Spectre of the Sword (41 page)

She thought a moment,
pondering the many thoughts that had been rolling through her mind for the
better part of an hour.   One thought above all loomed heavily and she chose to
voice it.  She felt marginally foolish for doing so, because she wasn’t a
seasoned knight as Rhys was, but she spoke nonetheless. Perhaps the most
obvious solution was the best one.

“While you have been
thinking of escaping with violence and force, I have been thinking of a more
powerful avenue,” she said quietly. “I am thinking of asking the Church to
intervene.  As much as they hate my uncle, I am hoping they will support my
cause and stay the execution.   Especially since I carry a child, they might be
particularly supportive.”

Rhys gazed into her
lovely face, nodding slowly as she finished her statement.  In truth, it made a
good deal of sense and he was surprised that he had not thought of it.  

“Perhaps,” he said. “It
might be your only hope.”

“But I plead for both
our causes,” she insisted. “I will not save my own life only to watch you
sacrifice yours.”

He just looked at her. 
Then, he stood up, placing her gently on her feet as he did so.  As Elizabeau
watched, he went to the cell door and began bellowing through the grate for the
guards.  When she realized what he was doing, she rushed to him.

“Nay, Rhys,” she
pleaded, pulling at his big arm. “Do not call them. I will not…”

He gently ignored her,
collecting both of her hands into his big palm as he continued to call for the
guards. There was a host of suspicious faces looking back at him but no one
came forward. Eventually, an older man, more than likely a sergeant from the
way the other men responded to him, came to the grate.

The man was without his
helm, his face dirty and scarred.  His muddy gaze fixed on Rhys.  “What do you
want?” he demanded.

Rhys was equally
demanding. “The lady demands to see a priest. It is her right.  You will bring
one immediately.”

The sergeant sighed
impatiently. “We don’t have a priest,” he snapped, but one of the other
soldiers on guard muttered something to him and the sergeant caught himself. 
He spoke to the soldier. “Are you sure?”

The soldier nodded and
the sergeant pursed his lips. “I’d forgotten,” he mumbled. “Do we know he is
truly a priest?”

The soldier shrugged.
“That is what he said.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.  He went
to the stables, more than likely. At least I saw him heading that way.”

Rhys didn’t know what
they were talking about but he would not be ignored. They weren’t loud enough
for him to hear the actual words.

 “The lady has every
right to the blessing of the church before she is put to death,” he interrupted
their conversation strongly. “You will grant her that courtesy. Go find a
priest.”

He was giving orders and
the sergeant didn’t like it.  He cast Rhys a menacing glare and walked away
from him, pulling the guards with him.   Rhys could see what they were doing;
they were preparing to ignore his demand.

“Send the lady a priest
or I swear I will make your job as miserable as possible,” he snarled.  “I may
go to the block but I swear I will take as many of you as I can with me.  I
have nothing to lose for my life is already forfeit; do you truly want an
angry, condemned knight on your hands? You will have a battle on your hands,
the ferocity of which you could never conceive of.”

The sergeant was several
feet away, standing with a few of his men.  He was still shooting daggers at
Rhys with his gaze. He was determined to prove he could not be intimidated but
the truth was, it had taken almost a dozen of them to subdue him enough to get
him to the guard house and he did not look forward to another battle like
that.  The man was as powerful as he was immense. Moreover, the lady was indeed
due a priest. They both were and God forbid that the sergeant find himself in
trouble if his denial of religious blessing was discovered.  Better to find
that traveling fool his man had reminded him of than waste any time going into
the village to hunt down the parish priest.

 With Rhys still
snapping threats, the sergeant turned to the man next to him.

“Go find that priest who
sought shelter here,” he muttered. “Maybe that will shut him up.”

Two men went on the
hunt. They found Geist huddled in the cold night air near the steps to the
keep, gazing at the block they were preparing.  Not strangely, he seemed most
eager to delivery absolution to the prisoners.

***

“Of all the stupid
nonsense,” Christopher growled to no one in particular. “David knew better than
to take off like that on the eve of battle.  All he had to do was ask the
prince why he had sent his man out and he would have had his answer.”

It was snowing heavily a
couple of hours before dawn as de Lohr’s mighty army made their way north. 
Over a thousand men and war wagons churned their way northward towards the
fortress of Ludlow, although Christopher was minus two of his most powerful
knights.  David was gone and so was Lawrence, contributing to Christopher’s
foul mood.   He knew why David had gone; what he was still having trouble
figuring out was Lawrence’s disappearance. 

Conrad and his men rode
silently with Christopher’s men, their mood almost apologetic.  When told of
his brother’s disappearance and why, Christopher had confronted the young
prince and had been told that Geist had been sent out to follow de Beckett. 
Over the course of the conversation, Christopher began to deduce that something
was terribly wrong because he knew that he had not sent Lawrence out on an
errand.  Whatever Lawrence was doing, Christopher had no knowledge of it.  So
now Lawrence, Geist and David were all missing, and Christopher was heading
into battle.  It was a troubling time.

Rod seemed particularly
concerned, but not for the same reasons that the earl was.  He rode at Christopher’s
right hand in the absence of the other knights and, along with de Wolfe, bore
out the commands of the earl to the following army. His mind was at their
destination, at least an hour ahead, and he knew that they would arrive
sometime after sunrise. Moreover, it was becoming increasingly apparent that
the weather was working against them as the snow continued to fall and slowed
their progress.  By then, his brother would have already saved the lady or
failed trying. The more the minutes dragged out, the more anxious he became at
the thought of Rhys all alone as he battled to both save the lady and breach
Ludlow from the inside for de Lohr’s army. It was too much to ask of one man.
Eventually, Rod could keep quiet no longer. 

