by Dan Davis
“Why?” I asked him.
He was confused and opened his mouth to answer. I wondered if he would say it was because I had lifted him up from his poverty and given him wealth. Or if it was because he thought he needed me, now that he was an immortal.
In the end, he shrugged. “It is my duty, sir.”
Rob nodded slowly as Walt spoke.
“You are an honourable man, Rob,” I said to him. “Trustworthy, loyal, and honourable.”
He bowed his head. “Thank you, sir.”
I had taken two rather fine swords from the field, having lost my own. These swords, I placed before me.
“Kneel. Both of you.”
They did so, glancing sidelong at each other.
“This is your oath. You will safeguard to your uttermost the weak, the widow, and the helpless. You will be without fear in the face of your enemies. You will be loyal by word and deed and serve your lord. Be humble and courteous everywhere, especially to women. Serve Jesus Christ and protect those who worship in His name. Be the terror and dead of all evil-doers and be just and brave in battle.”
They so swore and I struck each of them across the face with the flat of my hand to dub them. Then I presented each man with a sword.
I dragged them to their feet and embraced them in turn.
Walt had tears streaming down his cheeks. Rob looked astonished.
“Let us go home, brothers.”
23. The Great Storm
“So our enemies are all dead,” Stephen said. “It is over.”
I thought of my brother, out there somewhere in the East. Destined to return. I thought of Priskos and his sons and wondered what it would mean for the future.
“For now, at least.”
We made it home from Gascony to London by the summer of 1357. I was allowed to keep my land and my title but as I dare not show my face at court or call on any great lord, especially my own, the Earl of Suffolk, I was unsure what to do with it. It was beyond time for me to leave England but I delayed leaving.
We sat in the townhouse in London and ate well. Stephen, Eva, Walt, and Rob. The remaining members of the Order of the White Dagger.
Stephen nodded. “All this time it was Geoffrey de Charny and I did not have the wit to see it.”
“You did see it. We all did. Yet he managed to turn our suspicion away from him with that business with the stolen shield. It was a mistake.”
“A costly mistake,” Stephen said. “Our dear friends. Dead, because of my failing.”
“Yours, yes. And Eva’s. And mine.”
“He is dead,” Eva said. “Him and his men. Whatever business they were up to, to put the Dauphin on the throne, is finished.”
“And yet the Dauphin is regent while his father is the prisoner of King Edward,” Thomas said. “Is that not precisely what they wanted?”
Walt spoke up. “But there ain’t none of them alive to whisper in his ear none, is there.”
“No immortals,” I said. “Plenty of lords.”
Walt shrugged. “Sounds about right, to me.”
“What I still do not understand,” Stephen said. “Is why they sent that ruffian to kill you in Southwark.”
I shrugged. “He is dead. They are all dead. What does it matter?”
None had an answer for that.
“When do you mean to go away again?” Stephen asked. “Where will you go this time? To crusade against the northern pagans?”
I waved a hand. “Perhaps. For now, we shall return to Suffolk,” I said to Walter and Rob. “You can be with be with your family for years yet, Rob.”
He nodded, keen as mustard to get back to his wife and children.
“I will give you the manor at Hartest, Walt. You can be the lord there, now.”
“Me, sir? I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”
“You will be all right. And you might even take a wife, now. Settle down for a few years.”
“Don’t want a wife, sir. The man who has no wife is no cuckold, and that’s the truth.”
“Not all women are deceitful, Walter. But, wife or no wife, you are a knight, now. No man may have position without duty. And so you will run it well and you will take care of your servants and tenants.”
He held up his chin. “I will, sir. I surely will.”
In the courtyard a few days later, Eva embraced me before I mounted my horse. She placed a hand against my cheek.
“I am so sorry about Thomas.”
“Thank you.”
She took her palm away from my face and took my hands in hers.
“You know that Lady Cecilia has married.”
I took a deep breath. “I heard it on the way home. Some fat fool. Not a proper knight at all. Never been on campaign. Wealthy, though.”
“I am certain she will be deeply unhappy.”
I smiled. “I do not want that.”
“She sounds like a lusty one. And lust is addicted to novelty. Perhaps you might have her anyway, when the fat fool is not looking.”
“I do not want that, either,” I said.
“Of course,” Eva said, patting my hands. “Do you want me to kill him for you?”
I laughed and embraced her again before mounting my horse. “I think I have had enough killing for a while.”
“Does that mean you do not consider yourself a monster after all?”
Before I rode away into the vile filth of London, I considered it.
“We shall see.”
It seemed certain that I would not have to fight again for a long time. Perhaps decades.
But I was wrong.
***
In late 1359, the King summoned me to Windsor Castle.
The war had gone remarkably well. After the Battle of Poitiers, Prince Edward had sent word of the victory back ahead of us.
“We take no pleasure in the slaughter of men,” King Edward had said, which was a lie. “But we rejoice in God’s bounty and we look forward to a just and early peace.”
