by Ken Johns
“What are you doing in here? Why aren’t you helping my father?”
“I am sorry, Lady Mila.” Raymond spoke quietly. “That is not my fight.”
“Bullshit.” Mila glared at him. “You’re a coward!”
The four guards rushed into the inn. Raymond came en garde. The men skidded to a stop. The nearest one was within reach and paid with his life. The other three fell over each other trying to stay out of his way. They seemed to have forgotten about the three women huddled at the foot of the stairs. They slowly circled Raymond until one of them had his back to Mila. Big mistake. Mila took Sandra’s sword and drove it into his exposed neck. The guard gurgled and fell, clutching his throat. The other two men glanced at their dying comrade.
It was all Raymond needed. His sword came up, and the nearest guard fell where he stood. He spun toward the last guard, his sword blurred, then stopped.
Mila stared as the dead man’s skull pulled Raymond’s sword to the ground. Fear was obviously something Raymond would never know. He was a master swordsman.
Raymond put his foot on the head and pulled his sword free of the eye socket in which it was lodged. “Are you harmed, Lady Mila?” He bowed his head slightly.
“No.”
Raymond’s eyes glanced at the floor as he slammed his sword back in its scabbard. It was clear he had more to say, but he kept it to himself.
“I’m sorry, Sir Raymond. You are not a coward.” Three men lay dead or dying at his hand, and it had taken less than a minute. So why wasn’t he helping her father? Shit, if he were out there, they’d have Jess rescued by now. Mila’s eyes widened as she studied Raymond’s face. He was taking Lady Evelyn’s instructions verbatim. He was protecting… her.
“Margaret. Take Sandra back up to the room.” Mila ran out of the inn, plunging through the crowd. She glanced behind her just once, to be sure.
Raymond rushed after her.
The closest guard took a step down the stairs and slashed at John. He deflected the blow and punched him in the groin. The man doubled over, and he stabbed him in the neck.
Flames caught a corner of Jess’s bandage and quickly licked up toward her body. She screamed uncontrollably.
“No! Jess, I’m coming.” The tears welled in his eyes. He forced himself to focus on the fight, one man at a time. He was nearly there.
The armored man at the top of the stairs ordered the last two guards toward him.
Jess screamed, the sound impossibly loud.
They came at him together. The one on his left slashed down at him. He blocked it. The one on his right thrust straight while John was engaged. His chain mail took the brunt of the blow, but he felt the tip of the sword penetrate his ribs. He dodged away and felt the warmth of his own blood under his tunic.
Jess’s scream tore at his ears, swamping him with adrenaline.
The guards advanced again, driving him farther away. He stumbled over a body and landed hard on another corpse.
Jess writhed on the pole, straining against her bindings. Flames devoured her hair. Her face blistered and bubbled.
He shook his head to keep the thought out, but it grew and demanded more and more of his attention. He wasn’t going to make it. He had to focus. But Jess was… dying.
John’s hand found a dagger on the corpse as he pushed himself to his feet to fend off another attack. Jess’s weakening screams owned his mind. He surprised the last two guards by charging them. The first man fell headless at his feet. The last guard choked, clutching the dagger in his throat as he sank to his knees.
But John was too late. Jess’s screams had died away, replaced by a faint gurgle. She twitched in the flames, the fire roasting her like meat.
All he could do was end her pain. Through his tears, he pulled the dagger free of the guard’s neck, flipped the blade into his palm, and threw it. The dagger buried itself in her forehead. He had failed.
Sandra went up the stairs with Margaret. She stepped to the window, and her world ended.
Jess wasn’t tied to the pole anymore. Her baby was gone and, in her place, hung a strange creature. Its blackened face lolled to one side with a dagger handle protruding from its brow. The thing on the pole steamed and sizzled as the sick bastard of a crowd just stood there watching. How could they? Every single last one of them deserved to die.
