by K. M. Grant
The sergeant gestured for Hosanna to be brought around for him to ride, but the horse would not stand still. Eventually, with two men to help him, the sergeant managed to mount. Will watched in silence. Then they set off for the tower. Keeping his eyes fixed on Hosanna’s tail, Will was not completely despondent. Soon he would see Ellie, and Hal would surely be quick with reinforcements.
The sergeant was enjoying himself. Hosanna was much more comfortable than his usual mount, but just as he was congratulating himself on the morning’s success the gallows’ grisly human decoration rattled in the morning breeze. Hosanna shied, and the sergeant fell heavily into the ditch. Swearing, the man scrambled out and drew his sword.
Will did not stop to think. He drove his heels hard into his own mount, shouting aloud as it wheeled around, drawn up short against the leading rein, “Don’t you dare touch my horse!” He twisted and struggled, desperate to see what was happening. “Don’t you touch that horse, or you’ll pay for it!” he yelled. “By God, you’ll pay for it!”
The sergeant hesitated, dropped his own sword, and, with slow relish, slid Will’s own sword out of its scabbard. Then he parted Hosanna’s mane and raised his arm.
Will thought he would explode. “No, no!” he cried. The sword came down, but at the last moment the sergeant twitched and severed a hank of hair, which scattered and landed silently on the morning frost.
Will was shaking and leaned forward, almost sick down his pony’s neck. What a fool he had been. These people had no honor and no mercy. By the time Hal returned, they might all be dead.
The sergeant laughed.
The path to the tower was slippery, and Will could hear the soldiers cursing behind him. Once inside the courtyard he was pulled off the pack pony and shoved unceremoniously through a sturdy wooden door in a sunless corner well away from the gates.
He found himself in a damp cave, roughly twenty feet by twenty, with a sunken earth floor and slimy walls. Far from being able to see Ellie, he could see nothing at all, for the only daylight came through a small iron grille set high in the crumbling stone, designed deliberately so that while people could look in, no prisoner could look out. In the almost impenetrable black Will could barely see his own hand in front of his face. As the key turned, he beat the door with his fists.
From a high window Ellie watched, horrified, as both Will and Hosanna appeared, then disappeared. For a few moments she thought it might be some kind of incomprehensible ruse concocted by Will and Gavin as part of a plan to rescue her and Old Nurse. But when she saw Hosanna hobbled and heard Will hammering, she was filled with dread and rushed down to the courtyard. She was halfway to the cellar when de Scabious caught her arm. She recoiled as from a snake.
“I have no desire to hurt you, Miss Eleanor,” the constable said in his most conciliatory voice, for despite all evidence to the contrary, he really believed that she would come around to his charms eventually. “But you must not go over there. If you do, I shall make sure our prisoner goes somewhere where nobody will ever find him.”
“Let Will and Hosanna go,” she said in a low voice, trying to still the terrible banging of her heart.
“Certainly. Once we are married.”
“We will never be married.”
“Oh, we will, when King John comes.” The constable rocked on his feet. “I don’t know why you are objecting, Eleanor. It’s no good thinking about Master Gavin anymore. It is quite plain: Master William has come alone because his sensible brother has given you up already. The Hartslove banner”—he enjoyed the flash of hope in Ellie’s eyes—“will never be seen here. The Count of Hartslove recognizes King John even if his brother doesn’t.”
“It’s not true.” The light faded from Ellie’s face, but she would not allow her hopes to be dashed so easily.
“Then why is he not here, nor any of his knights? They have had plenty of time.”
To this Ellie had no answer. She pulled away and made once again for Will’s cellar, but the constable stood straight in front of her, this time with a far from conciliatory look on his face. “A small warning, my dear,” he hissed. “I mean what I say. If you go near the cellar or the stables, the prisoner will vanish, and nobody will see him again. Is that clear?”
Ellie began to tremble. “You are a wicked man, Constable de Scabious.”
