Last Tales of Mercia 4: Ralph the Knight

by Jayden Woods

Seaver maneuvered himself to fall on top of Ralph as he descended. Ralph lost his breath as Seaver’s weight slammed his back against the earth. And just when he had recovered enough to inhale, Seaver’s ropy fingers closed around his neck.

  “Fucking Norman,” hissed Seaver, his hot breath lashing Richard’s face. “Think you can tell me what to do?”

  Ralph tried to take another breath and failed. Then the panic began to set in. He felt the crushing pinch of Seaver’s hands against the tender muscles of his neck at the same time he recognized the murderous intent gleaming in the Saxon’s eyes. Ralph stopped thinking and responded in the only way possible.

  His arm struggled to get out from under Seaver’s weight, then grabbed the dirk from his belt. He turned the blade and stuck it deep into Seaver’s side.

  Seaver’s body jolted. First he tensed up, gripping Ralph’s neck almost to the breaking point. Then he gasped and went limp, rolling sideways as his hand went to the wound. Ralph’s blade sliced even further as it slid out. And once the knife was free, Ralph wasted no time; he slashed the Saxon’s throat.

  Seaver gave a wet sigh, then stopped breathing completely.

  Ralph nearly whooped aloud with joy. Just in time he stopped himself. He saw the small crowd of Saxons standing nearby. He realized the sun remained high enough to illuminate everything with a cruel shade of red. He felt the sticky blood on his hands and wiped it belatedly on Seaver’s tunic. Finally, it occurred to him that if Lord Richard found out about this, Ralph’s dreams of knighthood would vanish in smoke.

  “No ...” He scrambled to his feet and scrubbed his hands against his tunic, over and over, as if he could cleanse the very act of murder away. “No! I didn’t mean for this … !”

  Dizzily, he watched his Norman companions try to contain the anger simmering amongst the Anglo-Saxons. He counted about six Saxons altogether. Some of the Normans drew their swords. The Anglo-Saxons backed away.

  Then he recognized Geoffrey. The short yellow mop of hair on Geoffrey’s head rippled in the breeze as he straightened his lean form and grabbed everyone’s attention. The knight did not speak loudly—Ralph heard no more than the low tone of his voice—but whatever he said caused everyone to turn and walk away.

  Next, Geoffrey twisted to face Ralph, his golden eyes reflecting the last rays of sunlight. Fear curdled in Ralph’s belly as the knight moved towards him. Had Geoffrey promised to punish Ralph somehow? After all, that was the skill the knight excelled at. Ralph saw a strange emotion in Geoffrey’s gaze; where the knight usually looked numb and bored, he suddenly seemed brought to life.

  Geoffrey stopped just a few feet away from Ralph. He looked from Ralph, to the Saxon’s corpse, and back again. “We have to get rid of the body,” said Geoffrey at last.

  Ralph swallowed, feeling as if a rock lodged in his throat. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. His family will want to bury him ...”

  “No.” Geoffrey crouched down, studying Seaver’s wounds up close. His eyes gleamed as they traversed the thick pools of blood. “They must not be able to find him.”

  “I don’t understand.” A cold wind pushed clouds over the sun, choking the remaining light. Ralph shivered. “Why shouldn’t they find him?”

  Even in the darkness, Ralph sensed Geoffrey’s pale gaze peering up at him. “Do you still wish to become a knight? Do you want Lord Richard to remain here in Engla-lond?”

  “Of course!”

  “Then no one must know what happened here.”

  “But I can probably just pay the price of Seaver’s life. What do they call it? A werigald.”

  “Can you spare two hundred shillings?”

  “Well, not right now ...” He cursed inwardly, knowing that if he became a knight and had his own tenants, he would acquire such a sum easily. “But perhaps Lord Richard will pay it.”

  “And in return, your knighthood would be forfeit.”

  Ralph’s heart sank. He feared that Geoffrey was right.

  “I will help you make this night as if it never happened,” Geoffrey assured him.

  “But plenty of people saw me kill him!”

  “Six Saxons.” The coldness of Geoffrey’s voice seemed to make the night air more frigid. “We will deal with them later.”

  “Deal with them? How?”

  Geoffrey pulled a long dagger from his belt, almost a seax. The dark blade glinted against the moon. “First, the body. We’ll have to take it to Eadgard’s farm.”

  Ralph’s head spun. This was all happening too fast. “Who’s Eadgard? And why would we take the body to him?”

  “Eadgard is one of my tenants who’s good at keeping his mouth shut. We will take it to him because he owns lots of hungry pigs.”

  Geoffrey made it sound like he had done this all before. “Pigs … ?” Ralph’s stomach lurched inside him. He felt his last meal rising upwards. As Ralph gagged, Geoffrey put a hand on his chest and pushed him up against a tree. Ralph forgot about his disgust when he saw the dagger gleaming in Geoffrey’s other hand. The knight leaned close to him, whispering in Norman. “Or we could solve this another way, and make it look as if the two of you killed one another. I think this would save me a great deal of time.”

  Ralph hoped Geoffrey could not feel the way his heart tried to hammer out of his chest. “No, no … that’s not necessary. We’ll take the body to … to Eadgard’s pigs.”

  “Very well.” Geoffrey released him, then turned to collect the body.