The Lord of Ireland (The Fifth Knight Series Book 3) (31 page)

Theodosia fought her own bile, and Eimear’s face showed her rigid with shock.

John’s words – so vicious, so casual. His taking of Brother
Fintan’s
life. His intention to take that of Archbishop O’Heney, of others, in such a heinous manner. All terrible echoes of those who had come to take her Lord Becket’s life, and what followed after. Never again. If she had to lay her life down to stop it, she would. And she had to do it now, while she had not yet been seen and before Gerald walked away.

She moved right to the corner, peeking with caution around the wet stone wall. ‘Brother.’ Her urgent whisper. ‘Over here.’ She beckoned as Eimear pulled at her arm in panic.

‘Theodosia, what are you doing?

Another. ‘Here.’

Gerald looked over in trepidation. His face changed as he sa
w her.

‘He’ll bring the Lord John down on our heads.’

‘Trust me.’

‘Sister Theodosia.’ Gerald’s thin face in the shadows looked stunned as he came to her. ‘You were a spy for Cashel? And you’ – he stared at Eimear in open revulsion – ‘the savage.’

Theodosia raised a hand. ‘Brother, please. I beg you to listen to me. Neither of us
is a spy
. I swear on God’s name that Archbishop O’Heney himself gave us the Church’s sanctuary here.’

‘You expect me to believe your word?’ Gerald drew breath to call out.

‘I saved your life, brother,’ said Theodosia as panicked sweat engulfed her. ‘As Eimear tried to too.’

He paused.

She continued. Fast. Steady. ‘If you doubt me, then make your way to the door of Cormac’s Chapel and ask the Archbishop if he received us here. But, in so doing, you will make it impossible to save him, for my presence will then be known.’

Gerald opened his mouth. Closed it again.

‘We have to save him. We have to.’

‘We must.’ Eimear pressed the point.

‘I don’t think we can.’ Gerald raised his injured arm. ‘Look a
t us.’

‘But we have to try, brother.’

His face showed the war waging within him. Then he swallowed hard. ‘You are right.’ He crossed himself several times. ‘Such wickedness must be countered.’

Theodosia allowed herself a small breath of hope. ‘Brother, John said you were free to leave. If we go down to the gate now, you could go to the stables and get a horse and cart, and we could conceal ourselves in the back. No one is going to question your leaving if the Lord John has given you permission.’

‘Once we’re out, we can get help,’ said Eimear.

‘Eimear is held in great esteem by the Irish, brother. You would be quite safe.’

‘Very well.’ Gerald’s anguished look went to the chapel again. ‘Let us make all haste.’

‘Agreed,’ said Theodosia. ‘Now, come.’ She took his arm in the usual hold to steady his steps, hoping to speed them as she did so. ‘Eimear?’

‘Quickly, brother.’ She took the other arm.

Together they bore Gerald away from the chapel, heading down the rock with the clerk protesting at their pace.

Theodosia’s heart jumped in her chest. The darkness, the blustery rain in her face. The ground muddy and slippery under her feet. She should descend with care. They all should. But the deep shouts and raucous calls of the looters floating on the wind made her reckless.

‘Pray God they stay occupied in their foul work.’ Theodosia steadied her footing as her feet almost went from under her.

‘I’m sure they’ll be like pigs at a trough,’ said Eimear. ‘Thanks to their greed, the stables look deserted.’

The low buildings indeed sat in dark quiet, with the ground on which they stood levelling off in a neat, cobbled stable yard that was far easier underfoot.

Her tone hushed, Eimear pointed to a small cart in one puddled corner. ‘I’m sure I can hitch that one up.’ She let go of Gerald to investigate. ‘I can. We don’t even need a groom.’

Theodosia gave a quick glance up at the Rock. So many lights. Someone could discover them at any moment.

‘I could drive such a tidy cart.’ Gerald nodded hard.

‘Then let’s not delay,’ said Theodosia.

‘Help me lift it, Theodosia.’ Eimear went to pick up the shafts to manoeuvre it out of the corner.

‘What are you lot doing?’ A male voice. Its owner walked out of the shadow of the stable block. Wearing chain mail. With his hand to the hilt of his sword.

Gerald clutched for Theodosia.

‘Eimear, don’t!’

Her scream came too late.

Eimear flung herself at the soldier, her nails going for his eyes, her teeth on his hand.

With a surprised oath, the man tried to fend her off.

She grabbed for the handle of his sword. ‘I’ll have that.’

‘Off, bitch!’ His iron boot met her kneecap in a sickening crack.

She dropped to the wet, muddied cobbles, grinding out a long, long scream through clenched teeth.

‘Dear God, no.’ Theodosia went to help her, but the man drew his sword.

‘The Lord John will hear of this.’