“Oh no, my dear,” he said, smiling again and showing off a little. “I am just a man who likes to make sure things go smoothly.” He gave a little hop. “And now that I have such a splendid new horse to ride, I am sure they will.” He threw this at her with his most triumphant grin.
Ellie sobbed with fury, but because she knew that the constable did not threaten in vain, all she could do was cry out both Will and Hosanna’s names with as full a voice as she could, then flee back upstairs to Old Nurse.
Will heard Ellie’s cry and answered it, crashing and shouting until the sergeant sent a man to threaten him into silence. Then he sat in the cellar cursing, icy drops of sweat beading his forehead as he thought of all that the constable might do.
In the late afternoon a pan of pottage and a pitcher of water were thrust in through the door, but Will pushed them away. By evening he was so cold, he thought he might die. He could not survive this. At best it would take Hal three days to get back to Hartslove, and even then, what would Gavin do? Will was plunged into an almost deathly pessimism and lay down, his face in the dirt.
He did not move for hours. But as the day ended and the moon rose he was roused by a rumble, throbbing and persistent. It forced him to get up, and as he crouched wiping the dirt from his eyes, he knew what it was. Hosanna’s deep, familiar whinny was pulsing across the courtyard, filling the air with its music. Will remained absolutely still. The whinny grew louder and, in time, was answered by Sacramenta. Again and again Hosanna called out his great greeting.
Now Will could hear disconcerted soldiers rushing around the courtyard, nervously shouting for the horse to be quiet. But Hosanna took no notice. He would not stop until, one after another, all the other horses joined in, and eventually the whole tower reverberated with their collective lamentation.
“I hear you, Hosanna, I hear you,” Will whispered as the waves of sound rolled around and through him. He could almost lean against them. By the time the throbbing grew less as the horses fell silent, he stood upright. Then he found the water and reached for the pottage. Mechanically he began to swallow. He did not lie in the dirt again.
At the top of the tower, Hosanna’s song also drew Ellie to the window. She shut her eyes, and when it began to die away, she sank to the floor.
Old Nurse sighed, then looked sharply at her charge. “Now, dear,” she said. “Don’t despair. Prince John or King John, whichever it is, is Richard’s brother and old Henry’s son. We should at least have some faith in him.”
“Faith?” Ellie was scathing. “And where exactly has faith got us so far, Old Nurse? We always say, ‘Keep faith,’ but what is the use of me keeping faith if Gavin won’t?”
But Old Nurse refused to give in. “We must keep faith because it is the only thing we’ve got, dearie,” she said simply. “And it is a powerful thing if you use it properly.”
Ellie reached for her necklace. At this moment she wanted to rip the thing off. Gavin was failing her, and not only her but Richard and Will also. She struggled, but the clasp would not easily be undone, and in the end she gave up. She ran her fingers over the stones. If she were to keep faith a little longer, it could not be out of desperation or duty to God. She needed something warmer to cling to.
As the last ripples of Hosanna’s song rose into the night sky it came to her. Of course. She did have something. She would cling to the memory of Gavin’s face as he turned to make his vows, before de Scabious had ruined everything. Shutting her eyes, she concentrated until the image burned bright in her heart. Then she leaned back against the wall and let her hand fall to her side.
6
Having ridden as hard as he dared, Hal
arrived back at Hartslove to find the place uncannily quiet. At first he was not too alarmed by the porter’s reluctance to let him in. It was understandable, particularly since Hal’s departure with Will had hardly been orthodox. Much more alarming was the silence. The workmen who should have been putting the castle to rights had vanished. Wooden scaffolding lay in piles, but where were the joiners?
Hal dismounted and, from the temporary stables, heard horses whinnying uneasily. He gave Dargent a drink at the water trough and found a space for him in a stall between two unfamiliar animals that had clearly been at Hartslove for several days at least. When he was confident that Dargent was comfortable, instead of going to the bakehouse, which was what he normally did, Hal made for the small door at the bottom of the keep, the same door from which Ellie had so blithely emerged on her wedding day, and made his way up the steps to the back entrance of the great hall. That door had been burned, so it was easy for Hal to creep in.
