Spectre of the Sword (37 page)

So did David, sitting in
the great hall.  He just happened to be passing by a window that had a nice
view of the northern half of the bailey which opened into the stable yard and
saw clearly when one of the prince’s men slipped into the stables.  Curiosity
made David motion to Edward de Wolfe, who went to join him at the window.

David pointed to the
entry to the stable yard. “I just saw one of Conrad’s men enter the stables,”
he said casually. “What do you suppose that is all about?”

Cup in hand, de Wolfe
watched the vacant scene outside for a few moments.  Nothing moved as he stood
there and watched, creating disinterest in David’s question. “Perhaps he was
going to check on his horse,” he replied, about to turn away. “Come along;
we’ve a fine game of chess going.  Max Cornwallis is about to crush his
opponent.”

The lure of Max crushing
anyone was too good to pass up; the man was more brawn that brains and anytime
he was winning was cause for celebration.  Just as David turned from the
window, Conrad’s knight thundered out of the stable yard and towards the front
gate.  This time, Edward caught the motion as well and his nonchalant attitude
grew serious.

“Now, where in the hell
would he be going?” he asked David.

David shook his head. 
“I suppose we could ask the prince.”

“If he wanted you to
know, he would have told you.”

David cocked an eyebrow
with a faint nod of the head. “Good point,” he said, then looked at Edward.
“Perhaps he should be followed.”

“Indeed,” Edward looked
around the room. “Where is Lawrence?”

David looked as well but
neither one of them spied the white-haired knight in the smoky warmth of the
great hall. “Perhaps he has retired already.”

“Perhaps. I’ll send
someone to find him.”

“No time,” David said.
“Conrad’s man will be long gone. You’d better go yourself.”

“Me?” Edward repeated.
“You go, David. Your horse is faster than mine. And I’ve got this bad back
that….”

David rolled his eyes
and held up a hand; Edward wasn’t one to dirty his hands unless absolutely
necessary.   He was an excellent knight but it was well known that he preferred
more gentlemanly pursuits and riding out into a snowy night was not among them.

“Very well,” he snapped
softly. “I’ll go. But you’d better tell Chris what is going on. He’ll need to
know if Conrad is planning something, shall we say, underhanded.”

Edward could only shake
his head. “I’ve no idea what that would be.  Unless he’s planning on doing
something foolish.”

David set his cup down,
glancing at the sky beyond the window. “If he is, I’ll be sure to find out.”

***

“I met up with him on
the road,” Radcliffe said. “Just as I was entering de Broase lands, he came
across my path.”

The solar of Ludlow was
an enormous thing with a hearth that stretched half-way to the ceiling. Smoke
curled out and hovered in the air just above their heads. Lewis sat at de
Lacy’s iron table, inspecting the vellum that had recently been presented to
him.  He eyed the man who had presented it from across the table.

He was a big brute,
which didn’t surprise him.  And he had enormous hands.  In fact, Lewis was
rather intimidated by the French swordsman that the king had sent, as a
courtesy, to complete Lady Elizabeau’s execution.  The vellum, neatly written,
had explained it all.   But Lewis wasn’t a naturally trusting soul.

“And he is from the
king?”

“That is what he tells
me his missive says.”

Lewis’ gaze moved
between Edward and Rhys. “Strange that Lady Elizabeau’s death warrant did not
mention sending a French swordsman.”

“Not strange considering
this kindness is allowed mostly to royalty,” Edward replied. “This is a special
honor.  Moreover, he says he just came from France.  Rouen, to be exact.”

Lewis lifted his
eyebrows. “Rouen?” he repeated with awe. “Isn’t that where Arthur was…?”

“Exactly. He had a job
to do there.”

“Is he the one who…?”

“That is what I was
told.”

Lewis looked at the
enormous swordsman through new eyes, understanding the implication. So it is
true what they have said about Arthur, he though to himself. “I see,” he
muttered, rubbing his chin as his gaze returned to Edward. “How did he know
that you were from Ludlow?”

Edward shook his head.
“He did not,” he said. “We passed each other on the road and he asked me if he
was taking the correct route to Ludlow.  When I asked his business and he
explained it, I thought it best to return with him.”

“Then I am to understand
you did not make it to Clifford Castle?”

“I did not. I thought
this more important.”

Lewis sighed faintly
with displeasure but said nothing as he refocused on the vellum. It was
yellowed and cracked, but the ink was fresh for the most part.  To his eye, it
looked legitimate.  But when he took the missive that had been delivered a few
days before bearing Lady Elizabeau’s death warrant and compared the signatures,
both Edward and Rhys held their breath.  It was the moment of truth, a critical
point in time that could determine the course of the future for all of them.

 It was a painful wait
as Lewis inspected both signatures.  After several seconds of delay, he
suddenly tossed the death warrant aside.

“Very well,” Lewis said
as he re-rolled the vellum. “It seems to be in order. What did you say your
name was again?”

“Mon nom est Armand de
Foix, mon seigneur,” Rhys said in perfect French. “Je suis venu compléter le le
roi ordre.”

Lewis held up a hand.
“In English, please. My French is not very good. My Welsh is better. Do you
speak Welsh?”

“Areithia cymraeg namyn
Areithia Saesneg atat,” Rhys said in Welsh; I do speak Welsh but I will speak
English. Then he said in perfect English: “I said that I am Armand de Foix and
I am here to carry out the king’s execution order.”

Lewis’ gaze lingered on
him a moment.  “Your Welsh is perfect.”

“I work in many
countries where it is necessary to know the language. Otherwise, the wrong head
might be lobbed off.”

