The Faithful Heart (14 page)

“Firstly,” he went on, “we propose raising
the plow tax and the mill tax by twenty percent.” A rumble of
disapproval passed through the nobles. A split-second of annoyance
crossed Jack’s face. “The numbers we gathered in the past fortnight
suggests that there has been enough prosperity amongst Derbyshire’s
peasants to cover the cost.”

“And you would know!” someone shouted. A
swell of laughter followed.

Jack went bright puce. He clenched a fist and
scowled at the men who were laughing. Between his red face and
ginger hair he appeared to be on fire. He cleared his throat and
went on. “It is not just the peasants who will be able to provide
money for the ransom. Derbyshire’s prosperity has effected everyone
in the shire, even the nobs.” His accent slipped and his temper
rose. Lydia’s heart raced as if watching a joust. “The earl and I
have determined there will be a special luxury tax on landowners
this year, twenty-five percent of each manor’s annual revenue.”

“You dare impose a tax on us?” a blubbery,
gray-haired noble with a goblet of wine in one hand shouted. “You
who I wouldn’t have hired to polish my boots this time last
year?”

“Oy! Look you!” Jack snapped back as a rumble
spread through the rest of the nobles. Sir Crispin grabbed Jack’s
arm to settle him. Lydia could see him shaking as he drew in a
breath and went on. “It is our duty to use our prosperity to ransom
our king!” His accent was crumbling and any semblance of nobility
he had with it.

“Twenty-five percent is a small price to pay
for the safe return of our king,” a younger noble with a scar on
his face came to Jack’s defense.

“Thank you.” Jack threw out an arm to him as
if he’d made the point.

“Not every manor has been as successful as
yours, Lord Jarvis,” another noble who looked worse for wear
countered. “To some of us twenty-five percent is a horrible
burden.”

“That’s why it’s a percentage and not a flat
rate,” Jack met the argument. “And it’s only this one year, mate.
Small price for gettin’ your king back.”

“Your king?” Matlock snatched at Jack’s slip.
“Ah, but we shouldn’t expect a dog who has been thrown a bone to
show allegiance to any master besides the one who fed him.”

Nervous laughter rolled through the room.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, mate,” Jack
snapped, “we’re pullin’ all these bloody teeth to raise the money
to bring King Richard home. So if you think Crispin an’ me aren’t
loyal to the king then you got a serious problem.”

“The only serious problem I have, peasant,”
Matlock stood and leaned across the table, spitting his words, “is
a mangy mutt like you thinking you have a right to stand in my
presence!”

“Lord Stephen!” Crispin stood, throwing out a
hand to hold Jack back and glaring at Matlock. “We are not here to
discuss the appointments Prince John made. We are here to determine
the best way to raise the king’s ransom!”

“This is a farce!” Matlock banged a fist on
the table. “We sit in here listening to some jumped-up horse thief
while outlaws in the forest rob us blind.”

“Here, here!” Several nobles banged on the
table in support.

“What do you propose to do about that, Earl?”
Matlock sneered. “What do you propose to do about the fact that it
is no longer safe to travel through the forest? What do you propose
to do when these outlaws start robbing and pillaging surrounding
manors?”

“Every effort is being made to rid forest of
the outlaw Ethan of Derbywood and his men,” Crispin glowered. “The
number of soldiers patrolling the forest has been doubled and-”

“And what good has it done?” Matlock cut him
off. “How many of you were robbed on the way to this very council?”
he appealed to the assembly.

At least half of the nobles in the room
raised their hands, some boldly, some reluctant to admit it. Lydia
sat straighter, her mouth dropping. To her Ethan had seemed like
nothing more than a spoiled, dispossessed noble playing with toys
in the woods. He had been good for a tumble, but that was it. Had
he really done so well for himself?

Sir Crispin seemed as surprised as she was at
the show of hands. “An army will be raised,” he announced, closing
a fist in front of him. “The Derbywood will be scoured of this
menace if we have to burn it down.”

The stirrings of approval were cut short by
Matlock’s chuckle. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I will lead that army myself!” Jack snarled.
Again Lydia’s eyebrows flew up. It appeared as though Jack’s hatred
of Ethan was just as virulent as Ethan’s for Jack.

