by E. M. Powell
‘Which is why you’re in this country. Which is why you took Eimear in marriage.’
De Lacy nodded. ‘When Henry asked me to come to Ireland, I didn’t hesitate for a second. It was a land unstained by my brother’s blood. A land I will do anything to keep, one I never want to leave.’ He drew in a long, shuddering breath. ‘And you’re correct. I had no right to kill that poor woman.’
‘It doesn’t matter if I’m correct. Yours is the hand that took her life. The hand of the Lord of Meath.’
‘But at least her daughter, her family, can come home. Can rebuild their cottage, sow their fields. Without being haunted at every turn that their mother was tortured in her last moments, abandoned by them.’
Palmer looked at de Lacy, his scars. Despair carved forever into his flesh.
De Lacy didn’t drop his certain stare. ‘I kept the poison from them, Palmer. For that, I will never be sorry.’
‘You are so welcome to the Rock of Saint Patrick. Every blessing to you, every blessing.’ The voice came from the far end of the hall in the Archbishop’s Palace at Cashel, but Theodosia could not make out anyone in the gloom of dusk in the high-ceilinged room.
The clean-shaven young monk who had escorted her and Eimear in here had not appeared perturbed by their dishevelled appearance. Now he left their sides with a patient sigh. ‘My Lord Archbishop, you forgot to summon someone to light your lamps again.’
‘Did I? Oh, dear. Is it that time already, Brother Fintan?’
‘It is, my lord.’ The monk set about his task, his height reaching the tallest lamps with ease as pools of light pierced the darkness. ‘Your visitors are here.’ He added his prompt as silence had descended again.
Eyebrows raised, Eimear exchanged a glance with Theodosia.
‘Oh, yes. Indeed.’
The monk lit a tall, wrought-iron candlestick, revealing Archbishop Matthew O’Heney sat at a huge desk, surrounded by piles of documents and manuscripts. He squinted hard, waving them forward. ‘Come closer, my lady, closer.’
Brother Fintan cleared his throat. ‘Eimear O’Connor, wife of the Lord of Meath, Hugh de Lacy, is accompanied by Sister Theodosia from the court of King Henry.’
The Archbishop’s face lit in a delighted smile. ‘Why, two visitors. Why didn’t you say?’
‘He can see nothing that isn’t in front of his face,’ murmured the monk as Theodosia went forward with Eimear. ‘Even when he can, his head is always in his books.’
‘My Lord Archbishop.’ Eimear gave him a deep bow, Theodosia matching her.
‘Every blessing of Saint Patrick be on you both.’ The plump Archbishop, his tonsured hair the colour of bleached straw in messy tufts, made a swift sign of the cross with ink-stained fingers. His pale blue eyes, large in his small head, moved in their direction, and he squinted again. ‘So honoured. The daughter of the Irish High King and a servant of King Henry. Brother, go and have us some food and drink prepared. Bless you.’
‘My lord.’ The monk left, closing the door behind him.
O’Heney peered at Theodosia. ‘He’s gone, sister?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Good. Young Fintan is my staunch and loyal servant. But he and the rest of them treat me like I’ve lost my wits sometimes. That’s what bad eyes and a love of the written word will do for you, eh?’ His face lit with his smile again, a smile which had a genuine kindness in it. ‘Now, sit, please.’ He gestured at the long table, lit with a line of three-footed iron candlesticks.
‘Thank you, my lord.’ Theodosia sank onto the padded tapestry chair, her aching body relieved at finally being able to rest but still consumed with worry over Benedict’s pursuit of John.
‘You are most gracious, my lord,’ said Eimear from the seat opposite as the Archbishop joined them at the head of the table.
‘Your meal will not take long.’ O’Heney pulled a tall jug towards him and filled three goblets. ‘First, you will need a drink after your journey.’ He passed the full goblets over. ‘Our well water works miracles on a day such as this.’
Theodosia took a drink, the cold, pure water a delicious freshness.