The red-haired knight
snorted and set the vellum aside on the desk; both Edward and Rhys watched it
fall to the side, almost weak with relief that the man hadn’t challenged or
questioned it.  He had, in fact, been mildly disinterested in it, which was a
surprise.  Perhaps it was because he was simply glad he did not have to do the
honors; the king had sent someone skilled in such tasks. 

“The execution will take
place tomorrow at dawn,” he told Rhys. “Be prepared to move quickly because
when I lead her to the block, I do not want any delay.  We must get it over
with and send word back to the king that the deed has been completed. Is that
understood?”

Rhys nodded his head.
“Perfectly, my lord.”

Lewis moved around the
table, eying him. “I hope you are good. I do not want this to be… messy.  It’s
simply not right with a woman involved.”

“I am good,” Rhys
assured him. “I can promise that this will not be messy.”

Lewis nodded and turned
away. “Show him where he will sleep for tonight,” he instructed Edward. “Then
you will retreat to the lady’s room. I want her carefully watched until
morning.”

Edward nodded, pulling
Rhys along with him.  Without a word, they headed to the upper floors of the
keep.

***

It was very late, or
very early, depending on one’s point of view. As Elizabeau sat near the fire
when she should have been sleeping, she preferred to think of it as very late. 
To think of it as early morning would be to rush her appointment with the block
and she was trying very hard to stay calm.

It would have helped
considerably had Edward been with her.  At least she would go to the block with
someone familiar at her side.   But Edward had left almost three days before,
sent to take missives announcing her execution date.  That was what Lewis had
told her in a very non-emotional tone.  The man wasn’t being cruel, but he
wasn’t being of comfort, either.  He was doing his duty as he saw it.  He was
serving the king and so was Edward.

So Elizabeau had spent a
good deal of time alone over the past three days,  thinking of her life, of what
could have been, and rubbing her rounded belly to comfort the child within. 
She had already decided it was a boy and she had already decided to name him
Rory, a strong Welsh name like his father’s. It gave her great delight to name
the child even though he was barely making himself known. So she spoke to Rory
by the hour and told the child how glad she would be to see him in heaven,
which is where they would finally meet.  It gave her a good deal of comfort
knowing that she and her child would see each other soon.  But it did not give
her comfort knowing that Rhys would not meet his son for a very long time.

When she was done
speaking with the baby, she lost herself in the memories of Rhys, of the
morning they had conceived Rory and of his strong body and warm lips.  She
could close her eyes and feel the texture of his hair or remember the smell of
his skin.  And then the tears would come but they would soon clear as she
reminded herself to be grateful for what she had experienced.  She only hoped
Rhys would remind himself of the same during the dark days ahead that would
undoubtedly face him.

It was a few hours
before dawn as she sat staring into the fire, trying to describe the taste of
sugared raspberries to her son.  They were the soft whispers of a mother,
punctuated by the crackling of the peat now and again.  She wasn’t concerned
with being alone anymore, but she was concerned with the next turning of the
latch on the door; it would mean that Lewis had come for her and a cold blade
await.   She hoped that she would show dignity when being faced with it.  She
hoped it would be quick and relatively painless.  She prayed Rhys would remain
strong when he received the news; she almost couldn’t cry over it any longer. 
Tears were of no use to anyone.

The rattling of the
latch startled her and, in a panic, she bolted to the window to see if the
cloudy, snowy sky was growing light with the coming sun.  She was terrified
that she had lost all track of time and suddenly her time was ended.  She could
hear conversation outside the door, the muttering of the guards, and suddenly
the panel lurched open and a familiar figure came through.  In the darkness,
she recognized Edward almost immediately and opened her mouth to greet him. 
But directly behind Edward was a man of such enormity that she was instantly
terrified.  She pressed back against the cold stone wall in fear.

Edward’s gaze found her
in the dark room and he smiled timidly at her.  Behind him, his colossal
companion shut and bolted the door.

“My lady,” Edward said
gently, a smile on his lips. “I have returned.”

Elizabeau would not come
away from the wall; her frightened gaze moved between Edward and the massive
knight still partially hidden in the darkness.

“Have you come to take
me to the executioner?” she whispered in a tight voice. “It is not dawn yet,
Edward. I am not ready to go.”

Edward paused in the
middle of the room; he could see how terrified she was and he indicated his
silent companion.

“God willing you will
not have to go,” he murmured. “I have brought you hope.”

Elizabeau didn’t move;
she remained pressed against the wall, her frightened gaze moving to the
enormous man who was now removing his cloak. When he pulled off his helm and
moved into the light, she still did not recognize him.  He was hairy and
bearded and dark.

Rhys could see the
terror in her eyes. It only compounded the myriad of emotions already pounding
through his veins.  He was so glad to see her that he could not speak for the
lump in his throat; she looked rather thin in the face, and miserable to boot,
but he had never seen her more beautiful. She was every bit, and more, as
delicious as he had remembered. Tears filled his eyes. But he swallowed the
emotions strangling him enough so that he could speak.

“’Tis me, angel,” he said
as gently as he could. “I know I do not look like myself, but it was necessary
so I would not be recognized.”               

Something seemed to
change in Elizabeau’s face; her terror was turning to stark, naked shock. Her
dark green eyes bulged wildly and her hands flew to her mouth. But still, she
remained against the wall, unmoving, as if terrified that she was dreaming.
Rhys raked his hair back, away from his face, so that she could see his
features more clearly as he slowly moved towards her.

“Do not be afraid,” he
murmured. “It is really and truly me. You knew that I would find you somehow,
did you not? God has….”

“Rhys?” she finally
squeaked.

He smiled, nodding. “It
is I.”

She gasped and great,
fat tears suddenly spilled onto her cheeks. “It is truly you?”