The Lord of Ireland (The Fifth Knight Series Book 3) (13 page)

‘Open the gate!’ shouted the guard. ‘The garrison are returned from Ardfinnan!’

John leapt to his feet, all at his table following suit. ‘More for the feast! More!’

Huzzahs broke out again, louder than ever as he gestured to all present to gather round.

Palmer let go a long breath of relief. John would get lost in his latest victory. Palmer could leave this ridiculous table and go speak to Theodosia. He’d find out what she’d been doing in that tent. And get to the bottom of what had really gone on in there.

Excitement surged within John as he awaited the opening of the gates. He couldn’t have asked for better timing of this latest news. Everyone here had already assembled for celebration. He glanced to his left. He even had a group of Irish prisoners to witness the further defeat of their kind. A tremor passed through him. He truly stood on the edge of greatness.

The gates swung open.

John filled his lungs to lead the cheer. But he could only form a soundless word.
What?

This time, no orderly line of men. This time, no bearing of spoils. This time, no fists in the air, telling him what he needed t
o know.

Instead, a tiny knot of humanity that Satan himself would spurn from his clutches. Such wounds. So much blood. The few exhausted horses bearing bodies slung across their backs.

The rising chorus of gasps and mutters from those watching the group’s arrival reflected his shock. He forced himself to speak.

‘What news of Ardfinnan?’ Good: his voice sounded calm. In control.

‘News, my lord?’ The leader of the group, a knight he didn’t recognise, his cheekbone visible in a wide gash to his face, swayed on his feet. ‘The news is as you can see. We have brought as many of the dead back as we could. Many, many more lie at Ardfinnan. We have been crushed.’

A stunned quiet enveloped the camp.

Fitzmiles nudged him. ‘Say something, John,’ he murmured.

John opened his mouth, closed it again, his mind foundering at the terrible news.

Fitzmiles again. ‘Anything.’

‘Are you sure?’

A muffled laugh came from one of the nearby Irish. John could swear it. Fists clenched, he went to react, but his defeated leader spoke first.

‘I’m sure, my lord.’ The man stumbled over his words, his hand to his stomach-turning injury.

‘What of de Glanville?’ Fitzmiles’s urgent question turned his innards to water.
Geoffrey.
Son of John’s own foster father. He’d
forgotten
.

The man shook his head, gesturing to farther back in the group.

Four men stepped forward, a crude sling
strung
between their spears. They laid their burden at John’s feet. His beloved Geoffrey lay on the cheap cloth, his noble face sightless and unmoving, his body hideously ruined
by
his fatal wounds.

‘How?’ John’s voice climbed. ‘How?’

‘The men of the King of Thomond knew we were coming, my lord.’ The leader’s voice trembled. ‘They were ready for us.’

Great sobs heaved from John, unbidden. He didn’t care. This grief was too much. ‘Ready?’ He marched over to a nearby cart and snatched the coiled whip from the driver’s seat. ‘Are you ready for this?’ He ran at the bearded men in chains, the long, heavy lash snaking out, catching one on his gaping face. ‘And this?’ Another on his hands as he ducked.

‘This?’ The ear of a third split with a scream from the man, the others shouting and grasping at each other for cover. ‘That’s it, herd
together
like the beasts you are!’ His fury strengthened his hand, drove each slash with even greater accuracy. He drew blood, cut skin, on and on till his sobs in his own ears became ragged gasps.

He paused for breath, the whip wet and stained in his hand, his gaze moving over his audience.

Every eye was on him, yet no one said a word. Now they knew who had the power. ‘Curs like them’ – he nodded at the bleating Irish as he fought for breath – ‘cannot defeat my men on their own. Somebody is leading them. And I’ll wager I know who.’ He spat a wad of spittle from his mouth and pointed at a guard. ‘Bring me Eimear O’Connor. Now.’

Palmer kept his face an unmoving mask as two man hauled a struggling Eimear down the steps of the motte.

Standing beside him, Theodosia whispered to him, ‘We must do something.’

‘No. There’s nothing.’ Palmer put force into his low tone. ‘John is like a foaming dog at the moment.’

‘Unhand me. I order you. I can walk unaided.’ Eimear’s angry orders went unheeded as the men dragged her before the King
’s son.

‘Let her loose for now,’ ordered John. ‘By the time I’m finished with you, woman, you will be glad of any help you receive.’

Eimear shook the men off, glaring at John. ‘You would raise the lash to me?’

‘The raising of it is harmless.’ John pointed towards the cowering, shuddering Irish. ‘It’s the lowering that causes problems.’