The Archbishop went on. ‘Now, I have been told that you have come here to seek sanctuary, which worries me greatly. Only those in grave danger would do so.’ He folded his hands, his badly focused gaze seeking out Theodosia and Eimear in the flickering candlelight. ‘There must be terrible devilment afoot if two noblewomen are fleeing for their lives. So unburden your hearts to me. Then we can decide how to proceed.’
Palmer moved forward through the dark woods, men to the left, the right, Irish warriors all.
De Lacy led the way, his hand raised for absolute silence.
The night breeze carried the sound of the trees, an owl, the distant shriek of a vixen to her cubs.
Then, on the wind came the sound of voices. The whiff of smoke. And a flicker ahead: the very faintest glow of campfires.
A shadow moved against a shadow as Uinseann appeared at de Lacy’s side. For such a huge man, he moved quieter than a field mouse. Not like Simonson, noisier than a charging boar. He’d been left to look after the horses in a clearing a hundred yards back.
De Lacy gestured for every man to gather round to hear Uinseann’s report.
The warrior’s deep rumble of a whisper: ‘We’ve found them.’
De Lacy nodded. ‘Layout?’
‘Four fires. Looks like John is at the farthest one.’
‘Looks like?’ Palmer was too tense for doubt.
‘Wears that woman’s fur,’ said Uinseann. ‘White.’
John’s favourite ermine.
Palmer’s fists clenched. John was in their grasp now.
‘His big destrier is tethered near him.’
De Lacy snorted. ‘A plague on him. Ready for a quick getaway as always.’
‘Then that’s our chance,’ said Palmer.
‘How?’ said de Lacy.
‘We only want him,’ said Palmer, careful to keep his voice low. ‘We can stir up the camp, make them think the whole place is under attack.’
‘Been learning lessons from Tibberaghny, Palmer?’ Uinseann grinned, his teeth a white flash in the shadows.
‘Maybe I have. But John will run. When he does, he’s ours for the taking. Simple.’
‘And what if he doesn’t?’ said Uinseann.
‘I’ve seen him close up in several fights now,’ said Palmer. ‘He panics. And he’s a coward. Saving his skin will be the first thing on his mind.’
‘The men of Meath aren’t like the shambles at Tibberaghny, Palmer,’ said de Lacy. ‘They’re well trained. They know what they’re doing.’ He snorted again. ‘Trained them myself.’
‘Exactly,’ said Palmer. ‘They’re used to a lord who leads them, who knows about battle. That’s what they’ll be expecting John to do. They can’t know him well enough yet. I do.’
‘God help you,’ said Uinseann.
‘Then we’ll do it,’ said de Lacy. ‘The cover of darkness gives us a big advantage.’
‘And if we fail?’ asked Uinseann.
‘Well, I won’t.’ Palmer checked his belt, his sword. ‘That just leaves you.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Palmer had forgotten the frustration of watching a battle from a distance. Every inch of him itched to draw his weapon, to wade in. Right now.
From his vantage point on the gently sloped higher ground above John’s camp, screened by a thin group of trees as he waited on horseback with de Lacy, he could see so much.
The blaze of the fires in the clearing of the thicker woods below. The groups of men, a few sitting, many more lying on the ground, fast asleep at this late hour.
‘Exactly as Uinseann described,’ he said to de Lacy.
‘Mm. Pity about the moon. Could do with rain for once.’
Palmer shrugged. ‘Helps with John’s robe.’
The pale fur gleamed in the moon’s blank light as its owner lay stretched out on the ground.
Palmer held in a laugh. He could sense de Lacy’s eagerness too.
De Lacy sat bolt upright in his saddle. ‘Here they come. Our men.’
And they did.
Palmer watched, rapt. Terrifying to be the victim of, the Irish attack was a thrill to see let loose onto his enemy.
There was no warning. The first sign the camp got was a horse, running through the camp, trailing a bunch of burning grass, terrified, fleeing, trampling.
The men that jumped to their feet, some awake, many more who’d been roused from sound sleep, leapt into a shower of javelins, stones, all from an unseen enemy hidden in the trees. The familiar chaos could be Tibberaghny.
‘Is John up?’ said de Lacy.
‘I can’t see him.’ Palmer tried to fix on the white robe. But so many figures ran, sought shelter.