“Oh perfect!” Matlock rolled his eyes. “I
wouldn’t be surprised if you joined the outlaws, dog.”

“Oy, the dog thing is gettin’ really old,
mate!” Jack fumed.

“The matter is settled and I will hear no
more argument about it!” Crispin teetered on the verge of losing
his own temper. “Lord John will lead an army into Derbywood to
flush out the outlaws. In the meantime, I will be traveling
throughout the shire to collect the luxury tax from the nobles.” A
grumble greeted his announcement. “Furthermore, in three months’
time Derby will be hosting a tournament, a joust, to which you will
all bring the monies from your plow and mill taxes.” The grumble
paused and resumed as a murmur of excitement. “There will be a fee
to enter the joust. Any other contributions to the cause will, of
course, be welcomed.”

Lydia was impressed. With one swift
announcement Sir Crispin had shifted the mood of all but a handful
of the nobles. She’d thought he was a fool for throwing Jack into
the fire, but in fact he’d played his cards well. He would end the
council on a high note. At least it would have if not for
Matlock.

“Brilliant,” Matlock sneered. “Force the rest
of us to plunder our manors in the name of the king while you play
with horses and lances in Derby. Bravo.” His clapping dripped with
sarcasm. “I suppose this was your pet peasant’s idea.”

“Right, I’m done with this,” Jack growled,
stepping on the table as if he would leap over it and tear
Matlock’s throat out. He would have at that if Sir Crispin and Lady
Aubrey hadn’t grabbed his arms to hold him back.

The nobles buzzed with excited horror but
Matlock only laughed. “I would expect nothing more from an accident
of nature like that,” he raised his voice over the murmur.

“For the last time, Prince John gave me my
land and my title for services rendered to him!” Jack shouted
back.

“Services, eh?” Matlock smirked as though
Jack had walked into a trap. “Well I would expect nothing less from
a man who escorts a whore around the castle as if she were a lady.”
He pointed straight to Lydia, his eyes meeting hers.

Lydia’s back snapped straight. All eyes in
the room shifted to her.

She knew those looks, those turned up noses
and curled lips. Matlock thought she was nothing more than a whore
and was strong enough to convince every other noble in the shire
she was too. With one sharp jab he had punched holes in everything
she had been trying to build.

“I’m surprised you’re trying to ransom the
king at all,” he went on without a second thought for her or her
reputation. The nobles closest to her were eyeing her like a piece
of meat they had a mind to buy. “We all know that the moment King
Richard returns to England he will reverse the appointments of his
usurping brother,” Matlock addressed Crispin and Jack now. “At
least he will if I have anything to say about it.”

If it weren’t for Aubrey’s hands still
clamped around his arm Jack would have launched himself across the
room and torn out Matlock’s throat. They believed him. The whole
bloody room full of nobs believed every word the man said. They
believed Lydia was a whore and they believed King Richard would
chuck them out as soon as he came home.

“What a load of crap!” He jerked his arm out
of Aubrey’s grip and stared Matlock down. One sideways glance at
Crispin’s pale, serious face told him Matlock just might be right.
He dropped his arms and his heart dropped with them. Panic welled
up in its place. He glanced to the side of the room where Lydia was
trying to shrink into the shadows and glare daggers at Matlock at
the same time. Her face was red as fire and her half-exposed
breasts heaved near the top of her low-cut kirtle.

“Come to order!” Crispin bellowed. The
murmurs hushed without going away. Jack felt the eyes of the other
nobles boring into him. “Come to order! We’re not finished here
yet!”

“Oh, I think we’re finished alright,” Matlock
grinned.

“You think you can get away with this, mate?”
Jack railed into the buzz, pointing across to Matlock as the man
crossed his arms and sneered. “You think that you can shove the
shire into your pocket and go against the word of Prince John all
because Crispin was made Earl of Derby instead of you?” He fought
for all he was worth to speak with his noble accent, to speak like
someone Madeline would be proud of. “What will you do if King
Richard doesn’t overturn the prince’s appointments, huh? What will
you do if he likes things just the way they are? If he is grateful
to the ones who raised the money to ransom him?” Matlock’s smug
look faltered. “Oy! Not so smarmy now, are we.”

“And what will you do, peasant, if you are
unable to raise the required funds?”