The shadow of fear flicked across Eimear’s face as she saw what he indicated.

Palmer could tell from John’s look that he’d seen her reaction. And liked it.

‘It’s time for you to confess to your spying.’ The King’s son smiled. ‘I might leave some of your flesh on your bones if you do.’

‘Spying, my lord?’ Eimear’s eyes widened. ‘I have not—’

‘Yes, spying!’

Even Palmer flinched at John’s yell.

Eimear kept her silence as John continued, stabbing the air an inch from her face with his coiled whip with each charge. ‘Who could know I was sending troops to Ardfinnan? You. Who knew when to attack here? You. Who was in my clerk’s tent with an axe-wielding warrior? You.’ He clicked his fingers at his guards. ‘Tie her to that cart.’

‘Do not dare to do this!’ Eimear slapped one of the guards across the face.

Ugly jeers broke out.

‘Benedict,’ came Theodosia’s anguished whisper. ‘It was not—’

‘No. Not now.’

The men wrestled Eimear to the cart as she fought hard. ‘You cannot do this! I am the wife of a lord!’

‘A lord?’ John cracked his weapon loud in a test. ‘You mean that traitor de Lacy?’

‘My husband is no traitor.’

‘The husband who has disappeared.’ John gave a wide sweep of his hand. ‘The husband who wants to hold his own lands and g
et his h
ands on even more. The husband who you are spying for, so he can keep betraying us all!’ He slashed his whip at her, uncaring that the guards still tried to secure her.

Eimear screamed now. ‘I don’t know anything!’

Theodosia yelped in pain.

Palmer looked down at her. A red blotch marked her face, and she raised a hand to it. ‘My cheek?’

Something pinged at his head in a sharp nip.
‘Ow!’

Eimear’s screams carried on as she still fought those who he
ld her.

A goblet shattered on the table. A bowl.

A few exclamations broke out. More.

A small stone bounced onto the table. Another at Palmer’s feet.

Then he knew. He grabbed Theodosia by the shoulders. ‘That tent. Right now. No argument.’

‘None.’

He thrust her from him and ran towards John. ‘My lord! Stop!’

John paused, whip raised for another strike. ‘What the devil are you doing, man?’

‘Everyone get under cover! Now!’ Palmer grabbed hold of John, hauling him near off his feet.

Some acted on Palmer’s order. Others stared, perplexed.

‘Have you gone mad?’ John took a swing at him, drew back for another.

‘We’re under attack!’ More tiny pebbles fell, like the first drops of a storm.

‘Get your hands off the Lord John.’ A big knight stepped
forward
. Then with a rap like stone on stone, he fell, half his skull no more with the large rock that had broken it open.

‘Slingers!’ Palmer yanked John under the shelter of the abandoned banqueting table. ‘Get down!’

And the deluge of murdering stone broke above them.

Chapter Fourteen

Theodosia knelt in Eimear’s room in the keep, praying in silence as always as the other woman ignored her.

Eimear had come through the latest attack by the Irish unharmed, ducking under the cart as the deadly rain of stones had fallen. In the chaos that followed, John had had to abandon his whipping of her and had ordered her secured in the keep again.

But Theodosia’s prayers were not for Eimear today: she prayed for Benedict, over and over, for God’s protection, and would do so until his safe return. John, incensed beyond reason at the death of his friend in the fighting near the other castle of Ardfinnan, had assembled a party to travel with him there. And he’d ordered Benedict to join him. So now Benedict travelled through this most perilous land, and she had no way of knowing what might be befalling him.
All she could do was wait.
The helplessness she had felt as she knelt in the chapel at Sonning flooded back, plaguing her. This time, she received no sign from God. She would have to redouble her efforts and beseech Him day and night.

‘You look troubled, sister.’

Theodosia’s hands stilled on her beads. ‘I do, my lady?’

‘Sorely.’ Eimear, sat on the bed, eyed her with curiosity. ‘My prayers have been of thanks. God watched over me when the stones of the slingers fell. Perhaps you pray for the soul of the Irishman murdered by the clerk, Gerald?’

To her shame, she had forgotten. ‘I have neglected to do so.
I ha
ve had many tasks to which to attend.’

‘Believe me, I have prayed for him.’ Eimear’s look hardened. ‘Perhaps you need to pray for Gerald’s soul. He killed that man.’

‘You spoke to the warrior in your own tongue, which I do not understand and neither does Gerald. He believed there was
treachery
afoot.’

‘You do not speak the language of the Irish either, but you shouted to Gerald not to attack that man. You could tell what was happening, yet he could not?’