‘There he is.’
Palmer followed de Lacy’s point to a crouching figure that stayed low even as he scrambled along with fast steps. He swore.
‘What?’ said de Lacy.
‘Your men aren’t the men of Tibberaghny.’
Despite the onslaught, shields were being grouped in a protective shell. A few archers had already started to return fire.
The white-robed figure made for the shelter of the shields.
Palmer reached for his crossbow.
‘Palmer. No. You’ll give our position away.’
Palmer raised his bow. ‘I can get a shield-holder. Send John the other way.’
John had almost made it to the safety of the metal shell.
He brought his fingers to the trigger.
‘No.’
Then, from below, a bellowing roar and a thunder of hooves.
Uinseann broke from the trees, his horse at full gallop, axe swinging in hand.
The warrior got the first head off without his mount breaking stride. Then another, and another man was down, his right arm no longer on his body.
Even the men of Meath didn’t stay in formation faced with that.
They fled.
Many fell as a hollering Uinseann delivered blow after blow with his axe. The other Irish rushed into the camp to join him, their axes bringing mayhem and death.
And then Palmer saw. ‘De Lacy, John’s away.’
Headed up the slope on horseback, in a straight path parallel to where they were, crouched low over the saddle.
De Lacy smiled. ‘He’s off like the devil’s after him.’
‘He’s not wrong.’ Palmer slung his crossbow on his back again. ‘Come on.’
‘Most troubling that Henry’s youngest son would behave in such a treacherous way.’ The Archbishop shook his head at Theodosia and Eimear. ‘The King has had many problems with his other sons. Even his wife.’
Theodosia kept her face a mask of serenity. She had first-hand experience of the problems of which O’Heney spoke. Problems that had almost cost her, Benedict and their children their lives. Had cost many others theirs.
O’Heney continued. ‘But this plan of his to use the children of the Irish.’ He crossed himself once, twice. ‘Terrible. God be praised that you have prevented him so far.’
‘God smiled on us.’ Eimear nodded at Theodosia. ‘He gave us the bravery and quick mind of the sister here.’
‘I only did the right thing.’ She took a draught of her water, embarrassed by Eimear’s praise. ‘I have my reward of being safely delivered here. There are others still out there putting their lives in danger to bring John to account.’
Sounds came from the door, and Brother Fintan re-entered with several others bearing covered dishes. ‘Your meal is ready for you, my lord.’
‘Excellent.’ O’Heney paused in their conversation as the meal was served to the table, Theodosia following his lead as Eimear, silent too, eyed the arrival of food with a pleased look.
They had given the Archbishop an account of everything he needed to know about John’s plan to take the throne of Ireland, including de Lacy’s pursuit along with others loyal to King Henry, but with no mention of Theodosia’s and Benedict’s real identities.
Once the door closed on them again, the Archbishop said a swift grace and waved for them to start.
‘Thank you, my lord.’ Eimear already had a large piece of bread halfway to her mouth.
‘And my thanks too, my lord.’ Theodosia took a spoon of oat pottage, thick and rich with butter and herbs.
‘I shall write to Henry on the morrow and explain what has come to pass.’ O’Heney broke off a piece of his bread to dip it in his bowl.
‘Forgive my rude question, my lord,’ said Theodosia, ‘but why would the King accept your word on this?’
‘Not rude at all, my dear sister.’ The Archbishop beamed his poor-sighted smile at her again. ‘For to question is what makes us alive. Questioning shows a lively mind.’ He waved his bread at her, sending a blob of sauce to land on the table. ‘Lively. Henry has a long association with Cashel. He visited here the year after Saint Thomas Becket was murdered; I was a mere cleric then. He played a part in the reform of the Irish Church.’ His smile was for Eimear now. ‘One of those who accompanied him was your husband, my lady. Of course, he was not yet the Lord of Meath then.’ He chewed hard on his bread. ‘God save us, but he wanted to be. Henry complained to my predecessor that de Lacy had him plagued every minute of the day with his requests and representation for it.’
‘Well, my husband got his wish,’ said Eimear with a polite smile.
