The Lord of Ireland (The Fifth Knight Series Book 3)

by E. M. Powell

  ‘All what?’ John squinted past the glow of the firelight to the deepening dusk beyond.

  ‘That.’

  As if in response to de Lacy, a torch lit the top of the keep. High on a spike, a bearded head adorned it.

  John gasped in delight. ‘The northern king?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  Others took up John’s gasp as torches lit up the top of the walls, each one casting a flaring light on another severed head, on and on in a fabulous, dramatic display.

  ‘The sight of victory.’ John started to clap, nodding to all his men to follow.

  Those present in the bailey joined in, some pointing in wonder, others yelling and whistling their approval.

  De Lacy acknowledged it all with a raised hand, not standing to make the most of it. Instead, he went back to his wine.

  More fool him. John waved and smiled to all. It was always a good idea to take the praise that one was given. And this was praise from the whole of Tibberaghny. With one exception. The sister had her hands to her cheeks, lips white and eyes wide in shock as she took in the sight. He could swear he caught the smell of terror on her. Serve the self-righteous little bore right. He’d love to make her squirm even more with a few clever quips, but he had no time for that right now.

  He clapped de Lacy on the back as the revelry climbed to new heights. ‘That will show the Irish who’s in charge at Tibberaghny, won’t it?’

  ‘I believe so, my lord.’ De Lacy gave a sharp nod. ‘Firm action is called for at times. It’s what I did to secure my lordship of Meath many years ago. I took the head of O’Rourke, a great chieftain, who laid claim there. The head of the son of another – the son of the wily Sinnach, the one they call The Fox.’

  ‘Indeed, one could say you certainly outfoxed him.’ John enjoyed his own clever jest.

  ‘You could, my lord.’ De Lacy didn’t smile. ‘Such an approach has made me many enemies. I’m glad to say that less drastic options work very effectively too.’

  ‘Such as?’ John took another look at what adorned his walls. ‘I doubt there’s anything more effective than this.’

  ‘Truces and alliances can work wonders, my lord.’ De Lacy nodded. ‘And they’re easier work.’

  ‘De Lacy! Such a wonderful display of your trophies.’ Gerald collapsed into a seat next to him, breathless from his ridiculous dancing.

  ‘Thank you, brother.’

  ‘More wine.’ The clerk grabbed for the jug.

  ‘Your head will be sore in the morning, Gerald.’ John tried to be rid of him with a warning look.

  The infernal man was far too drunk to notice.

  ‘And for you, de Lacy’ – Gerald slopped wine into goblets and onto the tabletop – ‘we are brothers, you and I.’ He pointed at de Lacy, then at himself. ‘A brother. Who is a brother.’ He pealed out his high-pitched laugh again, de Lacy humouring him with a grin and a clap on the back.

  As Gerald launched into a rambling account of the sins of the Irish, John wished the drunken clerk would choke. He didn’t need any distractions. Not now. His sight lit on the sister. Finally, she could be of some real use. ‘You.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Sister Theodosia.’

  ‘Yes, my lord?’

  He jerked a thumb at Gerald.

  The clerk now seemed to believe that de Lacy would take greater heed of his tales if he delivered them less than an inch from de Lacy’s face and with a firm hold of his cloak.

  The sister got to her feet at once to approach the small group, carrying the clerk’s plate of food.

  ‘See to him,’ said John. ‘For God’s sake.’ He took a deep drink as she gently detached Gerald from the Lord of Meath.

  ‘Brother,’ she said.

  ‘It’s Sister Theodosia!’ The oaf grabbed hold of her instead.

  ‘I have your meal,’ she said. ‘I think you should come and eat with me. Perhaps in your tent?’

  ‘No, no, no.’ Gerald patted the seat next to him. ‘No. Sit with me.’ He swayed as he pointed to de Lacy. ‘With the great Hugh de Lacy. He killed Irish savages. Same as me.’ He gave another sweeping point, a hair’s breadth from overbalancing off his seat.

  ‘You did?’ De Lacy seemed very interested all of a sudden.

  ‘I did.’ Gerald nodded hard. ‘I saved the sister. Saved her from a savage.’

  ‘Some food, brother. I implore you.’ The nun scooped a mouthful of soft fish into the clerk’s mouth.

  John’s jaw tightened. It didn’t stop the man. He merely chewed and blathered at the same time.

