In Honor Bound (39 page)

With cool deliberateness, Philip increased the pressure, silencing his protests. Tom's grip tightened convulsively then suddenly relaxed as Philip slammed him into the stone wall again and again and again.

"You want him?"

Rosalynde tried in vain to pull his hands away. "Please! I beg you, stop!"

Philip pushed her aside with a sweep of his arm, using the other to keep Tom from sagging to the floor, but Rosalynde went straight back to him, dragging at his sleeve.

"You mustn't!"

"Mustn't, strumpet? Mustn't think you've betrayed me with my brother here? You with your hair down your back and your bodice unlaced? What would I have found here in a quarter of an hour?"

"Oh, no, my lord!"

"My mother was a strumpet. Why should my wife prove any better? She used to look at my father as you do me, all demure chastity, all devoted adoration, as if she would die out of his presence, and yet she was as false as the devil himself."

"I cannot help but look at you so, my lord. If your mother's love was counterfeit, still mine cannot dissemble and look like anything but love."

"She would have said so, too. My fine virtuous mother would have said no less, though she might have been more convincing at it." He dropped Tom down senseless at her feet. "I'll spare both of you the justice I might have for this. Stephen's brought his siege guns to our walls. No doubt he will prove a fine executioner."

"Please," she sobbed, "you mistake–"

"No, madame, you mistake if you think I will let my brother supply my place in my wife's bed or let that fault go unpunished."

"You cannot believe that! My lord, you must hear me!"

"Must I?" he mocked.

"You must. If for nothing more than the justice you profess as king, you must."

She saw she had struck a responsive chord, calling his honor in question.

"Well?"

"Please, my lord, I do not know what I should say," she cried, wondering how a look so cold could burn straight through her. "I do not know how you could think such a thing."

"I think there was only ever one woman on this earth could keep faith, and they burnt her."

Rosalynde knelt beside Tom and wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. "Whatever it is that has made you so blind to truth, I swear you wrong me and him and yourself in this."

"I almost believed you," Philip said with sudden, fierce earnestness. "I almost believed you loved me."

"Philip! Please, Philip!" she sobbed, reaching her hands up to him, but he was gone.

The bombardment came at dawn and did not stop throughout the day. Philip stood up on the wall listening as the sounds of war raged around him– deafening, maddening, ceaseless. The enemy was hammering at the walls of Winton, Winton that had never fallen, Winton that had survived siege after siege, attacks of fire and pestilence and merciless famine. Despite their efforts at defense, Winton's walls would soon be breached.

There would be no help and no mercy for them now. Philip had tried to encourage his men, tried to maintain calm in the terror, but he could not. Fear ruled his kingdom now, not he, and he knew no way to regain his authority, no way to save his people and himself from the certain disaster that loomed over them.

He stood watching the continuing flash and boom of Stephen's siege engines when the wall beneath him shuddered. He leapt to the ground just as it collapsed upon itself. Another crack and flash brought down the side of a nearby house, showering him with debris. Again the guns fired, and a large beam crashed down, grazing his shoulder. He had to get out of the street. He could do nothing to save his kingdom if he were buried alive in its ruins.

He ran up the stone steps and pushed his way into the shelter of Winterbrooke Cathedral. The quiet reverence of the place had been shattered. People were huddled everywhere, peasants and nobles alike. Few even noticed the presence of their king, and none cared. It was for their own safety they now prayed.

"What can I do? What can I do?" Philip muttered. He had to gather his troops and make them once more into an army, an army with heart enough to fight. He had to fight to his last man, to his own last breath, for Winton, for the oath he had made as king. It was all he had left. If only this hellish bombardment could be stopped–

"'Do not forsake me, oh Lord,'" one of the priests quoted. "'Oh, my God, do not be afar off. Hasten to help me, oh Lord, my salvation. Oh Lord–"

A shriek rose from the cowering refugees as another ball shook the city, shattering the multi-colored glass in the cathedral's huge windows. Shaken, Philip stumbled to his knees at the foot of the marble statue of Christ that stood behind the altar, its arms outstretched in welcome.