Theodosia met Eimear’s challenging look with one of her own. ‘I believe the warrior would have attacked us both had you not arrived, my lady.’

‘My fellow Irishman was going to kill the two of you.’ Eimear stated it as one might remark that the wind felt cold. ‘He told me so. I ordered him not to. I did not want to see you hurt. As for Gerald, I care nothing.’

‘Then I have you to thank for my life.’ Theodosia swallowed hard. The encounter had brought death as close as she feared. ‘
Gerald
’s too.’

‘I will not wait for his thanks. Eternity is only so long.’

‘You have mine. With all my heart.’

‘Yet your face shows doubt.’

Theodosia hesitated, searching for the right words. ‘Your actions surprised me, my lady.’

‘You wonder why I did not simply let the axeman kill you and the clerk. Am I correct?’

Theodosia nodded.

‘Unlike the Lord John, you have shown my people respect with your marking of their passing. You come here to me, day after day, to try to join me in prayer, even though I push you away. Not many people stand up to me. But you have. Then, with no thought for your own safety, you run to the aid of that miserable Gerald. I admire you and am grateful for your attempts.’ Eimear put her head to one side. ‘All of this from a woman who is not an abbess or a noblewoman, but who is a mere sister. So you intrigue me also.’

‘I seek my guidance from my God, my lady.’ Theodosia kept her expression unchanged, even as her heart quickened beneath her habit as Eimear edged towards the truth.

‘Then you seek well. I do not see much of God’s guidance in the actions of others that King Henry has sent here. I see land theft and murder and more.’

‘Your beloved husband is one of Henry’s men, my lady.’
Theodosia’s
pulse tripped faster still at the chance to steer their exchange to de Lacy. ‘Do you not see God in his life?’

‘Hugh de Lacy is my husband, yes. As for beloved?’ She gave a humourless laugh. ‘No.’

‘That is indeed a sad situation for you to be in, my lady.’

‘Advice on men from a nun.’ Eimear shook her head.

‘I do not presume to offer advice, my lady. Only to listen.’
Theodosia
hesitated. To bring up her old life as an anchoress could be a risk, but she had to take it. ‘I spent some years in a church’s cell, hearing the secrets of the heart from many people. To lay down the burden of unhappiness can be a comfort.’

‘Oh, I’m sure it can. For most. But tell me, sister: how many wives came to you to tell you that they had tried to murder their husbands on their wedding night?’

Though the thick canopy of trees and tall bushes in full leaf cut out much of the sun, sweat still coated Palmer’s body. The
heavy
padding of his gambeson under his mail might take the worst of a weapon’s blow, but it kept all his own heat in. His soaked hair under his close-fit
helmet
sent salty rivulets down into his eyes and mouth. Beneath him, his destrier took slow, careful steps along the narrow track that stayed slippery with mud in the green shadows.

He swatted at the flies that loved this mix of wet and heat and shade and perspiring men and horses.

‘Hell’s teeth! Does the very ground conspire against me?’

Palmer’s shoulders knotted at the angry shout. He turned in his saddle as much as he could in his heavy mail and with his shield slung across his back.

Farther back in the column of mounted men, the horse in front of the King’s son had slipped to its knees.

Its rider urged the animal back up, with a string of apologies to John.

Palmer pulled his animal from the track, allowing the other to pass. Riding at the front didn’t bother him. The unending noise that John made did. So far, their luck on this journey had held. They would soon be at Ardfinnan Castle, but Palmer would wager that those stationed there could already hear him. This group did not need to draw any attention to their progress.

He slipped back into the line to ride in front of John.
Distracting
the Lord of Ireland might keep the man’s loose tongue busy. ‘We make good progress, my lord.’ He glanced over his shoulder.

‘Oh. It’s you, Palmer.’ John scowled beneath his tightly laced helmet, his face red from the long ride in the heat. ‘We’d be a lot faster if this cursed place had decent roads. These woods are barely passable.’

A low branch swished against Palmer’s head and shoulder as he passed, swinging into John’s path next.

He hacked it down with an irritated
swipe
of his sword. ‘See? Barely passable.’

Palmer held in his command for the man to stop his noise. ‘
I agre
e it’s not ideal, my lord. But your men have made their way to Ardfinnan. And back.’

‘Back with the body of my friend.’ John’s mouth turned down. ‘Back from defeat. Not like my great victory at Tibberaghny. Had
I b
een at Ardfinnan, it would have been a different story.’

Palmer went to laugh but swallowed it back. No, John didn’t joke: he really thought he spoke the truth.