Jack stared hard at the man, hoping he looked
like he had a handle on the situation. The truth was that he had
far more to lose by failing than Matlock did.

He was spared answering as Crispin took
things in hand to bring the council to a close.

“I will be leaving tomorrow to begin
collecting the luxury tax,” he announced. “Be ready. Plans for the
joust will be announced as soon as I return.” He said a few more
words about his expectations for the coming months before ending
the meeting.

As soon as Crispin dismissed the nobles the
Great Hall erupted into noise and conversation. Jack stood at the
head of the table glaring at Matlock who matched his distain look
for look.

“Come on, Jack,” Aubrey spoke with too much
care as she touched his arm. “It’s over. Joanna is bringing some
food up to a private room for us.”

He shook her off. “I’m not hungry,” he
muttered, breaking eye contact and stomping away from the table and
the whole mess. Just because the meeting had ended didn’t mean his
frustration was over. He looked for the nearest exit and pushed
through anyone who got in his way as he left.

He felt Lydia dodge through the nobs to catch
up with him but he didn’t turn to look at her. The hall he crossed
into was too hot and too tight and he knocked a servant into the
wall by accident on his way. Even when he had turned enough corners
to get away from everyone else he still couldn’t breathe.

Lydia raced after him, catching him as he
started up the stairs. He shook her off and took the steps two at a
time. His muscles hardened as the cool air of the castle swirled
around him. Exhaustion battled with the fury. The nobles of
Derbyshire were laughing at him. They thought he was a joke, but
through all the bitterness the only thing he could think about was
the shame of failing Madeline. Her father had laughed at him and
there had been nothing he could do about it. He’d failed her.

“What are you doing, Jack?” Lydia’s
breathless voice poked at him like a bee sting.

“I’m going to bed,” he growled out, nerves
raw and senses prickling as she followed inches behind him.

“Let me help you, my lord, draw you a
bath.”

“No!” he snapped as he reached the top floor
and turned on her. “Why are you here, Lydia? What do you want with
a wanker like me? Go find some other lord to draw baths for, a real
lord!”

“But you are a real lord, my lord!” She
rested her palms against his chest and leaned forward, gazing up
into his eyes.

“Like hell I am!” He pushed away, marching
across the hall and throwing the door to his room open. It banged
against the wall.

Lydia followed him and shut the door behind
her as he paced to the window and punched the shutter open. “My
lord, if you would just-”

“I didn’t ask for this!” he shouted at the
setting sun. He blew out a breath and turned back to Lydia. “If I
had known what being a bloody nob would do to me I would have spit
in Prince John’s face when he came near me with that bloody sword,”
he vented months’ worth of pent-up frustration. “But I’m not some
bloody useless peasant neither!”

“You’re a strong man, a good man,” Lydia
rushed to agree with him. “Anyone who can’t see that is a
fool.”

“Well apparently we live in a world of
fools!”

A flagon of ale sat on the table beside the
fireplace. He crossed the room and snatched it, downing half of it
in a few gulps. It did nothing but turn his stomach.

“You’re better than any of them, John
Kedleridge,” Lydia stepped up her pep-talk.

He laughed, wondering what had happened to
the Tanner. Jack Tanner had come to Derbyshire a condemned man. The
trapped feeling was still there. “I’ve worked bloody hard these
last months to prove myself.” He gave up his fight to keep his
emotions in check. “I thought that I was only working to prove
myself to Crispin, to prove that I could do any job he gave me. All
I wanted was a roof over my head and food on my plate.” And
Madeline.

“That’s all that anyone wants,” Lydia soothed
him with her voice.

“But it’s become more than that,” he went on,
downing the rest of the ale and throwing the flagon in the fire. “I
don’t understand these people. I don’t understand their stupid
bloody rules. They walk around treating me like I’m dirt when I’m
the one keeping order and rushing off to their rescue when they get
themselves in a jam. They call me peasant without realizing that
it’s their own peasants who make them everything that they are,
like the word ‘peasant’ is a curse or something. An’ I wouldn’t
mind being just a peasant ‘n all neither, but no. No, thanks to
bloody Prince John I’m a bloody nob now. But not one of them. Never
that. Not a noble, not a peasant. I’m no one!”