Theodosia looked for something, anything she could use to stop him. Then froze as Gerald’s plaintive wail rose up.

‘Do not use your sword on me! It’s me, Gerald. The King’s cler
k. Th
ese harridans were forcing me to leave with them as a
hostage
. And me a poor, defenceless man, with my broken arm.’

The coward.
She could kill him herself.

‘I know who you are, brother,’ said the man. ‘Let me deal with these two.’ He sucked at the blood from the bite on his hand. ‘This one first. Definitely.’ He raised his sword to Eimear, who clawed at the ground, trying to escape from his weapon’s reach.

‘Spare her! I beg you!’ Theodosia went to step forward, but the man turned his sword on her.

‘Pray stay your hand,’ said Gerald. ‘The moaning savage on the ground is of royal Irish blood, surprising as it may seem. Too valuable to the Lord John. Put her in the chapel with the rest, and I will stand guard over this nun.’ He nodded at Theodosia. ‘Secure her to that post. I will watch her until you get back.’

‘If that’s your order, brother.’ The man looked disappointed.

‘It is.’

Theodosia tried to back away, but the man held his sword up again. ‘Move and I will cut your legs from under you.’ He placed it out of her reach on the cart and beckoned for her to come over.

‘Let her be.’ Eimear hurled a string of oaths.

Theodosia complied, knowing he would carry out his threat. ‘
I b
eg you, sir. I only want to leave this place.’

‘I’m sure you do.’ He took a piece of coiled rope from the cart and bound Theodosia’s wrists to the wooden upright in tight, quic
k knots.

Breathing hard in her pain, Eimear raised herself on one elbow. ‘Gerald, hell won’t be hot enough for you, you know that?’

‘Enough of your noise.’ The man grabbed his sword and went back over to Eimear ‘Up, you.’ He yanked her to her feet and she bit back a howl of agony. He dragged her away at a relentless pace. ‘I’ll send someone down for the nun.’

Eimear’s contained cries of pain tore through Theodosia as she watched the guard haul her off into the darkness. She glared at
Gerald
. ‘How could you? How—’

Her question died.

Gerald held up his knife, the same knife with which he’d slain the Irish warrior in his tent. ‘And now. Sister.’

‘No, brother. Please. Do not.’ Theodosia stared at the knife in Gerald’s hand, twisting frantically against the rope that bound her.

‘I’m sorry, sister.’ He raised the blade.

John flung his wet cape aside and reached for the jug of wine, pouring himself a large goblet. The warmth of the palace was most
welcome
after the chill outside, a chill that was closer to autumn than midsummer. Even better, all of Archbishop O’Heney’s mounds of documents had been cleared. John nodded to himself. He couldn’t bear disorder.

The manuscripts would provide such excellent tinder in the chapel. And the holy men would provide reliable tallow.

That was quite a good jest. Pity he had no one to share it with. Never mind. That was the price of bold leadership, of being a rare individual whose mind worked in great leaps, no matter what events came at him.

A respectful knock
sounded
at the door.

‘Enter.’

One of his men, one of the many who plundered Cashel tonight, walked in with a broad smile. The smile disappeared when the man’s eyes lit on the cooling body of the late Brother Fintan in a puddle of blood.

Goodness, how easily some folk were distracted. ‘Yes?’

‘I think there is something you need to see, my lord.’

John sighed. ‘I do not want a riddle contest at this time of night. What is it?’

‘It’s the Round Tower, my lord. There’s great wealth on the first few floors.’ His smile was back. ‘But you should see what’s on the top one.’

‘You really expect me to go out in the wet and the cold and the dark again to go and see it. Bring it to me, man! That’s what I told you to do.’

‘But that’s just it, my lord. We can’t. At least not in one sweep. Or even two, three.’ His eyes lit up. ‘There’s so, so much of it. It’s a wonder to behold.’

John kept in the huge cheer that threatened to break from him. Now, this was good news. The very best. He got to his feet. ‘Very well. I’ll come and have a look.’ He picked up his damp cloak again with a grimace and walked to the door.

‘Should I send someone to remove the dead brother, my lord?’

John swung his cloak over his shoulders. ‘When the task of gathering Cashel’s wealth is complete. And make sure they bring me the head. It will make an excellent display high on the Rock.’ He nodded to himself. ‘I’ve seen that done elsewhere. I rather like how it looks.’

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Theodosia tried to twist away from Gerald’s knife with a cry.

But she could not.

The clerk brought it down on the loops that bound her to the post. ‘I am sorry for alarming you.’ He sliced through the knots at her wrists and the tight rope fell away.

Her knees felt as if they were about to give, and she could not trust speech, not for a few thudding beats of her heart in the hiss and drip of the rain.

Gerald continued. ‘But I had to think fast when we were discovered, and it was the best I could do.’