  ‘I saved the sister from your wife too, de Lacy.’ Gerald held up a finger. ‘Who is also a savage.’

  The nun shushed him.

  ‘Gerald.’ John’s sharp order managed to pierce even the man’s wine-filled ears. ‘Enough. De Lacy, I cannot apologise enough for my clerk’s drunken nonsense. I will get some of my men to take him back to his tent. Immediately.’

  ‘Let him be.’ De Lacy shrugged. ‘The wine has his tongue, I’m sure.’

  ‘Then apologise for what you said about the Lord of Meath’s wife.’

  ‘Eh?’ Gerald chewed on another mouthful, with, it seemed, no recollection of what he’d been saying.

  ‘You see, my lord?’ De Lacy shook his head. ‘It’s always worst with those who usually steer clear of it.’

  ‘Nevertheless.’ John frowned as if displeased. Inside, he rejoiced. Gerald had brought them to what he wanted to say. ‘How dare the clerk compare your magnificent deeds for the crown with his own paltry actions.’

  ‘Each man does what he can, my lord.’

  ‘That is my hope. And you have shown just what that means to the traitors of the north.’ He sighed. ‘Unfortunately, I have not fared so well here. The onslaught has been relentless.’

  ‘So I’ve heard,’ said de Lacy. ‘But God has spared you, and Tibberaghny is safe now. I give you my word I will defend it.’

  Gerald made a loud demand to Sister Theodosia for more fish.

  John caught back an oath. If the clerk interrupted again, he would squeeze the man’s neck until his eyes bulged. He shot the nun his fiercest look, and she distracted Gerald once more with another large mouthful.

  ‘Which is precisely what I need you to do, de Lacy.’ John savoured the glorious anticipation anew. ‘I need you to take control of this castle. On my behalf.’

  ‘Of course, my lord.’

  ‘Because I am moving my entourage on to the city of Dublin. I need to direct my campaign from its superior security and even greater resources.’

  ‘Again, you have my word that I will defend Henry’s lands here.’

  ‘I will have your loyalty.’

  ‘That is what I just said, my lord.’ The first question crept into de Lacy’s voice.

  ‘I will have it, because I will have your wife as a hostage.’ John smiled as if it were a polite request, not an order.

  The shock on de Lacy’s half-face was worth every moment John had spent in this cesspit of a country. ‘You have my promise whether—’

  John held a hand up to silence him. ‘It is a means of a civilised guarantee. That is all.’

  ‘But the journey to Dublin will not be easy, my lord. Or safe.’

  ‘Which is why I will take most of your men with me.’ John refilled his goblet, relaxed. In control. ‘Excellent fighters. The ones here?’ He snorted. ‘Useless. Lazy. Which is why you will remain here.’

  Gerald’s goblet spilled with a clatter.

  ‘Sorry, my lord.’ The nun set to quickly mopping it up.

  De Lacy didn’t even look round. ‘I do not wish any harm to come to wife, my lord.’

  ‘Of course, of course.’ John nodded as if considering a good point. In truth, he savoured the note of uncertainty that had entered de Lacy’s voice. ‘And neither do I. Hence surrounding her with so many protectors.’ His voice, his hands – all remained steady. His skills at changing his plans were as swift and unexpected as those he used in his favourite board game. His peg
s now sat precisely where he wanted them. And de Lacy couldn’t move them. He leaned forward and put a hand on de Lacy’s shoulder. ‘My hostages are my guests. She will be treated as the King’s guest. With her noble Irish birth and her marriage to you, how could I do anything else?’

  A yelp and a crash stopped de Lacy from answering.

  Gerald had fallen off his chair. The drunken fool.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘You have made it to your tent and you are in one piece, brother.’ Theodosia’s heart thudded. Her rash act of tipping him from his chair in the first place, the effort of propelling the drunken Gerald back here – both would have been enough to send her pulse racing. But not as much as hearing that John intended to take leave for Dublin, with Eimear as a hostage. She, Theodosia, would be going too. John would never dare leave the King’s clerk behind. And where Gerald went, so did she.

  The clerk swayed on his feet as he surveyed his tent, looking as if he viewed it for the first time. ‘I have had a terrible shock. I should like more wine.’

  ‘Indeed you have had a fright, falling like that.’ She guided him to his bed, thanking God he had not realised it had been her quick elbow that had tipped him over. ‘Praise God you did not hurt your arm anew.’