He seemed right to be so confident that, after yet another catastrophic defeat, the French would sue for peace on almost any terms. With all the leading men of the kingdom either dead or prisoners, their lands had fallen into chaos, anarchy, and rebellion.
After the battle, there was essentially no French army in the country and yet there were thousands of well-organised, highly experienced English armies in Brittany, Normandy, Calais, and Gascony. The French were surrounded and on their knees. In panic, they recruited townsmen to protect against the assault they were certain was coming for Paris.
But the English did not want Paris. Instead, our armies overran what little resistance remained near our strongholds.
The French commoners turned against the knights and nobles who had robbed them for years through endless taxation only to lose battle after battle or to run away in ignominy. And then they were informed, all across the land, that new taxes would be raised to pay for the enormous ransoms required to free their lords. What was more, the assaults of the English and Gascon free companies had increased now there was little threat of resistance.
The people had bent as far as they were able, and then they snapped.
Paris revolted. An eruption of violence took hold of the city as the merchants and common folk rose up against their lords and the Dauphin. They tried to force political changes through violence. The Dauphin attempted to negotiate and delay and said he would consider their demands.
He then ran away from Paris.
The capital city exploded in chaos again. Coinage collapsed. The mob sought to enforce their terms. They attacked royal buildings and set fire to noble’s houses with burning arrows while they pillaged official’s homes and rampaged through the streets.
Some lords cowered and prayed and pissed their underclothes. Others abandoned law and honour and took up banditry and murder, like the routiers of Brittany.
All through this, King John, still a prisoner of the English, attempted to negotiate his release, negotiate with his lords, with the Daup
hin. He was still the King but he was not present in his kingdom and so little could be concluded.
King Edward wanted John to give huge concessions in return for being set free and meant to hold him for as long as it took to extract this from the French.
The political mess was so chaotic that it hampered diplomacy and the talking dragged on for months and years.
Truces were allowed, conferences were held, peace terms were negotiated almost endlessly. Edward wanted the world and he felt he could demand it. He was willing and able to launch more massive attacks on France.
And that was when he summoned me back to him. It was done quietly, and I was shown into his private chambers with no announcement.
“Dear God,” King Edward said. “How do you do it, sir?”
I knew he was referring to my everlasting youth. “It is my innocent heart, Your Grace.”
He scoffed and almost laughed but then his face fell. “How old are you, Richard?”
The King of England was in his late forties and looking rather as if his best years were far behind him.
“To be honest, Edward, I have lost count. But I must be fifty, I suppose.”
“I am surrounded by young men. Or men who appear youthful.” He shook his head. “You have the devil in you.”
“Perhaps.”
“My son says so.”
“I would never disagree with the Prince, Your Grace.”
He smiled. “I think you embarrassed him at Poitiers. I hear you shouted at him. Called him a fool in front of the army.”
“Unforgivable actions.”
“Spare me your false contrition. I do not need it.”
“You called me here for something.”
“I am going to war again.” He did not sound pleased about the matter. “I will only get the victory God wishes if I take Paris.”
“So it is true.”
“I would have you with us.”
Even though it was gratifying to hear it, I was surprised. “It is a great honour to offer my sword in service to you again, Your Grace. And yet, the lords of—”
“Are they the King of England, sir? Or am I?”
Inclining my head a little, I smiled. He had rarely been one for outbursts but the war had been hard on him, even if he had not been the one fighting it in person.
He cleared his throat. “You have always been able to achieve that which other knights would find difficult.”
I knew that he meant I would do dishonourable things, if he asked me to. And I would achieve them and hold my tongue about it.
“Certainly, Your Grace. Whatever you require.”
“If you do this and can manage to control yourself, you will be welcomed back in full honour.”
That was not something I needed, or wanted. And I felt no desire to go to France again and do whatever it was that the King had in mind for me. Possibly, he wanted someone killed. Perhaps the Dauphin. Or perhaps even King John himself.
I sighed.
Edward scowled. “Are you ungrateful, sir? I offer you this chance at redemption and you can think only to huff and blow like an old maid? Damn you, then, Richard. And Damn Humphrey too. Leave me.”
“Humphrey?” I said. “Sir Humphrey Ingham? What does he have to do with it?”
“He is the man who asked me to bring you back in.”
“Why in God’s name would he do that? He despises me.”
“I always believed that Sir Humphrey Ingham regarded you highly. After all, he requested that you be the lucky one, of all the knights of the realm, to escort his lovely sister home after she was widowed the first time.”
“Sir Humphrey asked for me personally? But why would he do that?”
“Practically begged me. I told him you were a rogue who could not be trusted with his sister but he insisted and as he had done well for me I granted his request. As I recall, now that I think of it, he put a word in with Suffolk and my son to ensure that you would be released from confinement when you were thrown into gaol before the Poitiers campaign.”
“That is quite peculiar. The few occasions we have crossed paths in person, he gave every indication of despising me.”