‘You have my heartfelt thanks, brother.’ Her voice sounded like another’s.

‘We can still leave and try to find help. But we’ll have to hurry. No time now to attach a cart to a horse.’

‘Brother, I am not going.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I never intended to. I was trying to arrange it so I could get Eimear out of here.
I k
new she could summon help. With your aid, of course.’

‘Sister, you are staying here? With the risk of the Lord John finding you? Are you quite mad? He will tear you limb from limb!’

‘Brother, I cannot abandon the Archbishop to his fate. Nor the monks. Eimear’s fate now too.’ She clenched her fists. ‘I will not have that on my conscience.’
Not as Becket’s is. Forever will be.
‘I
hav
e the best chance while John’s men are still occupied with strippin
g th
is place of its sacred possessions. Once they are finished, it will be too late.’

‘Then you have greater courage than I.’ His face fell. ‘God help me, I am too afraid. I cannot fight much with one arm, but at least my feet and legs are working. I shall go with all haste to seek help at the nearest monastery. I’m sure they will find those who can com
e t
o Cashel’s assistance. And I have my knife to defend myself on th
e way.’

As he flung the shredded rope back into the cart, Theodosia did a quick search of it. Her hands closed in triumph on an intact coil.

Gerald poked around under the seat. ‘You might as well have this too.’ He held up a small hatchet. ‘For all the good it will do.’

‘Thank you, brother.’ She took it from him. ‘Godspeed you.’ She set off in a run back up the hill.

‘You see, Palmer?’ The thick blanket of fine rain deadened de Lacy’s call. ‘We’re here. Nothing appears untoward at Cashel tonight.’

Palmer pushed his wet hair from his face as he stared at the hulking rock. The shadowed buildings above it showed many lights. ‘If Theodosia and Eimear are dead, it wouldn’t look any different, de Lacy.’

He frowned. Footsteps.

A lone figure ran along the road towards them, knees up, one arm flailing, in the most bizarre gait he had ever seen.

Now de Lacy’s brows drew together. ‘Is that the royal clerk?’

‘Palmer! De Lacy!’ The familiar wail floated over to them.

‘It is,’ said Palmer. ‘Something’s wrong.’ He kicked at his
animal
to get to Gerald more quickly.

‘No, no.’ The weird flailing wave again. ‘Get off the road. You shouldn’t be seen.’

‘Hell’s teeth,’ said de Lacy. ‘What’s the matter with him?’

‘Off the road. I beseech you!’

Very wrong.
‘Do as he says.’ Palmer gave a sharp whistle to the other riders who followed a short way behind. He urged his horse to trample a path into the darker shelter of the soaked,
dripping trees.

De Lacy and the rest of the group abandoned the roadway with him, converging together to share hushed questions in
heightened alert.

A loud crashing announced Gerald’s arrival through the bushes. As he burst through, his eyes lit on Uinseann and th
e ot
her Irish warriors. ‘Don’t let them kill me!’ he shrieked. ‘I have terrible news!’

Palmer’s fear became a knife that might stop his heart. ‘They won’t touch you, Gerald. What’s going on?’

‘Palmer. De Lacy.’ Gerald sobbed without cease as he staggered over to them. ‘Oh, dear God. You must help.’

‘Spit it out, man,’ said de Lacy.

Palmer swung off his horse and was on the clerk, grabbing his bony shoulders to pull sense from him. ‘Is Theodosia hurt?’

‘What of Eimear?’ De Lacy’s horse jigged at his strident
question
.

‘The sister is unharmed.’

Relief surged through Palmer.

‘That I know of.’

Stopped. ‘What does that mean, Gerald?’ He tightened his grip on the clerk.

‘And Eimear?’ De Lacy again.

‘I’ll tell you, let me tell you.’

‘Let go of him, Palmer,’ said de Lacy.

Palmer did as ordered, listening with growing horror.

Gerald didn’t take long. Though
he delivered
a heart-stopping account with sobs and wails, the clerk used no extra words, no
flowery
words.

The face of every member of their small band told of their shock.

Palmer wanted to grab the clerk by the throat this time. ‘Are you trying to tell me you let Theodosia go to try
to
free the
Archbishop
?’

‘Everyone in the chapel. The wounded lady Eimear too.’ Another wail. ‘I couldn’t stop the sister!’

Forcurse it to hell. Theodosia was trying to fight a war. Single-handed. ‘I’ll stop her.’ Palmer was back at his horse in a few strides.

‘Palmer.’ De Lacy’s order. ‘Get back here.’

‘Damn you, de Lacy. I’m going for Theodosia.’ He went to remount, grabbing hold of his saddle, foot up to one stirrup.

Muscled arms grabbed him.