‘What’s more, Geoffrey de Glanville would still be alive,’ said John. ‘The savages must have had the luck of the devil on their side to vanquish him.’

Palmer noted John’s rigid shoulders and the constant flick of his gaze to the thick undergrowth on either side. The attack by
slingers
had not been luck. Clever tactics, more like. Many of the Irish
prisoners
had managed to escape while the stones had rained down. At least those that John hadn’t whipped to pulped unconsciousness had. He guessed that John spewed his lies through deep fear.

‘Indeed, my lord.’ He had to try to settle him down. A jittery fighter was more a danger than a help in any battle. ‘We’ll be at Ardfinnan soon. I’m sure we’ll hear tales of Sir Geoffrey’s valour.’

John gave a tense nod. ‘As I shall inspire them with how the enemy can be defeated.’

‘That would be a great rallying speech, my lord.’

‘Of course it would. That’s why I’ve thought of it, man.’ John’s chin lifted. ‘And I think you presume to speak to me as if you have been granted that privilege. Hold your tongue until you are asked to wag it.’

‘My lord.’ Palmer faced forward again. If John also stayed silent, then all was well. He flexed his hands and fingers in his mail mufflers, working out the stiffness of his wounded flesh. Not far to Ardfinnan now.

‘Palmer.’ A
panicked, strangled word
from John.

Palmer turned to follow his point to the right. A group of ferns moved. There wasn’t a breath of wind in these woods. Something was in there. His hand went to his hilt.

In a flash of red fur, a fox broke from the concealing fronds to a strangled cry from John. It darted under his horse and across the path to the cover on the other side.

John swung his sword at its disappearing tail. ‘Stupid creature could have startled my animal.’

But Palmer frowned to himself. Foxes liked to roam at dusk. Not in the full light of day. The shy animals would never run into a group of men and horses. Unless. ‘Unless they were disturbed.’

A spear arced through the air to pierce the rump of the horse in front as he said it.

The animal kicked out, squealing.

Palmer’s own horse reared beneath him in fright, the high-backed saddle keeping him on. ‘We’re under attack!’ His shout joined howls and screams that broke from the woods.

‘My lady?’ Theodosia could not be sure if her ears deceived her.

‘I thought so. Murdering brides are a rare breed.’ Eimear’s eyebrows arched. ‘More’s the pity.’

‘But why would you try to carry out such a terrible act?’

‘It was my husband or my father. For the fate they imposed o
n me.’

Theodosia bit her lip. ‘Men can indeed be responsible for the ruination of girls’ and women’s lives.’ Her own life, before Benedict.

‘Ruination? A good word to describe what they did to me. And such mortal enemies up to then. Hugh was Henry’s royal official, using harsh rule and the King’s name to grab more and more land. My father, the great High King Rory O’Connor, went to Henry to appeal for help against him.’ She snorted in disgust. ‘Both of them dangling on the King of England’s strings. Real men would have cut loose and fought to the death for victory.’

‘Take care, my lady.’ Theodosia glanced at the door. ‘Those are treasonable words.’

‘What if they are? It’s only you and I here. Like it would have been when people came to whisper to you in your cell.’

‘I did not mean for you to stop unburdening your soul to me.
I o
nly mean for you to take care that you are not overheard. It would be dangerous for you.’

‘Speaking the truth doesn’t frighten me. Scheming like my father and Hugh de Lacy does.’ Eimear got to her feet and paced the room, arms folded across her chest. ‘Hugh came to my father, suggested a truce so they could both keep hold of the vast lands they already had and not waste energy fighting each other. He’d recently lost his wife of many years. So it was a truce that could be sealed with my hand in marriage. With me.’

The second marriage that had so enraged Henry. ‘I cannot imagine, my lady,’ she said quietly.

‘Of course you can’t.’ Eimear gave her a pitying look. ‘An
d I’
d never given any thought to marriage. Not only was I young, I’
d n
ever held such a dream, unlike most of the other girls I knew. I enjoyed boys, then men, as combatants, as people who could teach me the skills I loved, like hunting and fishing and riding. Like my namesake of the legends, I wanted to be a warrior, leading a troop of fierce women. Instead I was forced to become a wife.’ She grimaced. ‘I saw Hugh de Lacy for the first time on my wedding day. Twice my age, to my chin in height and half a face from a nightmare.’

Theodosia kept her counsel, unable to think of a polite response.

‘Oh, you think I’m being unkind. But he strode into that chapel in his huge castle at Trim, the best castle in the whole land, like I should have rejoiced to have been chosen by him.’ Her voice lowered, unsteady for the first time. ‘I knew what was to come. And I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t.’