“My lord,” he addressed
Christopher as the man steamed about his brother. “It is clear that we will
arrive at Ludlow after the sun has risen.”

Christopher turned to
him. “That cannot be helped.”

Rod cleared his throat,
somewhat nervously. “That being the case, I would like to ride on ahead should
my brother require assistance.  As slow as our pace is now with this weather,
we will not make it in time for the lady’s execution appointment. If Rhys runs
into trouble, he will be alone in his endeavor.”

“He has Radcliffe.”

Rod sighed sharply, not
wanting to beg, but he did not want to give up, either.  “But we do not even
know Radcliffe,” he said quietly. “We do not know, in fact, if he came to
Lioncross to set some sort of trap for Rhys.  We do not know anything about
him. I am simply asking permission to ride ahead and support my brother in the
event that Radcliffe does not, or cannot.”

Christopher’s helmed
head stayed fixed in Rod’s direction.  Eventually, he flipped up his visor and
fixed him in the eye. “What makes you think that Lawrence didn’t leave
Lioncross for just that purpose?”

“He would not have done
it without your directive, my lord.”

“True enough. Or perhaps
he knew that I would not give permission and decided to go ahead on his own.”

“Then my presence will
only support both my brother and de Beckett and, I would assume, your brother
if he followed de Beckett’s path there.” He paused a minute, watching
Christopher’s indecisive features. “The point is that we don’t even know where
Lawrence and David are so we cannot assume they are at Ludlow preparing to help
Rhys.  Moreover, if it was your brother attempting this feat, would you not
want to be there to support him also? From one brother to another, I must be
there to support Rhys. He would do the same for me. He would do the same for
any of us.”

Christopher pursed his
lips irritably. “Then why did you not ride out with him when he left?”

Rod cocked an eyebrow.
“You know that he would not have let me. He was determined to do it alone.”

“Perhaps he knew best.”

“Perhaps. But I would
like to ride on ahead anyway.”

Christopher gazed at him
a moment longer before slamming his visor down and focusing on the road ahead.

“Go then,” he finally
rumbled. “And if you see my brother, you will tell him that I am very
displeased with him.”

Rod suppressed a smile
of relief as he secured his own visor. “He might slug me. Perhaps you should
tell him yourself when this is all over.”

Christopher fought off a
grin of his own as he watched Rod thunder off into the night ahead.  He found
himself praying that the man would make a difference in his brother’s quest,
whatever that might be.  He knew they were going to arrive after sunrise at
Ludlow and he knew very well what that could mean to Rhys’ mission.  The
mission that had begun those months ago had taken twists and turns that no one
could have imagined.   Rhys was still attempting to complete it successfully as
best he could. 

Christopher found
himself praying for another miracle.

***

He didn’t particularly
look like a priest, but the sergeant had informed Rhys and Elizabeau that the
man was, indeed, a soul of the cloth.  Rhys got the impression that the
soldiers were simply trying to appease him so there wouldn’t be any
complications when it came time for their appointment with the block.  A priest
would ensure Rhys’ good behavior, or so they hoped.   This man could be a
murderer for all they knew; in truth, they did not care who he was.  They were
simply bringing Rhys a priest as he had demanded. 

So Rhys allowed the man
entry into their cell, as if he had a choice in the matter, but he put up a
good front all the same to project some manner of control over the situation. 
He stood between Elizabeau and the man, eyeing him hazardously. When the man in
tatters hovered near the wall while the soldiers closed the door and bolted it,
they could all hear distant laughter as their jailors found humor in the
situation.  A questionable priest, a doomed knight and lady, and all was quite
funny in their world.

Only Rhys wasn’t
laughing.  He stared at the figure with the tattered tunic that hung to his
knees and a hood that partially covered his face.  His hands were hidden in the
folds of his threadbare sleeves and dirt covered most of him.  The man had yet
to speak or make eye contact, a manner that began to infuriate Rhys.

“What kind of priest are
you?” Rhys’ voice was a growl. “You do not look like any priest I have ever
seen. Where did they find you?”

Suddenly, the man’s head
came up and he removed the hood that shrouded most of his face.   His was pale,
with a long jaw and big nose.  But when he focused on Rhys, the knight’s
agitated manner abruptly fled.  He took a curious step closer to get a better
look, his manner filled with burgeoning disbelief.

“You,” Rhys hissed
before the man could speak. “I know you. Aren’t you…?”

The priest cut him off
with a finger to the lips. “I serve Prince Conrad,” he whispered, his pale blue
eyes fixed on Rhys’ astonished brilliant ones.  “I am here with Sir David.”

Rhys was usually very
good at keeping his composure, but at the moment, all he could feel was
incredulous surprise.  “David is here?” he repeated with shock.

Geist eyed the door to
make sure the jailors weren’t listening, holding his hands up to remind them to
keep their voices down. “We have no time for explanations.  David is outside
dressed as a king’s soldier and I am here as a priest.  We were trying to
figure out a way to save you and…,” he lifted his slender shoulders in a
helpless gesture. “Well, here I am. “

Rhys was trying not to
gape at the man.  As he struggled for words, Elizabeau rose and went to him,
eyeing him disbelievingly.

“My God,” she whispered
in awe. “Is this true? Who are you?”

“My name is Geist, my
lady.”

“How in the world did
you manage to get in here?”

Geist looked at the
lady; she was pale from the chill of the vault, but it only gave her a more
ethereal, porcelain appearance.  She was quite beautiful and he took a moment
to study the woman they were all risking their lives for.

“It was a risk we took,
my lady,” he said honestly. “We were not sure what we would find.”