"Where are You?" he demanded. "Can You not hear them crying out to You? Will You do nothing?"

Yet again the guns roared, and Philip ducked his head as the ceiling began to crash around him. He heard the groan of the heavy beams as they began to split. He heard the terrifying thud of the huge stones as they cracked apart on the marble floor. He heard the agonized screams of the people who were pinned under them, the sickening sound of bones crushed and flesh mangled beyond repair.

"Jesus," he whispered, looking up, and to his horror the heavy statue began toppling towards him. Trapped where he was, he could do nothing but duck his head and uselessly shield himself with his arms.

***

Tom bounded up the steps into the cathedral. Inside, people were trying to free themselves from the ruins, aiding the wounded, and carrying off the dead. The bombardment had stopped for the night.

"Where is the king?" Tom asked. "Is he here?"

One of the men shook his head. "He was at the east window when I last saw him, my lord, but it's all fallen in over there now."

Tom looked where he was pointing. There was only an enormous pile of rubble where the magnificent window had been and no sign of Philip.

Tom began pulling pieces of stone and wood from the pile. "Philip! Philip, can you hear me? Philip?"

Philip's voice was faint. "I cannot move."

"Philip!" Tom began to work faster. "Some of you men, help me. The king is trapped under here."

With their aid, he was soon able to see Philip's grimy face.

"I can finish here, men. Go tend to the wounded." They were quick to obey him, and he leaned down to Philip. "Are you hurt?"

"No, but I still cannot get out."

"Nothing short of a miracle," Tom marveled as he moved a few more stones. Philip did not have even a scratch on him, only a dusting of fine powder from the crumbling marble. Tom reached his hand towards him to help him stand, but Philip would not take it.

"Pity one of those stones did not dash out my brains," Philip said sullenly. "Then I would not have to see Winton in Stephen's hands."

"You've given her up for lost then."

"We've no chance now. We're hopelessly overmatched."

"Have faith!" Tom insisted. "God can make a way when there is none. We've seen that time and again, too many times to doubt now."

"Open your eyes, Tom. God has turned His back on me. He'll not send me His help again."

"Open
your
eyes, Philip," Tom said, pointing, and Philip looked up.

Above him, shielding him from the murderous stones, was the statue of Christ, fallen with its hands and forehead wedged firmly against the wall, making a perfect shelter for him beneath it.

"Has He truly forsaken you?" Tom asked, and Philip pulled himself uneasily from the rubble, his eyes fixed on the gentle marble face.

"Do not be more of a fool than you are already, Tom," he said, his voice gruff as he turned away. "He has forsaken me. Kate and John and Father, this whole unholy war, everything that has happened is proof enough of that."

"Those things are Satan's doing, because we oppose Stephen's evil in Lynaleigh, because we stand for the Lord."

"Then Satan is stronger than God and we should worship him."

Tom was stunned by his blasphemous words and the deep bitterness in his voice. "Oh, Philip, no. How can you say so?"

"Because otherwise we would not be in this strait we are in."

"That was your doing as much as anyone's," Tom said. "You were too proud to send to Westered while there was yet time, and now it is too late to send, even if you would stoop so far. Is God to blame for that? We choose our own pain or happiness."

"You can easily say so," Philip said. "You have always been fortune's pet, her darling. No wonder you can always smile. She has left you unscathed."

"Has she, Philip? Has she truly?" Tom shook his head. "You forget, brother, I too have had cause to mourn. John and Richard were my brothers as much as they were yours. If your mother was an adulteress, so was mine. It was my father as well as yours who was a traitor and a murderer. I saw his throat cut in the street, not you. Granted, Katherine was not my wife, but her death broke a heart as dear to me as my own. Do you think I am not touched by that? By all of this? That this war does not grieve me, to see such a poor waste of life for so little? And, even had I no cause of my own, Philip, what grieves you grieves me. You must know that."

"Let me alone," Philip replied with a surly frown. "Why are you even here?"

"To find out why I am free."

