The Lord of Ireland (The Fifth Knight Series Book 3) (16 page)

Chapter Seventeen

The huge fires set in the bailey flared high, sending sparks and orange light into the deepening dusk.

Yet their fierce flames were not even close to the anger that burned within John’s chest. He kept his smile plastered on. For now. This huge celebration, swelled many times over by de Lacy’s men, would have to be borne.

‘Some more wine, my lord?’ Sat to John’s right, in the place of honour, the scarred-faced lord offered
him
the jug
as though
he ruled this place.

‘Good wine it is too.’ If John gritted his teeth any more, they would break. The splash of the wine into his vessel brought him the only tiny comfort.

Raucous, feasting cheer filled the bailey; tables set out again as they had been on the disastrous day of the slinger attack. All of it because of what Hugh de Lacy had done. And no showers of stones, of sharp javelins ruined it. The Irish would be staying far away from this place. De Lacy had seen to that, with his defeat of the men of the north who had dared to try to seize land in Meath from him, and his return with their heads as trophies. Everyone said his name with awe as they drank and cheered him. Even Gerald had taken to wine-bibbing.

‘A most wondrous victory, my lord de Lacy!’ The clerk’s hooked nose shone red in the firelight. ‘I shall be writing an account of your great deeds.’

John gripped his goblet stem hard lest he throw the vessel at Gerald’s head.

‘Thank you, good brother.’ De Lacy gave him a gracious bow. ‘Though I see your arm still is not healed?’

Gerald slipped into his usual whine. ‘No, my lord. The sister here does my bidding
though
her efforts do not match what my own would be.’

‘Not to worry, brother,’ said de Lacy. ‘Your success at supping wine with one hand is second to none.’

John braced himself for one of Gerald’s tirades and for a string of admonishments to be called down on de Lacy’s head. But no.

Gerald gave a high peal of laughter, his skinny frame rocking back and forth as all others joined him. ‘Very good, my lord.’

By God and all the saints, the clerk was as drunk as an alewife’s husband.

‘Very good. Oh, very good.’ Gerald nodded and nodded to more laughter.

Only the sister didn’t laugh. Or even smile. She sat with her eyes lowered as she busied herself with Gerald’s plate of untouche
d food.

Time he, John, drew some mirth from this table. His table. ‘Perhaps some wine would cheer you, sister? Make you and Gerald better friends.’ He gave her a broad wink. ‘Perhaps even the best.’

The only reward he got was a few half-hearted sniggers and the flush that rose in the nun’s face.

De Lacy remained impassive, curse him. Instead, he addressed
the nun. ‘I believe you have already been a constant friend to
Gerald
,
sister. As you have to my wife.’

John tensed at the mention of Eimear. He’d done nothing to that arrogant Irish bitch and here was de Lacy implying that she’d somehow suffered.

‘Thank you, my lord.’ The sister’s flush grew deeper.

‘It is I who should be thanking you,’ said de Lacy. ‘Your health, sister.’ He held up his goblet, with a nod to the table that everyone should follow.

Like foolish sheep, they did, some even following de Lacy’s bow before they carried on talking and laughing and drinking.

John took a bite of roasted meat. He wouldn’t be honouring that Theodosia woman. All she’d done was divert him from his true purpose. And de Lacy looked far too pleased with himself. ‘Your wife is not joining us then, de Lacy?’ He licked his fingers as he
said it.

‘No, my lord. Eimear is at prayer tonight.’

‘In my keep.’

‘In your keep, my lord. Where she tells me she has been kept safe. Secure, one might say.’

John could see the shadow of deep displeasure in the man’s one
working
eye. He was doing a good job of keeping it in check. ‘I would h
ave thought she would want to join you here at the feast. It’s been weeks since she’s seen you.’

‘That is why she prays, my lord. She gives thanks to God for my safe return. Once my tent has been cleaned and suitably prepared for my wife, she will return to me there. I will resume my responsibility for her.’

A tall figure emerged from the noisy throng. Palmer.

‘My lord de Lacy.’ His deep tone held respect, and his face and hair shone with the sweat of exertion.

De Lacy turned to him. ‘Have you and your men done what
I h
ave asked, Palmer?’

‘Yes, my lord. We’ve finished.’

John looked at the man who’d escaped the Ardfinnan rout with him. Straight-faced as ever. Impossible to tell what lay behind his neutral expression.

‘If you’ll excuse me, my lord.’ De Lacy got to his feet. ‘I need to check that Palmer has correctly carried out the task I charged hi
m with.’

‘Yes, yes.’ John waved him away, keen to see the back of him. Of them both.

With a bow, the two men headed off into the darkness.

Good-humoured shouting and whistling broke out from another table.

A couple of men had struck up a piping tune with a bone
whistle
and a small drum.

‘Let’s hear it all!’ John clapped his hands along to encourage them, and everyone followed suit.

Good. Let them all be distracted with such a dreadful din.

He filled his goblet once more and settled back in his chair.

De Lacy might think he ruled this night. But John had other plans. He needed time to think.

Palmer led de Lacy up a ladder that led to the wall walk, far more careful in his movements than when he’d rushed up to the gatehouse earlier on.

He stepped onto the wooden platform, de Lacy stepping after.

‘All as you ordered, my lord.’ He wiped the sweat from his
forehead
with his forearm, his stomach still rebelling from his labours.