Sandra turned away from the window. The bed invited her to just lie down and shut out this horrible place. But she couldn’t. She wandered back toward the door. Her whole body weighed her down, pulling her toward the floor with every step. Margaret tried to take her hand, but she brushed her aside and started down the stairs. John and Mila needed her.
Jess’s shrieking had stopped. Mila tried not to think of what that might mean. She raced to the front of the thinning crowd and pushed her way into the open where the ground was littered with dead and dying guards.
There was only one armored man between John and Jess. But Jess was completely engulfed in flames. She had stopped moving, stopped screaming. John backed away.
No. John. Mila dropped to her knees, staring up at Jess’s charred body. Jess was dead.
And it was her fault. She’d left Jess alone in the forest. She’d wasted precious moments cowering in the castle. And now she’d taken far too long getting Raymond into the fight.
It was all her fault.
“Lady Mila?” Raymond glanced around the town square, then lifted her into his arms.
Mila hadn’t the strength to resist. He carried her back to the inn.
“Mila?” Sandra stepped to Raymond’s side when they were inside the inn.
“She is unharmed, Madame.”
“What happened to her?” Sandra wiped Mila’s hair out of her face.
Mila brushed the hands away. “Sandra.” She climbed out of Raymond’s arms and stood. Sandra tried to feel her forehead. “Mom!”
“What?” Sandra stopped scanning Mila’s clothes.
“Jess is…” Mila stopped, refusing to say the word.
“Shh.” Sandra pulled her close and hugged her. Mila lifted her arms to return the hug, but Sandra let go. “Where’s your father?”
Sandra stood there looking very concerned, like she did when he was late for dinner. Why wasn’t she crying? Her whole life, Mila had seen her cry easily and often. She was the most emotional person Mila knew. She was in shock. That had to be it. She reached out to her. “Jess is… dead.”
Sandra took a step back. “Yes. I heard you.” She spoke quietly but firmly. To Raymond she said, “Do you know where my husband is?”
“Madame, he was walking away from the square when I returned with Lady Mila.”
“We should go and find him. Will you please escort us to where you saw him last?”
“Yes, Madame, it would be an honor.” Raymond bowed.
Mila stared at Sandra. She’d expected her to be a useless mass of blubbering, but here she was, composed and lucid. Somehow, she’d boxed up her grief and put it away. Mila couldn’t believe it.
“Mila.” Sandra stood waiting at the door with Raymond. “Stop staring. Let’s go. We need to find your father and get him off the streets.”
Mila’s chest still ached from her tears. All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and hide, but Sandra was right. They needed to find John. Mila swallowed hard and followed her out the back door.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
April 28, 1341
Edward peeked out from behind the stake. The crossbow danger seemed to be over. The heretic swordsman limped away, and the crowd parted to let him pass. Henri just stood there at the top of the stairs.
“Will you not pursue him?”
Henri pointed to the ground in front of the platform. “Can you not see, Your Grace?”
The bodies of the dead and dying guards were everywhere. Henri walked down off the platform and knelt next to the nearest man, who yet breathed. The crowd closed behind the heretic and Edward lost sight of him.
“He is escaping!”
&n
bsp; Henri acted as if he had not heard him. Edward hated being ignored more than anything.
Much of the crowd had run away when the fighting began, but those who remained now looked to him. Did they want him to say something? He had nothing else prepared. Who knew the heretic would jump out of the crowd and ruin the execution?
Edward walked down the stairs and knelt by the corpse of the torchbearer. He closed his eyes and crossed himself. He peeked out at the crowd while he prayed. They seemed satisfied with his actions and began to drift away. He finished praying and moved to the next corpse to repeat the performance.
Why was Henri so afraid to engage in the Lord’s work? Did he not know that God would protect the righteous? Edward seemed to be the only one who understood the urgency of suppressing this evil. His entire existence depended on the unwavering belief of the villagers. Without them, he had nothing… was nothing. The heresy must be stamped out at all costs. The lives of a few guards seemed a small price to pay. If the baron and his captain had tired of the task, then Edward must find another way.
