The Blood of the Fifth Knight

by E. M. Powell

  She stumbled along with him. ‘Sir Benedict. It doesn’t have to end like this.’ Her tone wheedled now. ‘If you let me go, I can get you a reward. A big reward.’

  ‘I said, shut up.’ The chase had given him passing strength. Now it drained from him.

  ‘Great riches.’

  He shook her as best he could, a feeble effort.

  And she knew it. ‘You’re not even in one piece.’ She pulled away from him, her body a dead weight that he could hardly move. ‘Not much of a fighting knight any more.’

  He slowed even more. He had to regain what strength he could. ‘And you’re a murderer. They come two a penny.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong.’ All fear left her voice. ‘I’m somebody now.’

  Palmer’s legs buckled.

  With a vicious twist out of his hold, Gwen freed herself as he fell.

  She quickly backed away from him. ‘I work for the Queen’s uncle.’ She nodded and pointed to her chest. ‘I. That’s right. The poor old woman who fooled you all.’ She hawked her spittle on the ground in front of him. ‘Now I’m going to collect my reward. Goodbye.’

  She started to hurry away as Palmer climbed agonizingly to his feet, his head spinning.

  He had to try to follow her. But he couldn’t.

  Then Gwen turned and ran back towards him.

  ‘Palmer! Sweet Jesus, Palmer!’

  Had she finally lost her wits?

  ‘The leopard.’ Gwen clutched at him. ‘There. In the trees.’

  Palmer followed her trembling point as the sound of its call like a busy saw echoed into the darkness. The glow of deadly amber eyes met his gaze. The call echoed again.

  ‘Do something. Do something! Anything!’ Her grasp tightened. ‘Use your knife. Like when it went for you and Rosamund.’

  The leopard stirred. Moved slowly along the branch, watching them both.

  Palmer swallowed. ‘I have no knife.’ He kept his voice low.

  ‘No knife?’ Gwen hissed back.

  He stepped between Gwen and the leopard, his own instinct taking over. ‘And I haven’t the strength to fight it.’ He didn’t. Curse it, he didn’t.

  ‘What?’ Her fury came clear.

  ‘All we can do is not move. And hope that it has eaten.’

  ‘So that’s all the great Sir Benedict Palmer can offer?’

  ‘I’ve nothing else.’

  The animal drew back its top lip, its fangs out as it gave a long, deep rasp.

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But I have this.’ Gwen’s hand came, swift, strong.

  Palmer tried to jerk back. No good.

  The object she held shattered onto his chest.

  Dark red fluid splashed all over his front and onto his face.

  The leopard snarled harder. Twitched its tail.

  Palmer slapped his good hand to his front. ‘Blood?’

  Gwen took a step away. ‘The Martyr’s blood. Becket’s blood. From Godstow.’ She brought a hand to her face to control her mirth. ‘It’s all over you. The creature will want you now. Not me. My miracle.’

  Palmer shot a glance to the animal.

  It still hadn’t moved.

  Gwen saw it too. ‘Go on.’ Her urge came through her gritted teeth.

  Palmer slowly licked a splash from the side of his mouth. No metallic tang. ‘Not blood.’ His fingers closed on a shard of the glass caught in his cloak. ‘But a pilgrim’s fake.’ With a wide, hard slash, he opened Gwen’s cheek.

  She screeched in shock and pain, her hand going to the bloodied wound.

  Palmer stumbled away from her. ‘But that?’ He flung the shard away. ‘That’s real.’

  She screamed again, tried to run.

  The leopard streaked past Palmer. And jumped.

  Gwen’s skull broke open with a crunch as her howls reached a new pitch.

  Palmer found new strength as the animal devoured Gwen Prudhomme alive in a rip of flesh and shrill, agonised screams.

  Sure he’d be next, he ran for Godstow.

  Sitting at table in the Abbess’s candlelit parlour at Godstow, Palmer finished his account of Gwen’s involvement, from her murderous pursuit of Rosamund to her death by the leopard’s jaws. A furious Henry and a sombre Geoffrey listened intently as they dined. Abbess Dymphna simply gave many of her firm nods.