De Lacy looked up at the tall, new spike. Impaled on it was one of the terrible cargo of heads. ‘Very good.’ He nodded. ‘The others?’

Palmer swept his hand to indicate the circle of the wall of the bailey. ‘At regular intervals.’

The flames from the enclosure below cast a glow on the many, many heads on spikes. Fixed in their masks of death, the flickering light brought an eerie life back to their faces. The horrible stench remained whenever the breeze eased. The joyful music and singing from below made the sight even more nightmarish.

‘What of the head of the king from the north who would steal my land?’ asked de Lacy.

‘On top of the keep.’ Palmer pointed to the
Lord
John’s tower, lit in one narrow window. The head on the long pole made a dark
silhouette
against the last pale light in the western sky, its lifeless mouth open in a silent scream.

‘And the torches?’ asked de Lacy. ‘They are all in place and ready to be lit?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Excellent.’ De Lacy nodded again. ‘I wonder if the Lord John doubts my loyalty to the King now?’

Palmer tensed. He himself had doubted it. Utterly. Not anymore. ‘How could anyone, my lord? You taught the enemy a lesson that they won’t forget.’
Are teaching John one too: that you can win, while he can’t.
De Lacy
was openly rubbing
John’s nose in his victory.

De Lacy smiled as if he
had
overheard Palmer’s thoughts. ‘Thank you for your hard work. I’m going to rejoin the feast now. Come with me – I’ll find you a place at the Lord John’s table. You’ll have a great thirst. And you’ll want to share in John’s approval when h
e see
s this display.’

‘You’re most generous, my lord.’ Palmer had no mind for any
thing other than getting the chance to talk to Theodosia.
Everything
was changing and they should be altering their plans.

A burst of laughter came from the bailey.

In the fire’s light, the clerk Gerald hopped in an untypical dance.

‘Now, there’s a sight.’ De Lacy shook his head.

Thank the Almighty for a holy man who couldn’t hold his drink. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d far rather go and clean up, my lord.’ Palmer held up his bandaged hands, stained from his stomach-
turning
labours. He grimaced. ‘These stink from the rancid flesh, but I fear my own may be turning as well.’

De Lacy’s look shifted to concern. ‘Then get them seen to, man.’ He went to the ladder.

‘Thank you, my lord.’ He followed de Lacy down. ‘Sister
Theodosia
, the one who looks after the King’s clerk. She has seen to my wounds too. I’d be grateful if she could leave the feast. It’ll only be for a while.’

His feet met the ground, his heart thumping.

But de Lacy didn’t even turn around. ‘No need to bother her for such an unpleasant task. I’ll send one of my barber-surgeons.’ He set off for the Lord John’s table with a wave of his hand.

Palmer tipped his head back with a string of soundless curses.

His gaze met the distorted leer of a head above him, as if the dead man mocked him.

‘De Lacy.’ John greeted the man’s return to the table, refilling de Lacy’s goblet with a hand that remained steady. Good. He could not show de Lacy so much as a hair-quiver of uncertainty.

‘Thank you, my lord. I apologise for having to leave’ – D
e L
acy
gestured up to the keep – ‘but I wanted to make sure all was
complete
.’

‘All what?’ John squinted past the glow of the firelight to the deepening dusk beyond.

‘That.’

As if in response to de Lacy, a torch lit the top of the keep. High on a spike, a bearded head adorned it.

John gasped in delight. ‘The northern king?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

Others took up John’s gasp as torches lit up the top of the walls, each one casting a flaring light on another severed head, on and on in a fabulous, dramatic display.

‘The sight of victory.’ John started to clap, nodding to all his men to follow.

Those present in the bailey joined in, some pointing in wonder, others yelling and whistling their approval.

De Lacy acknowledged it all with a raised hand, not standing to make the most of it. Instead, he went back to his wine.

More fool him. John waved and smiled to all. It was always a good idea to take the praise that one was given. And this was praise from the whole of Tibberaghny. With one exception. The sister had her hands to her cheeks, lips white and eyes wide in shock as she took in the sight. He could swear he caught the smell of terror on her. Serve the self-righteous little bore right. He’d love to make her squirm even more with a few clever quips, but he had no time for that right now.

He clapped de Lacy on the back as the revelry climbed to new heights. ‘That will show the Irish who’s in charge at Tibberaghny, won’t it?’

‘I believe so, my lord.’ De Lacy gave a sharp nod. ‘Firm action is called for at times. It’s what I did to secure my lordship of Meath many years ago. I took the head of O’Rourke, a great chieftain, who laid claim there. The head of the son of another – the son of the wily Sinnach, the one they call The Fox.’

‘Indeed, one could say you certainly outfoxed him.’ John enjoyed his own clever jest.

‘You could, my lord.’ De Lacy didn’t smile. ‘Such an approach has made me many enemies. I’m glad to say that less drastic options work very effectively too.’

‘Such as?’ John took another look at what adorned his walls. ‘
I d
oubt there’s anything more effective than this.’

‘Truces and alliances can work wonders, my lord.’ De Lacy nodded. ‘And they’re easier work.’

‘De Lacy! Such a wonderful display of your trophies.’ Gerald collapsed into a seat next to him, breathless from his ridiculous dancing.

‘Thank you, brother.’

‘More wine.’ The clerk grabbed for the jug.

‘Your head will be sore in the morning, Gerald.’ John tried to be rid of him with a warning look.