Philip's frown deepened. "I did not want to see you trapped and defenseless when Stephen takes this city. Even you deserve better than that. I was wrong to strike you in anger, whatever you've done."

"I thought perhaps it was because you had a chance to realize that your accusations were not true, that you had wronged your poor lady."

"I was the one wronged," Philip said low and fierce.

"Not by her and not by me. Rosalynde would never betray you. You've hurt her, Philip, too many times, but she loves you. She loves you near to idolatry. And even if she would betray you, do you think that I would? That I would be false to my
Elizabeth
and to God and damn myself for a moment's pleasure?"

"Stephen will take this city tomorrow. It does not matter now what I think."

"Do you truly think that I could do you wrong? I can bear anything from you but that."

Philip looked away. "Go on. None of this matters now."

"Please, Philip, do not leave it at this. We were never false to you."

"I said it does not matter."

"It matters to me. You are a stubborn-hearted idiot, but whatever you do you are my brother. I would give you my life would it stop the hurt you've been nursing. How long can you live in this hell you've made, turned by every wind of doubt and suspicion, believing God does not care for you? The proof of His love is all around you."

"All around?" Philip looked at the cathedral's destruction. "Proof, indeed."

"Not in this rubble," Tom insisted, "but in this." He gestured towards the statue. "He's protected you throughout this long conflict. He's chosen you to bear His light in this darkness. He's given you charge over this kingdom in His name, to defend His people from Stephen and the destruction he brings, and He's graced you with every gift of man and nature to help you do it. Beyond that, He's given you someone who loves you as He does, no matter what you do or how cruelly you use her. Do you think you've earned her love any more than you can earn His? She loves you."

"Yes, she loves me and you love me and this faithlessness is how you demonstrate your love."

"We did not wrong you! You know in your heart we did not! You know Rosalynde loves only you. Not your name or your title, not your wealth or any other trappings of nobility, but you. You know she loves you, and you are afraid because you love her, too. Do you think that if you make her hate you that it will be easier for you not to love her? Philip, Katherine is dead. It is no sin for you to love Rosalynde now."

"You talk like a fool, Tom. What difference does it make now who was false or who was not, whether I love her or she me? We've fallen into Stephen's hands, and there there is no mercy."

"Put yourself into God's hands, brother, and there you will find great mercy. He'll not forsake you."

"He
has
forsaken me."

"You've forsaken Him! Are you so enamored of destruction that you rush to it with open arms? Are you so hungry to lie with death?"

Philip looked at him steadily. "As ever I was to lie with Kate."

"No. Make it right with Him, Philip, and make it right with Rosalynde before tomorrow. It is not too late yet. Go into the battle with faith, not fear. Do not let your pride destroy you and pull all Lynaleigh down with you. Please, Philip."

"You are a fool, Tom." Philip shook his head and walked deliberately out into the street.

***

Out of Tom's sight, Philip began to run. When he reached the city wall, he climbed the steps near the east gate. He knew as he stood there panting that he should call together his lieutenants to plan for the coming battle, but he also knew that planning would be no use. He could see the enemy camped around the town, the glow of their fires, the grim silhouettes of their siege guns. There was no hope against so mighty an adversary. He would no longer waste his time in planning– or in prayer.

Rosalynde would never betray you. She loves you.

Tom's words had come too near not to cut, as much as he denied their truth to himself. "Why should she love me?" he whispered into the darkness. "I've hurt her too many times. Tom was right in that much."

Do you truly think that I could do you wrong? I can bear anything from you but that.

He saw again the unfeigned hurt in his brother's eyes, the silent reproof of the bruises his fury had left on Tom's throat, and had to steel himself against the shame he felt.

"I've hurt him, too," he murmured, then he looked up at the starless sky. "I've done nothing to make You love me either. Well, You will have Your justice tomorrow."

Wearily he walked the top of the wall towards the castle. He was tired, but he knew there would be no sleep, no comfort for him tonight and surely none tomorrow. He would wait out the night alone. Let the day come and bring with it what it would, he was tired and had run out of answers.