was a dangerous woman. If Bastian had his way, Amandine would have left Brittany with the others. But Josephine had dared to blackmail him, and he had let her because of some stupid oath he had once taken never to kill a woman. Damn the oath. Look how much pain it had caused.
Josephine, for whatever reason, wanted Merton to think Amandine was dead. And she wanted Amandine to think Merton was dead. Why? Bastian did not know. He didn’t understand the games that woman played. What he did know was that if Merton found out the truth, nothing would stop him from returning to Benwick. Merton would burn the castle, and everyone in it, to the ground, in his bid to get to Amandine. Merton would be unmerciful in his revenge. Hadn’t there already been enough blood spilt? The truth would mean more senseless deaths and Bastian had had enough of burying loved ones.
“I am glad Merton is dead. And I am proud of the part I played in his demise. My happiness will be complete when you join him,” Bastian continued to pretend hatred — telling himself that he was protecting Amandine, and it was for the best. He was being cruel to be kind. She must not like him. She must not rely on him as she did Alan. He would be compromised if she did. “Amandine du Lac? I hear you have taken back the name,” he taunted, although he felt sick to his stomach in doing so. “Tell me, is that because you feel loyalty to your adulterous first husband or because you loved The Devil?”
“I take the name because I am a du Lac,” her voice trembled, but she kept her head raised, she did not cower. “I was Garren du Lac’s wife, and I would have been Merton du Lac’s wife, in time. The name is mine, and I embrace it.”
“You should not embrace the name, you should fear it. Philippe does, that is why he doesn’t use it. I hear the two of you are becoming, now what do those at court call it, oh yes, intimate. Do you have notions of becoming Queen?” Bastian mocked, hating himself all the more for his cruel words. “The people will never stand for it. They want to see you burn on the stake. Tell me, Amandine du Lac, which one did you prefer? Garren, Merton or Philippe? There is a rumour that Alden has sampled the delights of your body as well. You should have become Budic’s mistress too, then at least you could boast how you had bedded them all.”
“I should hate you,” Amandine said with dignity and composure, “for spreading such lies, but I don’t. I pity you.”
“I don’t want a whore’s pity,” Bastian stated sharply. “I came here to tell you that Alan has gone. He has upped and left you like everyone else has. Why is that do you think? Did you stop giving it to him as well?”
“You bring shame only to yourself when you say such vile things,” Amandine returned. “Alan is a friend. Nothing more.”
“If you say so—”
“I do. I have not taken Philippe to my bed, just like I did not take Merton into my bed—”
“No, Merton took you in
to his, we all remember that.”
“Do you? Or perhaps you saw what you wanted to see. I recall neither you, the soldiers, nor the King, would listen to reason.”
“Philippe won’t be able to protect you forever. You do know that, don’t you? One day you will be brought to account for your sinful behaviour, and you will die.”
“Which sinful behaviour would that be? Would it be the sins you and the Abbot made up?”
“We didn’t need to make anything up. You condemned yourself by your actions.” Bastian screwed up his nose. “There is a stench in here of a body decaying. It turns my stomach.”
“Then feel free to leave. I am not stopping you.”
Bastian immediately acted on her words. He opened the door, and walked back out into the corridor, slamming the door with an almighty thud.
Amandine’s hand flew to her heart, and she took a deep, steadying breath. Alan couldn’t be gone — he was her friend. The only person she didn’t have to second-guess. She did not have time to gather up her emotions before the door was flung open again.
“I forgot,” Bastian had a tray of food in his hands, “Something to break your fast.” He dropped the tray onto the floor with great ceremony. Food went all over the place. “Dogs eat their dinner off the floor. Enjoy, Lady du Lac,” he chuckled. “You never know, I might get lucky and find out that this meal will be your last.”
“God is watching you,” Amandine threw the words at him.
Bastian laughed at her words, seemingly unconcerned. “What are you waiting for, bitch? Get down on your knees and lap up your food like a dog.”
“What is going on here?” Philippe asked as he came into the room. His eyes first went to Amandine who was stood against the wall, her face as white as a newly departed spirit. And then he noticed the food all over the floor and his questioning gaze turned to Bastian for an explanation.
“She is a clumsy mare, she tripped and dropped the tray,” Bastian stated.
The Du Lac Princess: (Book 3 of The Du Lac Chronicles) Page 15