  ‘So Raoul de Faye sent that woman. Put her in my court so she could remove my poor Rosamund when the right time came. The audacity.’ Henry stabbed at another piece of sauced fish with his knife. ‘May she rot in hell forever.’ He shook his head as he chewed. ‘And to think that blood of Becket’s was no blood at all.’ He washed his mouthful down with a larger one of wine. ‘I need to have a word with Canterbury.’

  The Abbess spread her hands. ‘But still a miracle, your Grace. Sir Benedict’s life was saved, and the sinner received her due punishment.’ She folded her hands under her sleeves. ‘Sometimes it’s better to keep silence.’

  ‘You make a good point, Abbess Dymphna.’ Henry loaded his mouth again.

  Palmer eased his tight, aching shoulder.

  As with all things, the Abbess noticed. ‘Have more wine, Sir Benedict. It will help.’

  Palmer took it with thanks. ‘I’m only glad you didn’t allow Theodosia and the children to come here with me, your Grace. You said it was too dangerous. And you were right.’ He took another mouthful of the well-cooked pike with its spiced vinegar sauce.

  Henry nodded, his sombre face a match for the steadily eating, silent Geoffrey’s. ‘It plagues me to think that they could have been within Gwen’s grasp.’ He tossed back his own drink, and the Abbess immediately refilled it. ‘So much has gone on. So much.’ His eyes filled with sudden tears. ‘God took the woman I loved and the devil took another I had fondness for. All in one day. One day. And I have not had time to mourn them. God have mercy on a broken-hearted King.’

  ‘There is still much to do, your Grace.’ Geoffrey broke off a chunk of the good bread and threw it to his waiting dog. ‘I have sent out fresh searches for the leopard.’

  Henry snorted as he palmed his tears away. ‘It consumed that woman. I’d like it canonised. Not killed.’

  The Abbess raised her eyebrows at the King’s words.

  But Palmer swore he caught the ghost of a smile. Her glance to him confirmed it.

  ‘We will hunt it down,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I’m sure of it.’

  Henry snorted again. ‘There is no such thing in life as “sure.” I’ve learned that much.’

  ‘Your Grace never said a truer word,’ said Palmer.

  Methodical as ever, Geoffrey went on. ‘I’ve been questioning Hugo Stanton.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘God help me. I only had to show him to the door of the slaughterhouse, and he started crying and blabbing like a maid. He’s so beside himself, he’s not even making a lot of sense. I listened to what he had to say and then locked him in there. A night’s contemplation of his fate will help for a start.’

  ‘Stanton.’ Henry’s face darkened in anger. ‘I want to see him myself. The treacherous little swine.’

  Palmer guessed he would. Poor Stanton. Being questioned by Henry in one of his rages was like facing a full winter storm. And a storm that would probably decide to have Stanton’s head cut off. ‘I don’t think he’s clever enough to be a true traitor, your Grace.’

  Henry went a truly frightening colour.

  ‘I have to agree, sire,’ said Geoffrey, to Palmer’s surprise.

  ‘How?’ Henry’s fierce stare went to his son.

  ‘As Palmer says, Stanton is stupid,’ said Geoffrey. ‘And I would add gullible. Vain. Lazy.’

  Palmer nodded his agreement.

  Geoffrey continued. ‘Thought he and Rosamund were gilded lovers.’

  ‘Gilded?
’ Henry slammed down his goblet so hard that he lost most of the rest of his wine on the table top. ‘Gelded, more like, when I get hold of him.’ Then he looked at Palmer. ‘You knew, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, your Grace.’ Palmer steeled himself for the response. ‘Though I tried to warn him off.’

  ‘It was Stanton who’d lain with Rosamund the night she died.’ Geoffrey broke in. ‘He confessed that too.’

  ‘Then he is a dead man.’ Henry guzzled down the fresh cup of wine the Abbess poured for him. ‘And he will embrace death by the time it comes. Make sure of that, Geoffrey.’

  Geoffrey gave a terse bow.

  Henry jabbed a finger at Palmer. ‘And you should have told me what Stanton was up to.’

  ‘I’m sorry, your Grace.’ Now came Palmer’s turn to choose his words with care. ‘And you may think this an unexpected request, but I would like to plead mercy for Stanton.’

  ‘What?’ asked Henry. ‘Have you truly lost your wits?’

