Spectre of the Sword (36 page)

Christopher shrugged.
“Old ones, when he was still prince.”

“Then wash away the text
of the missive, leaving the signature and have de Wolfe scribe in a new message
vouching for my directive.”

“Are you serious?”

“Never more so in my
life.”

Christopher pondered
that a moment before slowly nodding his head.  “It could work. De Wolfe is a
master with the written word. He could make it sound most official.”

“Then do it,” Rhys
sounded suspiciously as if he was giving his liege an order. “But make haste;
it will take time to travel to Ludlow in this weather and I must be there by
nightfall.”

“But I cannot help in
this,” Radcliffe insisted. “If I do, they will kill me when the deception is
discovered.”

Rhys looked at him. “If
you do not help me, then I will kill you where you sit. Make your choice; die
now or help me and I will do all I can to protect your life.”

Radcliffe was confused,
anguished. He looked to Christopher and beseeched him. “My lord, my father
served John and Henry.  I cannot betray that legacy. I do not want to be
involved in saving the lady; I simply came to tell you so someone else could.”

Christopher could see
that the man was unable to think beyond his oath.  He could not see the good
and the bad of the situation and truly believed that in coming to tell Rhys, he
had done all he could to assist the lady.  “Radcliffe,” he said quietly. “Help
Rhys and I will accept your oath.  You will become an honored knight within my
corp.  You are too honorable to serve men such as Clifford and the king.  Serve
with those who want to see a true and great England.  If our plans hold true,
you will serve the Queen herself. Will you do this?”

Edward was torn; that
was clear.  He thought about Lady Elizabeau and how kind she had been to him.
She had been kinder to him than anyone ever had.  She did not mock him or make
sport of him, or distain him like most others.  He realized that she was the
only friend he’d ever had, a pitiful circumstance considering she was caged and
had no choice but to speak to him as her jailor.  But he had warmed to her
nonetheless and she to him.  He adored her in a way that a brother would adore
a sister and nothing more.  There as no romance to it; for the way Edward had
been his entire life, there never could be.

He knew he could not let
his only friend die.  The man she loved was asking for his help to save her. 
He knew that he must, above all else for his duty was that of a knight and he
had taken an oath to protect the weak and helpless long before he had taken an
oath to the king.

“Very well,” he murmured
in resignation. “I will do it.”

Christopher nodded to
Lawrence, standing beside him, who immediately went on the run for de Wolfe. 
Edward De Wolfe hadn’t come out with the rest of them because he had been
ordered to remain in the hall and protect the occupants of the keep.  As
Lawrence mounted the steps to the keep two at a time, Christopher turned back
to Rhys.

“We move the army out
after you leave, with or without de Braose’s five hundred men,” he said. “We
will tear through this weather and lay such a siege to Ludlow that God himself
will be fearful.”

Rhys nodded. “If nothing
else, it will shift their focus from the execution, hopefully delay it
entirely.  At least until I can get to her.”

“We will do our best to
create such a distraction.”

There was nothing more
to say; the wheels of something big and critical were in motion.  With a
lingering glance at Edward, still sitting on the ground, Christopher turned
with his men and made his way back to the keep.  Rod stood up, brushed the snow
off himself, and extended a hand to Radcliffe.  Edward looked at the hand,
confused, before realizing it was meant to help him up.  Hesitantly, he took
Rod’s hand and the man yanked him to his feet.

With a lingering look at
the strange new knight, Rod followed the rest of the men into the keep, leaving
Rhys and Edward standing alone.  Rhys seemed lost in thought, still dazed from
the information.  But the longer he stood there, the more focused and determined
he seemed to become.

“How is she?” he finally
asked.

Edward was startled by
the sound of his voice when it had been so silent between them.  He scrambled
for a quick reply. “She… she is well, my lord. She is comfortable and well.”

“She has not been harmed
at all?”

“Nay,” Edward shook his
head. “She has been treated with respect. Even when she tried to escape.”

Rhys looked at him,
then. “She has tried to escape?”

“Four times.”

That brought a smile to
Rhys’ lips and he shook his head faintly. “I would have expected nothing less.
She is a strong, cunning woman.”

“My lord,” Edward took a
step towards him timidly. “There is something the lady made me promise to tell
you should she not survive.”

Rhys smile vanished, his
expression taut with the horror of that thought. His nostrils were flaring.
“She will survive,” he rumbled. “But what is it?”

Edward didn’t get too
close; he didn’t want the seemingly edgy man to snap at the news he was about
to deliver. “She says to tell you that her love for you has grown by the day
and her joy in the child she carries has made her entire life worth living. 
She will die a happy and fulfilled woman because of your love.”

Perhaps no one thought
it was possible for Rhys to get any paler, but it was indeed. He grew positively
ashen and he stared at Edward until the knight became uncomfortable with the
brilliant blue eyes boring into him.  

“She… she is with
child?” he finally managed to stammer.

Edward nodded. “She kept
it hidden well. I only just learned of it.  It has made her rather sick to her
stomach but in general she is healthy enough.”

Rhys tried to stay on
his feet. But with his current mental state and the weight of the news, he
ended up on his knees.  Concerned, Edward bent over him.

“Are you all right, my
lord?” he asked.

Rhys shook his head. 
Then he nodded.  He reclaimed his feet slowly. “My Dear God,” he breathed. “Is
it true? Is it really true?”

“It is,” Edward said,
watching him closely. “Am I to understand that you did not know?”

He shook his head and
almost lost his balance again. “I did not know,” he whispered. “My God….”

