Spectre of the Sword (34 page)

 The gates of Ludlow
were open and a few people trickled in and out, although she could not imagine
who they were or what they were doing traveling in such horrible weather.  One
man, evidently a soldier from his clothing, charged in and headed straight for
the keep.  More politic intrigue and business, she supposed, as Ludlow was full
of it. But as she watched the sporadic influx, it occurred to her that, without
an abundance of men to watch the gates of Ludlow, it might be the perfect time
for another escape attempt.   If she could only get a horse, she could make a
break for the open gates.  Once into the countryside, she had every confidence
she could escape back to Wales. She didn’t know where else Rhys would be
looking for her.  Wales, and Whitebrook, seemed the most logical destination.

But she would have to
plan carefully.  In weather like this, she did not want to chance freezing to
death, which was a very real possibility.  She would have to swath herself in
warm clothing and hope she didn’t look too obvious about it.  There was also
the matter of her nervous stomach these days; she wasn’t feeling well these days
and was consequently weak.  She would need food, and to fortify herself, before
making the break.  And there was also the matter of Edward.

He didn’t seem too
inclined to help her.  He was a knight and he was obeying orders. She
understood that, but she was also sorry.  He had become her friend, but the
truth was, he was simply her jailor.  She realized that the man was, in truth,
her enemy.  The fact that she felt some compassion or identification with him
was simply a result of her captivity.  In the real world, Edward would kill her
if he was ordered to.  She did not want to give him that target.

She stood there for some
time, lost to her thoughts, before finally realizing that snow was coming in
the window and she secured the cloth, returning to the fireplace that Radcliffe
had once again stoked into a bonfire.   Her hands were cold and she held them
up to the blaze as she pondered another escape attempt.  But there was a knock
on the door that distracted her and Radcliffe went to see who it was.  One of de
Lacy’s men pulled Edward out into the hall for private conversation and
Elizabeau suddenly found herself alone in the room.  

She came away from the
hearth quickly, making her way back over to the lancet windows again.  Ripping
away the oil cloth, she looked for a possible escape route; a ledge, a roof
edge, anything that she might be able to jump to.  By the time she hit the
fourth window, Edward came back into the chamber and she quickly moved away
from the window again.  She didn’t want him to pick up on what she was
planning.  He’d already been duped by four escape attempts and she was afraid
he would catch on to the fifth.

But Edward wasn’t
looking at her.  In fact, he was followed by de Lacy’s knight, a man who, from
what she gathered, had command of the castle defenses.  His name was Lewis but
beyond that, she knew nothing more. He was older with receding red hair.   He
fixed her in the eye as he came to rest just inside the door.

“Lady Elizabeau,” he
bowed shortly. “A messenger has just arrived. I am here to inform you that we
have received a communication from the king.”

“Oh?” Elizabeau
responded, remembering the soldier she had seen ride in a short while earlier. 
“What did it say?”

Lewis cleared his
throat. “Perhaps you would like to sit, my lady.”

Elizabeau shook her
head. “No need,” she passed a glance at Radcliffe, noticing he would not meet
her eye, and the first inkling of concern sprouted in her chest. “Please tell
me what the king has to say to me.”

Lewis looked
uncomfortable for a second but quickly recovered. “As you know, Walter de Lacy
is in London with the king and I have command of the castle,” he said. “It is
therefore my duty to carry out any orders that come forth from the king.”

Elizabeau stared at him,
the feeling of concern in her breast suddenly blooming to epidemic
proportions.  There was something in the way he had said it, it is therefore my
duty to carry out any orders.  Orders from the king where they pertained to her
could not be a good thing and she struggled to maintain her calm.  It was then
that she noticed that Lewis held something in his hand.

“I see,” she said,
hoping her voice did not reflect the tremble in her body. “What did the king
order?”