  ‘Praise Him, indeed,’ he slurred as she sat him down. ‘Praise Him higher for the gift of the grape. I should like some more.’

  ‘Perhaps you should rest instead, brother.’ If she could get him laid down, he might soon fall asleep. She needed to seize the opportunity that the whole camp celebrating afforded her. She had to find Benedict and tell him what John had planned. There had to be a way for Benedict to go too.

  ‘I don’t want to rest.’ Gerald frowned. ‘I want more wine.’ He pointed with a wavering finger. ‘There. On that chest.’

  Easier not to antagonise him. ‘Very well.’ She hurried over and poured him a small cup from the jug. ‘There you are.’ She handed it to him with care lest he drop it all over himself. ‘But you should get some rest when you are finished. You will need your energy for the long journey to Dublin.’

  ‘Who is going to Dublin?’

  ‘The Lord John, brother.’

  ‘So he is.’ Gerald took a swig of his drink. ‘I thought I dreamt that.’

  ‘No, brother.’ Oh, please let him finish.

  ‘He is taking the savage woman with him?’

  ‘Yes, brother. But I do not think it is a good idea to call her that again. Eimear is a noblewoman, and she will be under the Lord John’s protection.’

  To her surprise, Gerald went off into one of his peals of laughter again. ‘His protection? Oh, that’s good.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Unease grew within Theodosia.

  ‘John likes a noblewoman.’ His shoulders shook with his drunken mirth. ‘Likes all women, but they don’t always like him back. Which he enjoys most of all.’ He hiccupped. ‘When they fight him.’

  Dread enclosed Theodosia’s heart like a cold fist. Perhaps, as Hugh de Lacy had said, this was merely the wine on Gerald’s tongue. ‘I cannot imagine that is the case. The King—’

  ‘The King? Henry despairs of his youngest son, with John’s lewd, unnatural conduct. So many willing pairs of legs open for the stripling, yet he wants the unwilling. Takes them.’ Gerald fixed her with unfocused, bloodshot eyes. ‘All that fuss from that woman at John’s dubbing. He’d ravished her in the very house of the Knights Hospitallers. The wife of one of Henry’s court. Imagine!’ He shook his head hard. ‘By the blood of the Virgin, I am seeing two of you. I think I must have struck my head when I fell.’

  ‘Honestly, brother, you did not.’ Theodosia’s breath came fast and shallow. Of course she could imagine. The woman at Windsor, her cries of despair a puzzle to all at the time. But not to her father, the King. Nor her brother, the rapist. And not to her, Theodosia, now. Worse than imagining, she knew. And Eimear would be at John’s mercy.

  ‘Perhaps not.’ Gerald lay back on his bed in a sudden movement, empty cup tight in his grasp. ‘I do not know.’ He yawned. ‘But I tell you what I do know, sister.’

  ‘What, brother?’

  ‘I know I want some more wine.’

  ‘I will fetch it, brother.’ She went back to the jug. ‘There is none left. I will go out and get this filled.’ He would never be able to tell it still contained plenty, not in his state.

  ‘Go on, then.’ He waved her away with a limp hand. ‘You know what else?’

  Theodosia was halfway to the door. ‘No, brother?’

  His slack face shifted into an unkind smile. ‘The Lord John will tame that Irish savage. You mark my words.’ His eyes began to close.

  Theodosia fled. Benedict – she had to find Benedict.

  Sitting before an abandoned cooking fire that had sunk to embers, Palmer ripped the stained and filthy bandages from his hands. He threw them onto the glowing wood, where they caught and leapt into hissing flame. His wounds weren’t too bad; he’d only used them as an excuse for de Lacy. He moved his shoulders to ease the tiredness out of them. Tonight, for the first night in many weeks, he would sleep, and sleep soundly. De Lacy and his men would keep this place secure. For once, he, Palmer, didn’t have to. Then he would find a way to get to speak to Theodosia. With calm returned to the camp, he should soon get a chance to meet her at the water barrel.

  A new wave of raucous cheers came from the celebrations, and he caught de Lacy’s name in the shouts.

  De Lacy. How wrong Henry had been. How wrong John had been. And how wrong he, Palmer, had been.

  The burning bandages twisted and curled as the fire consumed them, fuelled by the fluids from dead flesh that had soaked them.