“Then I do not have to
tell you how important this is,” Edward insisted quietly. “Not only will she
lose her life, but the life of the child.  They do not know she is pregnant
although I doubt it would make any difference.”

Rhys was struggling to
compose himself, struggling to keep a thousand horrific thoughts from his mind.
“Nay, it would not,” he breathed. “It would make no difference at all.”

Edward watched the man
as he pulled his helm off with shaking hands and wipe a gloved hand over his
face. He studied him closely, far more intuitively than most men would have. 
But then again, Edward was not like most men.

“The lady and I spent
many hours speaking, simply because there was nothing else to do for either us
during her captivity,” he said softly. “I know that she is to marry a prince.”

Rhys looked at him. “She
told you that?”

Edward nodded. “It was
something I already knew.  Yet she spoke of it so sadly and I never understood
why until she confided in me about the child. The prince will not want her now.
“

Rhys studied the man
with the soft manner; there was something in his words, his tone that reminded
him of a woman. There was gentleness there. But he didn’t give it a second
thought; his thoughts were full enough of Elizabeau and the child she carried.
Their
child.

 Of course, he
understood fully the implications of a pregnancy.  He was no fool, not even in
his current mind set.  He knew that all eyes would look to him and condemn him,
including de Lohr. He and Elizabeau had discussed this very scenario not long
ago and all of the horrors related to it. He would not relive it in his mind
again, because no matter how well he understood the repercussions of such a
thing, it did nothing to erase the naked joy he felt at the news.  He felt as
if he had been suddenly reborn.

Turning on his heel, he
marched towards the keep with Radcliffe behind him trying to keep up.  Edward
alternately stared at his surroundings and at the knight before him; du Bois
was a colossal knight that looked like a barbarian with his untamed black hair
and dark beard, but he had the most brilliant blue eyes that Edward had ever
seen.  And he could see, quite clearly, that the man was absolutely dedicated
to the lady.  He could just see it in his expression, his manners; everything
about him.  Edward was secretly glad; he would have killed the man had he been
anything other than utterly devoted to her.  Any resistance in agreeing to
rescue her would have resulted in death.

Radcliffe felt much
better about the situation as he followed Rhys into the keep. Perhaps now there
was truly some hope.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It was quiet towards the
late afternoon around Lioncross.  With Christopher at his wife’s side and their
children with them, most of the earl’s men were taking a brief moment of
respite before the battle looming in the very future. 

In the meanwhile, de
Braose’s five hundred men had arrived before noon and were situated in the
enormous bailey. Rhys had left with Radcliffe a few hours before, riding hard
for Ludlow Castle with a beautiful missive scribed with de Wolfe.  Conrad and
his men, being strangers in a strange land, had segregated themselves away from
the English and congregated in the solar to make their own preparations for the
coming battle.

While his men rolled a
pair of die and gambled in a game of chance, Conrad sat near the lancet window
that overlooked the bailey and so many English troops, contemplating his
future.   He had made his offer to du Bois and de Lohr but had not received the
response he was looking for.  He was deeply concerned that his offer would be
refused and he would be forced to marry Lady Elizabeau.  The earl and du Bois
seemed more focused on their duty than anything else, a quality that Conrad
admired but one that he found frustratingly unbending. As the days passed, the
more he wanted to marry Carys and return to Saxony to live out his life of
wealth and privilege.  He did not want to marry a woman he had never seen, one
who would give him the throne of England.  He didn’t care about the throne.  He
only cared for Carys.

Conrad was gazing from
the window with his increasingly morose thoughts when he caught sight of one of
de Lohr’s knights riding from the stables.   He recognized him as he rode
towards the gates, only donning his helm as he passed through the great
portcullis.  Then he watched the man dig his spurs into his charger and thunder
off into the snowy twilight.  The knight seemed to be in a terrible hurry.

Conrad turned to his
faithful men, men who had followed him a thousand miles and faced a thousand
perils on his behalf.  They were closer than his family and the more they spent
time in this foreign land, the more closely they all bonded with each other.
They were, in essence, their own little sovereignty in this violent English
land.

“Where do you suppose de
Lohr’s knight is going?” he asked in his Germanic tongue, to anyone who would
listen.  “We ride to free the princess tomorrow. Do you suppose he has gone to
scout Ludlow?”

One of his generals, the
short man with the bushy mustache named Eeric, answered his question.

“We were not aware of
any such plans,” he replied. “The earl has made sure to inform you of every
step he takes.”

Conrad frowned. “But he
sends a man to scout and does not inform me? I do not think I like it.”

Eeric put down the
tankard of ale in his hand and stood up. “What would you have me do, my lord?
Shall I confront de Lohr with this offense?”

Conrad scratched at his
scalp, his temper cooling after a moment. Now they were simply going through
the motion of things, the rescue of a woman he did not want to marry but that
Rhys du Bois wanted very much.   It wasn’t the fact that de Lohr sent out a
scout and did not tell him; it was the principal of the situation.  The earl
should inform him of every step in his process to retrieve the princess.  He
didn’t want to find himself somehow betrayed.

“I do not wish to be
uninformed of anything the earl is up to,” he said after a moment. “Surely the
man will not mind if I send out a scout to follow his scout.”

Eeric fought off a grin
as he hissed at the nearest man, the tall and blond general who commanded the
escort party. At home they called him Geist, or Ghost, because he was tall,
pale and wispy.  He was also Conrad’s cousin and privy to everything the prince
was. After a few brief words, the blond general understood what was expected of
him and slipped from the solar.   Conrad and Eeric watched him as he exited the
keep and headed for the stables.