Lewis lifted the
parchment in his hand and focused on the text.  As Elizabeau watched him, it
occurred to her that she already knew what it said. God help her, she already
knew.  It could be nothing else.  Had it been anything other than an execution
order, Radcliffe would be able to look her in the eye.  But he could not; he continued
to stare at the floor.  Elizabeau struggled not to lose her composure as the
older knight began to read.  I am to be executed like my brother, Arthur, she
thought. It has finally come.

Lewis cleared his throat
before he spoke in a loud, firm voice. “’That Elizabeau Treveighan, daughter of
Geoffrey of Brittany, is guilty of a most heinous and detestable act of treason
against our most sovereign and omnipotent King John is hereby ordered to stand
to execution by the block on February twenty-fifth, Year of our Lord 1204.  It
is further ordered that the condemned’s body shall be quartered upon death to
be made example of to those who would betray the most sovereign and omnipotent
King John. Such is the fate of traitors to king and country. Written by order
of the King, the first of February, Year of our lord 1204.’”

When his voice abruptly
stopped, the chamber was as quiet as a tomb.  The only sound was of that from
the crackling hearth and the snow blowing outside.  Elizabeau wasn’t even sure
she heard anything at all; the message was ringing inside her head until she
was deaf and dumb to all else.   She stared at Lewis as if frozen, unable to
move or speak.  She just stared.  The red-headed knight gazed back at her
impassively.

“I am further commanded
to send notice to allies of the king that are located within a three day ride
of Ludlow,” he said evenly. “The king wishes for them to be witness if they so
desire.”

It was too much to take
but Elizabeau steeled herself admirably. In fact, she seemed rather dull to
it.  It was too shocking, to macabre, and her mind was beginning to shut down
as if refusing to believe what she had just heard.    Maybe if she ignored it,
it would all go away.  The nightmare would fade and she would wake up in a warm
bed snuggled next to Rhys.  He would be there to ease her fears, to protect her
and to comfort her.  He would be there to love her.

Lewis continued to stand
there as if waiting for a reaction.  With none forthcoming, he re-rolled the
parchment.

“You have three days to
make peace with God, my lady,” he said quietly. “For on the third day, I will
lead you to the block myself.”

With that, he quit the
chamber in relative silence.  Elizabeau continued to stand in the center of the
room, staring into nothingness, frozen in place as her mind turned into a dark,
muddled mass of shock.  She could not comprehend what would be her fate in
three days. The block was a horrific enough thought, but to be quartered
afterwards and made example of was more than she could bear.  Every hope she
had for the future, for the life growing inside of her, and her love for Rhys
would be at an end at the sharp edge of an axe in three days.  It was too
ghastly to comprehend.

Woodenly, she turned
away from the fire and somehow ended up near the lancet windows.  The blustery
wind was lifting the oilcloth, sending freezing gusts into the chamber.  She
could feel them on her face but she was already numb. It didn’t matter. 

“My lady,” Radcliffe’s
voice sounded strangled. “May… may I do anything for you? Anything at all?”

Elizabeau pulled back
the oil cloth and let the freezing air hit her in the face.  She was beyond
tears, beyond hysteria.  She realized she wasn’t so much worried for herself as
she was for Rhys and the child she carried.  All of her ache was reserved for
them; Rhys would never know of the baby she carried.  The son with his father’s
good looks would never grow to adulthood, would never know his own life.  And
Rhys would surely blame himself for her death.  She couldn’t imagine what effect
that would have on the man, but she could guess, and the knowledge tore her
apart.

But Radcliffe’s question
still lingered in the air.  She thought of an answer. “Aye,” she murmured. “I
will not ask you to help me to escape, not now.  If you did, you would sign
your own death warrant and I could not bear it.   But I will ask a favor of
you.”

“Anything, my lady,” he
replied hoarsely.

She turned away from the
window, focusing on him with unnaturally bright eyes.  In fact, her entire
countenance was very strange and tight as she looked at him.