“Perhaps he does. Many do, Richard. But all men know that when you set your will to a task you see it completed. He was thinking of his sister’s safety and who better to protect her from robbers and pirates than the biggest robber and pirate of them all.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“And now, I expect, he wants you for his sister again.”
“Cecilia is in trouble?”
“Trouble?” The King waved a hand. “Her second husband has suffered a tragic accident while riding. The fall killed him dead. Oh, do not worry, the Lady is well. But, of course, she bore him no children, she is now really rather old, and she is considered to be somewhat unlucky. It is the convent for her, that is for certain. Unless…”
“Unless some great, desperate fool is willing to take her as his wife.”
The King smiled. “So, I shall see you again once you join the army in France, sir?”
***
I rode hard for Cecilia’s home. When I arrived, it was as though she was waiting for me. Everything was ready. Food, wine. Her bedchamber.
Even though she was in the middle of her thirties, she was still quite lovely and had the energy and enthusiasm of a girl half her age.
We spoke little until we lay naked and tired on her sheets, looking up at the underside of the canopy. One of her maids brought wine and then left, leaving us to catch our breath in the candlelight.
“I missed you,” I said.
“Clearly, sir,” she replied. We laughed.
“I am very sorry about the untimely death of your late husband.”
“Yes. I am in mourning.”
Growing serious, I turned my head to look at her. She was not smiling.
“I wish I had not left you all those years ago. I hope your marriage was not too difficult for you.”
She sighed. “He tried to get a child on me. I could not stand it. He soon gave up. Much preferred hunting and drinking.”
“An often fatal combination.”
“And boys.”
I turned to look at her again. “He was a sodomite?”
She laughed, bitterly. “I do not think he went so far as that. He just enjoyed touching them a little.”
“Dear God. I do not know what to say.”
She reached over to her wine beside the bed and drank a sip. I ran my fingers idly down her flank as she turned and stretched herself out.
“He was a child himself, in truth. He was terrified of me, and rightly so. Still, I withstood him as long as I needed to,” she said. “And when I knew you had returned, and Humphrey gave me leave, I broke my dear husband’s neck.”
Astonished, I began to lean over onto my elbow to ask if she was speaking truthfully.
She whipped around as fast as a striking snake.
I saw a glint of bright steel raised high.
Before I understood what was happening, she stabbed me through the chest, between collarbone and nipple, with a sword.
It ran right through me to the hilt, through the mattresses below and into the oak bed beneath. My blood welled up and flowed across my chest beneath the crosspiece.
The pain was incredible but it was nothing compared to the horror of what had happened.
I grabbed the sword and tried to pull it out. It was stuck fast.
She had missed my heart but only just and I could barely breathe. I coughed and sprayed blood over myself.
Cecilia was staring at me with wild victory in her blue eyes.
She laughed.
“I did it,” she said to herself. “My God.”
The betrayal was more than I could bear. Her laughter echoed in my empty soul. I grasped the sword hilt with both hands and, cutting my hands, heaved.
It slid slowly up through my body, slicing through flesh and bone and lacerating my organs as it followed the path. My bod
y seemed to suck the blade into itself as if it did not want to come free.
As the sword came loose from the bed beneath me, Cecilia’s laughter turned to a scream of horror.
“Eustace!” she shouted. “Eustace!”
Almost at once, the door to the chamber burst open and the damned steward marched in with sword in hand.
Cecilia, shamelessly naked, jabbed her finger me. “He frees himself!”
Eustace snapped at her to get back and stalked forward to finish me.
I gripped the blade and pulled it up and up, out of my sucking chest wound, hand under hand. The stocky steward rushed me and thrust with his sword where I lay. I rolled away across the bed just as I pulled the last of the steel from my body. Blood gushed out of me and filled my throat.
The steward rushed around the end of the bed, hooking a hand around the final post and aiming a cut at my face. I lurched back away from it and, holding the blade in both hands, blocked his next cut before falling back over a low table beside the bed and crashing into the wall. He stood back, watching me warily. It seemed as though he was afraid of me, even naked and bleeding. But I realised he was merely waiting for me die.
Angry, I stumbled forward with my sword in my hand.
Cecilia jumped on me and held on to my sword arm with her immortal strength.
“Now, you fool!” she yelled at Eustace.
He came forward, sword ready to strike.
Lifting her up, I threw Cecilia, naked, at Eustace. He lowered his blade and ducked and she hit his considerable mass with a thud and fell to the floor. I grabbed her by the hair and yanked her up and tossed her away against the wall.
Eustace rushed me like a bullock charging a half-open gate. I thrust my sword into his neck, sliding the blade down into his body, before ripping it out again as he fell past me onto the bloody floor.
The porter came rushing in and froze two steps into the doorway. His eyes wide and his mouth open. He stared at his dazed, naked, bloody mistress pulling herself to her feet.
“Help me,” I said to him, or tried to, as the blood filled my throat and I coughed.
He had a sword in his hand. The porter’s face changed from horror to fury, and, seeing I was so terribly wounded, rushed at me to finish me off.