Reginald continued to watch the heretic as he walked, unmolested, from the square. The man was tall and easily visible above the crowd. Reginald glanced at the door to the Hanging Cock. The crowd had cleared away, and he had an unobstructed view of the building. At any moment he expected to see his men come out, dragging the crossbow-wielding heretic behind them. Yet no one came. How could this be?
“The heretic has sought refuge in an alley,” said Wessex. He stood in his stirrups, keeping an eye on the heretic. He lowered himself back into his saddle and lifted his reins. “Shall we take him?”
“Hold,” said Reginald. The massacre that had been wrought by this one man lay before him, and he had never seen such carnage. Henri was kneeling next to the dead and dying men.
And why had his men yet to emerge from the inn? He glanced behind him, and there sat Evelyn, with what looked like a smile on her face.
Damn her. He hated to look the coward in front of her but, including those he had sent to the inn, fifteen men had died this night, attempting to subdue one man. With only Henri and Wessex, Reginald could not possibly risk another attempt at confronting so dangerous a foe. He would rather lose face in front of his sister than lose his life at the hands of this heretic. He would have to regroup at the castle and send out a stronger party.
Evelyn sat quietly behind Reginald and Wessex. She was sad to see the girl die, but the failure of the bishop’s display was quite pleasing. Reginald kept glancing over at the inn. Perhaps he still hoped to see his men emerge with another hostage. Evelyn had no such illusions. She had seen Raymond charging out after Mila. He had carried her back into the inn as the crowd dispersed. She knew there were no living guards inside.
“Captain!” said Reginald. Henri knelt next to one of his men and did not respond. “Captain!”
Henri released the hand of the dying man and crossed the square toward them.
Reginald did not wait. “Report to me immediately upon your return to the castle.” He wheeled his horse. “We have much to discuss.”
“My lord.” Henri said it without bowing or even lowering his eyes. He glared at Reginald galloping back toward the castle with Wessex close behind. Henri was the most loyal knight Evelyn had ever met. She had never seen him show Reginald such bold disrespect. The loss of so many of his men had taken a toll, indeed.
“My lady.” Henri nodded to her then turned to follow the horses.
“Captain, wait.” She dismounted and approached him. “I am sorry about your men.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
She placed her hand on his arm. “The entire spectacle was a foolish waste of life.”
“So it was.” Henri bowed and walked away.
Evelyn led her horse toward the inn. Up ahead, she saw Raymond lead Lady Mila and two other women from behind the inn. When they had left the square and disappeared into one of the darkened streets, she mounted her horse and rode back to the castle.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
April 28, 1341
John stumbled into the dark alley. His balance abandoned him, and he fell against the wall and slid down to the dirt. His tears came again, though he squeezed his eyes shut. Jess, charred and screaming, came at him from the dark. He whipped his eyes open and yelled. As long as he yelled, he couldn’t hear her screams.
When Jess said Dad, it had always embodied hope and respect. She had used it with pride, and as a rebuke, but never harshly and always with love. Her last word to him had been Dad. With that one word she had pleaded for him to save her. Now that word could only ever mean one thing. Failure.
“Dad?”
“Jess?” He spun desperately toward the voice, but it was Mila who ran into the alley. He’d forgotten how similar they sounded. He must have sagged visibly when he recognized her, because Mila froze where she stood. Some part of him knew he should reach out and comfort her, but he could not. He leaned his head back against the wall.
Mila put a hand on his shoulder. John studied it. He wished Mila’s shot at the bishop had been as accurate as the rest of her shots. If she hadn’t divided her focus and shot the men attacking him, she might have made a better shot at the bishop. This was why the military model broke down when you thrust it on a family. The mission was to save Jess. They each had a role to play. Hers was to keep the torch away from Jess. His was to fight his way to her side. They had both failed. But it was a conversation he could never have with her. Mila was not one of his men, she was his daughter. He should never have expected her to blindly follow his orders. She never had back home—why had he thought this would be any different?