“I love a man,” she said
as she approached him. “He is a good man, a knight of the highest order, and he
loves me in return.  What we share is something that most people dream of but
never experience.  Even now, I am sure he searches frantically for me but will
probably never find me, at least not before I meet God personally.  I must
therefore ask you to deliver a message to him.  You must promise me.”

Radcliffe looked at her
and his face crumpled into tears.  Big fat droplets pelted his cheeks as he
quickly wiped them away. “I will promise,” he sniffed. “What would you have me
tell him?”

She was standing close
to Radcliffe now, watching his face as he wept.  She stared into his eyes,
seeing his sorrow.  She realized she had nothing left to lose by telling him
everything. Moreover, she was desperate that Rhys should know that her final
hours were spent thinking of him and their child.  Slowly, she untied the bow
that Radcliffe had fussed with, pulling the ribbons away until the robe fell
open. With her hands, she pulled her sleeping shift tight across her belly,
exposing the rising bubble-shape of her stomach.  

“Do you see this?” she
asked Edward softly. “This is the child I carry for the man I love. He does not
know about this child and I would ask that you tell him.  Tell him that my love
for him has grown by the day and my joy in our child has made my entire life
worth living. Although I will die, I die a happy and fulfilled woman because of
his love.  Can you do this for me?”

Radcliffe’s eyes were
wide on her rounded belly. “God’s Bones,” he gasped. “Is… is that why you have
been so ill?”

She nodded, a twinkle in
her dull eyes as she revealed her deepest secret. “And tell him something more;
tell him that I do not wish for him to grieve overly. I wish for him to find a
good woman and have many more children. Tell him… tell him that my wish is for
him to find love again.”

Radcliffe broke into
soft sobs, wiping furiously at his eyes.  Elizabeau pulled her robe closed again
and secured the sash. “Will you do this for me, Edward?” she asked quietly. “It
is important.”

He nodded, trying to
calm himself. “Who is this man? Where will I find him?”

Elizabeau pictured Rhys
in her mind, the strong lines of his face and those brilliant blue eyes that
were so distinctive.  She felt her heart warm at the memory. “His name is Rhys
du Bois,” she said softly. “His liege is Christopher de Lohr, Earl of Hereford
and Worcester. I imagine you will find him with de Lohr.”

Edward’s tears were
fading somewhat. “I know of de Lohr. His seat is Lioncross Abbey, not far from
here.”

“Then it will not be too
difficult a journey for you to go and relay the message.”

“Nay, it will not,”
Edward shook his head. “Is there anything else?”

She smiled wanly at him.
“I’ve not had many friends in my lifetime, nor many close relatives,” she said.
“In fact, it has only been my mother and I since I was born.  But if I had a
brother, I would wish for him to be like you.  You have been very kind to me in
a situation that did not require it and I will miss you.”

His tears returned but
he fought them. “I will miss you also, my lady. I am sorry it has come to
this.”

“We thought it might,
didn’t we?” she said, then eyed him as he wiped at his face. “You will not
forget to relay my message to Rhys, will you?”

He shook his head
emphatically. Then, he stared at her as his tears once again faded.  He was
calming quickly, almost too quickly.  His manner seemed to take on a strange,
eager cast, as if a brilliant thought had just occurred to him.  “I will relay
the message, my lady,” he nodded firmly. “I promise.”            

She patted his cheek and
turned away. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Now, if you do not mind, I would
like to sit and contemplate the rest of my very short future. I have much to
say to my child and would like to do it alone.”

Edward quit the chamber
without a word.  Retreating to the solar downstairs, he found Lewis hunched
over the desk, finishing the first of four missives he would be sending out to
the neighboring allies regarding Elizabeau’s execution.  The older knight was
very business like in discussing the plans with Edward, who stood next to him
and listened silently.   When Lewis finished the first missive for Walter
Clifford, Edward volunteered to deliver it.  Feeling some pity for the knight
who had been caged up with the traitor Elizabeau for the past three months,
Lewis relented.