  Yet he’d had his doubts about de Lacy’s treachery before the scarred lord reappeared.

  The wearing down of the camp with unseen, relentless noise. The attacks from the trees with darts and slingshot. The speed and stealth of the un-armoured men in the trees. The skill at ambush and the deft wielding of the battleaxes. All showed the Irish to be masters of their own country. Faced with defeat, John could only claim that de Lacy had been helping the natives. The King’s son should have been looking at his own methods and weapons, which were suited to a different land, a different enemy. As should he have been.

  But with such unskilled fighters and so many deserters, every moment Palmer had had been taken up with defence. He rubbed tiredly at his thick stubble. Deserters. Of course. No wonder the Irish could predict John’s moves. Many men had abandoned John because of their empty purses. The Irish had wealth too. A coin could loosen a man’s tongue easier than drink.

  ‘Benedict!’

  Palmer caught his breath at a whisper from the shadows. Theodosia.

  He was on his feet and drawing her farther into the darkness in seconds, where he could still make out the curve of her pale face. His tiredness fell away as he drank in the sight of her. He gripped her hands hard with his. ‘Finally.’

  She clung to him too. ‘When the word came from Ardfinnan about the massacre of John’s men, I feared you were dead,’ came her swift, quiet reply. ‘That you would never return to me.’

  ‘Ardfinnan was a close call.’ He wouldn’t share how close it had been. ‘Nothing more. And now de Lacy’s back, we must change our—’

  ‘Listen to me. We haven’t much time.’

  ‘Time for what?’

  Panicked whispers flew from her lips. John, heading for Dublin. Theodosia would have to go too. De Lacy, staying here, under oath to John, with just a few men. Including him, Palmer. Eimear O’Connor, who’d saved her life, as John’s hostage. And what John did to women. ‘Benedict, you have to get Eimear away. Before it’s too late.’

  ‘Slow down.’ He broke in as she paused for breath, his heart racing at the truth of Theodosia’s encounter with the axeman. ‘I’ll find a way to travel to Dublin with you. I won’t leave you alone. Of course you want to help Eimear. As do I, from what you’ve just told me.’ He took a quick look round to make sure they w
ere still alone. ‘I’ll do that by going to de Lacy. I’ll persuade him. Theodosia, she’s his wife. He’ll be at John’s throat in a heartbeat if he thinks the woman he loves is in danger.’

  ‘No, he will not.’ Her tone sharpened in greater urgency. ‘De Lacy has no love for Eimear. Their marriage, the one that so angers Henry, is in name only. De Lacy and her father forced her into it to seal a truce between them. Eimear gave de Lacy a son, and that is all that matters to him. He doesn’t care what happens to her now.’

  Her words shocked but did not surprise. It all fitted. The cold argument he’d overheard between de Lacy and Eimear in their tent. And de Lacy’s slaying of the men from the north spoke of his ruthlessness. ‘You’re sure this isn’t more of Gerald’s idle gossip?’

  ‘No!’ Her whisper whipped back. ‘Eimear told me herself. She gave me her trust, as she sees me as a woman of God.’ Theodosia’s hand tightened on his, her nails digging into his flesh. ‘Benedict, I owe Eimear my life. If you do not act, I will.’

  ‘Steady.’ His turn to answer – fast, sharp. ‘We’ll get her out of here. You and I. You can’t stay here alone. Eimear will be able to get the protection of her own people. Then we need to go quickly to Henry and tell him about John. He is bringing nothing but disaster here.’

  ‘Agreed.’ She gave a firm nod.

  He let out a relieved breath. ‘Come on.’

  As they hurried off towards the keep, a rough plan formed in his mind. Theodosia was a frequent visitor to Eimear in the keep. That would give them reason to enter. Leaving with Eimear would be a lot harder. They’d have to walk down the steps of the motte, with the risk of being seen by any of those feasting below. But if Eimear kept low behind him and Theodosia, they might do it.

  A call from a nearby tent. ‘Sister! Where are you?’

  ‘Gerald.’ Theodosia stopped dead.

  Palmer halted too. ‘Forget about him. We have to keep going.’

  ‘Sister Theodosia! My drink!’ Louder, in the clerk’s piercing whine. He was on his way out.

  Worse, a guard emerged from his cross-legged seat before a small, lively fire, peering over into the darkness for the source of the commotion.