  ‘Perhaps. Or perhaps I see a bit of myself in him.’ Palmer shrugged. ‘Yes, he’s young and stupid. As I’ve been in my time. But he loved Rosamund, even though he couldn’t see that he did grave wrong. And when it came down to it, he brought my message to you about Gwen. If he’d kept his silence, he would’ve got away with his life. I think that’s worth something. Maybe shows what he’s truly made of.’

  Henry’s scowl deepened.

  ‘I agree with Sir Benedict,’ said Abbess Dymphna.

  Henry snorted. ‘What do you think, Geoffrey?’

  Geoffrey’s look met Palmer’s. ‘Stanton’s actions meant I don’t have the blood of an innocent man on my hands. We should grant clemency.’ He shifted his gaze to Henry. ‘And I believe there is more to be gained from Stanton, gullible idiot though he is. At the moment he’s so frightened, he’s barely coherent. Once he’s calmer, he may be more help. And if Gwen fooled him, was there someone else she took in, in your household? We need to question everyone.’

  Henry nodded. ‘She tricked us all, God rot her.’ He sighed. ‘Very well. It’s against my better judgment, but I’ll let Hugo Stanton live. Though he’ll see the inside of one of my prisons for many a year.’

  Palmer bowed as much as his body allowed. ‘Thank you, your Grace.’

  ‘And you’ll help me with the questioning, Palmer?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘I could do with your nose for wrongdoing.’

  Palmer looked at the King. ‘If your Grace would grant me another favour, I just want to head for home. Theodosia will be worrying herself into an early grave.’

  ‘You’ll be the one in an early grave if you try to travel in that state, Palmer,’ said Henry. ‘Geoffrey’s efficient work on you puts you at risk. You must recover first.’

  ‘I would share his Grace’s view,’ said the Abbess. ‘You are not yet strong.’

  ‘A couple of days, Palmer,’ said Henry. ‘Sup plenty of the Abbess’s wine. Help Geoffrey seek out liars. Then you’ll be back in no time.’

  Palmer allowed himself to be persuaded. ‘Very well. A couple of days more. But that’s all.’

  The Abbess refilled his goblet again, and he drank its numbing warmth.

  And at least Joan was in Cloughbrook to help until he returned.

  Theodosia rocked Matilde in her arms, trying to get her to settle.

  The airless gloom of this damp place made her daughter fretful. Worse, her coughing became more and more frequent, and her listless dozing never seemed like proper sleep.

  Tom coughed too but mercifully seemed otherwise unaffected by their time here.

  Not that she knew how long that was. Keeping a mark of the hours in here proved impossible. The lack of light. Her own racing, distracted thoughts, pulling her into terrors for the children’s fate. Benedict’s fate. Her own fate. All of their fates. She could not tell if an hour or a minute had passed.

  Tom coughed again, stood upright, legs planted wide as he cleared his lungs. ‘When are they letting us out, Mam?’

  ‘I do not know, Tom. We must pray it will be soon.’ Theodosia brought Matilde’s head to her shoulder as she swayed gently from one foot to the other.

  ‘But if Pa—’

  ‘Hush.’ Theodosia stiffened, listened out. Surely her ears did not play tricks?

  ‘But—’

  ‘I said, hush.’

  Tom did, looking surprised at her fierce tone.

  Again. A woman’s voice. Theodosia was sure of it. She was. She hurried over to the bars. ‘Joan?’

  And then her prayers were answered.

  Joan came into view, accompanied by the guard. She held up a hand to him. ‘Please. Wait there. I would speak to my family in private. As Lord Ordell gave permission to do.’

  The man did as asked.

  Joan walked up to Theodosia with fast steps. ‘Oh, sister.’ She came to the bars, slid a hand through and grasped Theodosia’s free hand. ‘Sister.’ Her eyes shone with unshed tears.

  Theodosia’s own throat filled with a sob of relief, but she swallowed it back. ‘I cannot tell you how good it is to see you. I have prayed that someone might come. Tom, see who it is!’

  Tom coughed and stared at his aunt. ‘Pa should come.’

  Joan smiled. ‘I’m sure he will, Tom.’ She loosed her hold on Theodosia to stroke Matilde’s hair. ‘For God’s sake.’ Her tone came low. Fierce. ‘To put these little ones in here? It is so wrong.’