‘Indeed, he did, my lady. Not only that, he secured a wonderful truce through his sacred marriage to you.’
Theodosia met Eimear’s knowing glance as the Archbishop dunked his bread again.
‘My, this is tasty,’ he said. ‘I think I forgot to break my fast this morning.’ He gestured over at his papers, sending more pottage across the table. ‘Got caught up in those, you see. Happens all the time.’ He gave his desk a wistful look. ‘Never enough time.’ He hauled his attention back to Eimear. ‘As for your husband, I am sure he will have John under his hand well before my letter even reaches Henry. I am sure his reputation and his skill in negotiating truces will be as effective as ever.’
‘I hope so, my lord,’ said Eimear, ‘but of course he does not have his troops with him to help his case, remember.’
‘Only a small group, my lord,’ said Theodosia. Including my husband. ‘Which is why it is so important that Henry is quickly informed.’ She met Eimear’s glance again. They would have to make sure that the Archbishop did not get distracted with his studies. Henry had to know. With all haste.
‘Of course, of course.’ O’Heney nodded hard. ‘I will pray, pray with all my might that there will be no bloodshed.’ His voice quietened. ‘For which my heart always grieves, as well as my soul.’
‘As does mine,’ said Eimear.
Theodosia could only cross herself, unable to trust that she could speak without distress. Bloodshed. Please God, let it not be Benedict’s.
The Archbishop nodded to himself. ‘Which is why it was such a wise decision for you both to come to Cashel.’ He looked from one to the other with his unfocused eyes. ‘I can keep you both from warfare, protect you under Lex Innocentium, the ancient law that keeps the innocents from harm. Give you the sanctuary of the Church.’ A small, proud smile came back. ‘I have the greatest of authority in this land. Authority which has given me the great privilege of having being able to save so many lives. And now I can guarantee the safety of yours until this latest time of turmoil is over.’ He gave a deep sigh of satisfaction.
‘Thank you once again, my lord,’ said Eimear.
‘My heartfelt thanks to you too, my lord,’ said Theodosia.
The Archbishop waved their replies away. ‘Once you have finished your meal, I will get Fintan to show you to your accommodation.’ He waved a hand at his hall. ‘Thi
s is a fine building. But that is your refuge under God’s law.’ He pointed out of one of the tall windows where the moon had long risen to light the sky, a tall shadow soaring into it. ‘Cashel’s Round Tower.’
They had him. They almost had him.
Palmer had made a vow not to kill John, only to arrest him. Stop him. He wished that were different. His own fighting blood was up. Without that vow, the Lord of Ireland wouldn’t be long for this world.
It was as if John heard his thoughts. His animal picked up greater speed as he drew ahead up the hill, a pale splash of movement against the darkness of the rising land.
Palmer was ahead of de Lacy by half a length as his lighter horse did better on the rising ground.
‘Keep on him.’
Palmer kicked his animal on faster at de Lacy’s order as the lord increased his pace too.
The drum of another set of hooves came close behind.
Palmer glanced back.
Uinseann, leaving the mayhem in the camp to his capable fellow warriors.
He drew alongside. ‘Saw him take off.’
‘You can’t kill him,’ said de Lacy
‘I’ll try not to.’ Uinseann still had his bloodstained axe.
‘You might scare him to—’ Palmer thought his own eyes failed him. ‘Forcurse it. Where’s he gone?’
‘He was right there.’ De Lacy flung up a hand in a bewildered gesture.
A string of Irish words burst from Uinseann.
Palmer knew each one was an oath.
‘I hope I’m wrong,’ went on Uinseann, in Palmer’s tongue again, ‘but I think I know exactly where we are. Follow me.’
He made for the spot where John had disappeared.
After not many yards, Palmer saw.
Before them, the ground opened up in a huge scar in the earth, a sheer grey wall of rock facing them. The ground beneath their feet fell away in a steep, steep slope. Covered in loose shards of rock and stunted bushes that gave way to ferns, the slope led down to the black mouth of a huge cavern at the foot of the cliff, open like a beast about to devour the moon overhead.