He reached up and put his hand on hers. “Are you okay?”
Mila shook her head. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head to the side. She swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
“Mila, don’t.” He squeezed her hand.
“It’s all my fault.” The tears ran freely down her cheeks.
John shook his head. “How can that possibly be true?”
“I dragged the whole family on this stupid vacation.” She sniffed hard. “I left Jess in the forest. I took too long in the castle.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I missed the fucking bishop.”
“There you are.” Sandra walked into the alley, followed by Margaret and Raymond. “What’s going on?”
“Mila, you did your best,” said John, ignoring Sandra.
“No, I didn’t.” Mila choked back her tears. She stood there shaking.
John tried to get to his feet, but his limbs were leaden. He had to use his sword like a cane to pull himself up. When he was standing, he reached out to her.
“No.” Mila pulled back. She spun away and raced into the road. She didn’t want a hug, and she didn’t want to be consoled. She needed to be alone.
Raymond came to the mouth of the alley and watched her. Mila rolled her eyes. She didn’t need Lady Evelyn’s watchdog, either. Couldn’t he figure out that the mission was over? A failure? Mila sprinted into the shadows.
“Wait, Mila!” Sandra yelled as she emerged from the alley.
But Mila kept running. She had to get away: from Sandra’s needy pleas, from John’s forgiveness, even from Raymond the watchdog. But mostly she had to get away from the square where Jess had been murdered.
Chapter Forty
April 28, 1341
As Evelyn entered the keep, Reginald’s voice echoed from the great hall. “Seventeen men dead?”
“Yes, my lord,” said Henri.
Evelyn stopped in the entry passage and stood in the shadows.
“That’s almost half the watch.” Reginald paused. “Can we still hold the castle?”
“I believe so, but we will be stretched to the limit.”
“Well, there it is, then. We will have to use Wessex’s plan.”
“My lord?”
“Wessex is in the outer bailey gathering the tournament knights, even now. They are the best in the land. He has promised to
have the heretic captured by daybreak.”
“Captured?” said Henri.
“Of course. I cannot speak with him if he is dead.”
Evelyn had heard enough. She walked toward the great hall. If Wessex was gathering knights inside the castle walls, he had just sealed his fate. He would not have this castle, or Mary.
“My lord, do you think it wise to give these foreigners that kind of power?” said Henri.
“What do you mean?”
“He means,” said Evelyn as she stepped into the great hall, “if you hand over control of the barony to Wessex and his knights, you may not get it back.”
“Evelyn! How long have you been listening?”
“Long enough to know you are behaving like an ass.” Evelyn crossed the great hall to the hearth, where Reginald stood with Henri.
“Captain, escort Lady Evelyn to her chamber. Then see if Wessex needs any assistance.”
Henri did not move.
“Henri also thinks you are being foolish, but he is too loyal to say so.” Evelyn stopped next to Henri and faced Reginald.
“Henri! Did you not hear me?” Reginald’s face reddened as he stood with his hands on his hips.
“Reginald.” Evelyn kept her voice light. “I have a plan that will let you keep your barony and your pride. Would you like to hear it?”
“No!” Reginald turned his back and sat by the fire.
“Please, my lord, do listen to Lady Evelyn.”
“Evelyn’s plan, whatever it may be, will come with a price.” Reginald sniffed. “It always does.”
“Reginald, you wound me. I simply want to ensure Father’s lands remain in the family.” She watched the back of his head for any reaction.
Reginald sneered at her. “And you want nothing in return?”
“Why do you not hear my plan?” She sat down next to him and began to peel off her gloves. Reginald glared at her.
“Please, my lord, for the good of the barony,” offered Henri.