  Theodosia looked to where the disinterested guard stood, clearly undaunted by a gathering of women and children. He would not be able to hear them at that distance. ‘Have you heard anything from Benedict?’

  Joan shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not.’

  Still no news of him. Theodosia’s spirit quailed. ‘Then have you found anything that would help our cause?’

  Joan shook her head again and also checked on the guard before continuing. ‘Theodosia, Ordell and the Abbot summoned me for questioning. What they had to say was awful.’ Her pale skin became even paler. ‘Really awful.’ She released her hold on Theodosia and tightly gripped the bars with both hands. Her pain at what she knew showed clearly in her face.

  Then the nightmare continued. ‘I know what Lord Ordell has decided. The Abbot told me.’ Theodosia’s grief threatened to overwhelm her but she fought it down. ‘I have been praying. Because Joan, I do not know what else to do.’

  Joan dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘When the Abbot told me about his visit, I had an idea.’ She took in a long breath. ‘It’s the best I could come up with. I suggested it to Ordell. He has agreed.’

  Hope leapt in Theodosia’s heart. ‘Then what is it?’

  Joan shook her head. ‘Oh, dear God. This is so hard.’

  ‘Joan. Please.’

  ‘Ordell does not want you protesting your innocence. He wants you to acknowledge your guilt.’

  Theodosia stared at her. ‘So my children and I are burned to death on a lie? With no argument?’ Her voice rose. ‘No protestation?’

  The guard looked their way.

  ‘Quiet, sister.’ Joan squeezed Theodosia’s right hand again. ‘The Abbot has given an account of you as a violent devil worshipper. We cannot give the guard a reason to take me out of here.’

  Theodosia dropped her voice to a frantic whisper once more. ‘Very well. But I must protest my innocence. And that of my children. Because we are innocent!’

  ‘I know that,’ said Joan. ‘And I’m working tirelessly to prove you are. And until I do, I believe my idea will help.’

  ‘Then what is it?’

  Joan took another long breath. ‘I can save your children.’

  Theodosia caught her own breath in delight. ‘That is wonderful! How did you—’

  ‘It’s not wonderful, Theodosia. It’s not.’ Joan went whiter still. ‘It’s the best I could do.’

  ‘Joan, you are
frightening me.’

  ‘Ordell has agreed. That he will spare the children.’ Joan bit her lip. ‘Release them to me. If you confirm your guilt.’

  Theodosia clutched Matilde so hard her daughter squirmed and complained in her arms.

  Joan started to cry, silently, copiously. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Mam?’ Tom pulled at Theodosia’s skirts. ‘What’s happening?’

  Theodosia gazed down at him. His tufted red hair. His strong, freckled face. His stocky little legs. Matilde bumped her small head against her mother’s collarbone, quieter now.

  Theodosia knew her answer. Though it could not have hurt more if Ordell stood in front of her, ripping her heart from her chest, she knew the answer. ‘Then take them.’

  Joan put her hands to her face. ‘Oh, dear God, dear God. Are you sure?’ Her dark eyes spilled more tears.

  ‘At least they will live, not face immolation.’ Theodosia steadied her breathing. ‘And you are still searching for answers. And Benedict will return.’ She found a shaky smile for Joan. ‘My children will stay safe. I have you both fighting for me. How could I not have hope?’

  ‘Look at me like a dribbling fountain.’ Joan pushed her tears away. ‘When you’re the one who should be crying, yet you make this choice, brave as a lioness.’

  ‘Then take them.’ Theodosia feared she would change her mind if they did not act quickly.

  ‘Guard?’

  The man came over.

  ‘Please release the children as Lord Ordell has instructed,’ said Joan.

  He unlocked the gate and opened it.

  ‘Tom, go with your aunt.’ Theodosia bent to kiss her son on the head, put a hand to his shoulder.

  ‘I don’t want to. I want to stay with you, Mam.’

  ‘No. You must go.’ Theodosia’s heart broke as she guided him firmly towards Joan’s outstretched hands. Every instinct within her clamoured to hold him, hold Matilde and never let them go. But she had to believe in her hope. This could not be the last time she ever held them. It would not.

  He ducked away. ‘No!’

  ‘Come on, boy.’ The guard yanked him by one arm and pulled him outside.