‘You heard the man.’ Uinseann hauled him down and back from his horse.

Simonson lunged in to grab hold of one wrist.

‘Get off!’ Palmer threw Simonson off with ease onto the wet ground, but the warrior held him in an iron grasp.

Palmer strained in his hold, his own balance off in the mud. ‘
I s
aid,
of
f
!’ He swung a fist, got one of the man’s eye sockets.

‘Have this, Englishman.’ Uinseann hit back, his thumping fist straight in Palmer’s stomach.

Palmer’s breath grunted out, and he doubled over, swearing with what he had left.

De Lacy shook his head. ‘Palmer, have sense. She’s gone to the chapel. To the Archbishop’s aid. To my wife’s. Not the
palace
. T
he L
ord of Ireland’s in the palace, so she’s not near him.’ He pointed to the darkness of the Rock. ‘John wants the place looted before he starts his murdering fire. Plundering a large site like that is going to take hours.’

‘I’m going, de Lacy.’ He forced the words out as he straightened
up.

‘No, you’re not. And I’ll put a sword through you myself if you don’t calm down and listen. We will rescue everyone. Including the sister. I promise you.’ He stressed the word
sister
.

Of course. Not everyone here knew Theodosia was Palmer’s wife. And it had to stay that way. ‘All right. I won’t. Now let go.’

De Lacy nodded to Uinseann, who released his hold. ‘We need to keep this very simple. Simonson, you stay here and keep watch over the King’s clerk.’

Simonson straightened. ‘Yes, my lord.’

‘As for the rest of us, this,’ said de Lacy. ‘We get to the palace by scaling the wall beneath it and climbing up the outside of the rock. It’s not a difficult climb, but it’s steep and it’s dark and wet. At the top is a wall the height of more than two men. Try not to break your necks. Once we have John, we have control and we stop it. Stop it all. John is the one we need to get our hands on. In the meantime, you take the innards, the heads from any man in chain mail that says he is loyal to the Lord John. Understood?’

A chorus of agreement met his words.

Palmer added his mumble of agreement.

For now. But he’d follow orders for only so long. First chance he had, he was going for Theodosia.

‘These ladders are so steep. Why on earth are there no stairs?’ John climbed up what the soldier told him was the last ladder in this tall tower. He prepared his wrath for the fool who said he should come out here. Granted, he’d seen plenty of valuables on the lower floors. But nothing to warrant
enduring the Irish rain yet again

‘It’s how these towers are designed, my lord.’ The man’s voice from above.

John climbed out from the hole through which the ladder
protruded
.

And wondered if he’d climbed into a dream world.

Gold. Silver. Ivory. Jewels on the precious metals. So much wealth. Wealth beyond what
he
’
d
ever thought possible. And miraculously, he held his dream in his hands once more.

Yes, he’d planned to take whatever he could get from here.
Killing
the Archbishop would cause terrible problems for Henry. Might even cause him to lose his throne. It would certainly send the Pope into an impotent rage. Both men, both old, stupid men, would realise their profound folly in passing him over.

But that no longer mattered. He had the means to buy a
kingdom
. An entire kingdom. He had the means to raise an army, seize a crown with what this room contained.

He had, literally, ascended to greatness.
Ascension to greatness.
That would be a chapter in his book.

He bent to look at yet another jewelled reliquary. ‘Go and fetch every man I have here. I want all of this brought to my palace. All of it. As quickly as possible.’

John, Lord of Ireland, let out a long, slow breath of triumph. He was lord no more.

Cashel, seat of the ancient Irish kings, had just birthed a new king within its walls.

And the Archbishop served no further purpose.

The time for the flames had come.

Theodosia slowed her pace as she approached Cormac’s Chapel, looking right, left in the soaking darkness. She could see no guards. Unless they lurked unseen, like the man at the stables. And she did not know where he had gone.

She tightened her hold on her hatchet. At least she had something, however meagre, to fight someone off with. The rope slung over her right shoulder would surely help her too.

All still seemed without watching eyes, guarding swords. She hurried to the south door. Locked, the planks far too strong for the weapon she held. Quick strides took her to the main entrance at th
e nort
h. Drips fell from the tall, carved arch that also held a formidably stout door. She put her ear to the wet planks.

Her heart turned over. The monks prayed quietly, calmly. They trusted John, that he’d locked them in there simply to steal their treasures. But no. Eimear had been locked in there too. She would have told them what was happening. So they knew death drew near. That was what their prayers were for. They had no way of knowing that no guards patrolled outside.

A hot anger, strong and fast as a lightning strike, went through her. All this for power, for wealth. That John would inflict such a hideous, agonising end on others for his own gain. On men wh
o ha
d not fought back and who still did not resort to violence as a response. Who simply waited for death to come and take them to their God.