Under the sagging beams he saw Marissa and Marie together in a corner and two men sitting at opposite ends of a wooden trestle set up near the hearth. One of the men was Gavin, who looked hot and restless. The other was the man styling himself King John. A large fire spat, and the wolfhounds, lounging in front of it, raised their massive heads.
Hal drew back. He hesitated, then climbed farther up the spiral stairs. By edging his way carefully through a hole in the wall, it was possible to crawl onto one of the blackened joists and shuffle into a position from which, unseen, he could overhear the conversation below. His heart beat fast as his clothes snagged on the splinters and the wood creaked and shivered. He stopped several times, but nobody looked up as he pulled himself as far forward as he dared, and then lay there, every breath causing ashes to float around his head like a satanic halo.
Prince John—Hal refused to call him king—was leaning forward. He seemed very anxious that Gavin should understand exactly what he was saying. Gavin was sitting grinding his goblet of wine into the trestle in a manner, Hal thought, that would have earned him a stiff reprimand from his late father. John’s voice was half pleading, half demanding.
“Your support would mean a great deal to me,” he coaxed. “This county is an important one. If you declare for me, others will follow. You served my brother Richard well on crusade. Will you not do the same for me now that he is dead?”
“I always serve the king,” said Gavin. Grind, grind, grind went his goblet.
John tried again. “Of course you do,” he said. “And the de Granvilles have been well rewarded. But truly loyal service means serving the king at difficult times, at times when, perhaps, other people are not so loyal.” There was a pregnant pause before John added in very deliberate tones, “Such service commands even greater rewards.”
Gavin ground his goblet even harder. “I do not want greater rewards,” he said. “I am Count of Hartslove and happy to be so.”
“But you want to marry the heiress Eleanor de Barre,” John interrupted with a forced smile, wanting to slap the goblet out of Gavin’s hand, “in the full knowledge that she brings not only herself but lands, too. That’s why your estimable father took her in, for goodness’ sake, and loyalty to me at this point, Count, would make your union with Eleanor de Barre—how shall I put it—possible again. What is more, despite your commendable modesty you know perfectly well that such a union would make you an even more powerful man than you are already. Come on, Gavin. With Richard dead you will have to be loyal to me sooner or later. A loyal man with a grateful king and an heiress for a wife—it’s the wise man’s dream.”
“I have it on good authority that you have promised Eleanor to Constable de Scabious,” said Gavin, ignoring all reference to Richard. “He came to claim her himself. Look at the damage he has done to Hartslove in your name. You are sitting in the wreck of my wedding day, wreckage authorized by you yourself.”
John made a small disparaging noise.
Gavin stopped grinding his goblet. “Are you saying that de Scabious acted with no authority?” he demanded.
John shifted, but continued to smile, if a little glassily. “No,” he said. “I am not.” He looked around, and Hal stiffened as the prince glanced up at the gaping roof. “He did go a little further than strictly necessary, though,” he said. “I regret the damage. I shall have words when I visit him.”
“You are going to visit him?”
John nodded. “I am,” he said. “Directly I leave here, and I am wondering exactly what to say to him. Or to Eleanor.” He tapped his fingers on the table almost dreamily. “I could bring her back with me, of course. It would disappoint the constable, but would be quite easy. Just recognize that I am king, and get all your household and followers to do the same, and she is yours. It is as easy as that.”
“And if I won’t swear loyalty to you, because you have brought me no proof of Richard’s death?”
John pursed his lips and looked pointedly at the stump of Gavin’s arm. “Well,” he said, “there might be some advantages for Eleanor in marrying de Scabious, worthless scum though he is.”
Gavin breathed heavily. John pretended not to notice. “Perhaps they should marry,” he continued thoughtfully, as if debating the union of two dogs. “A combination of Eleanor’s spirit and de Scabious’s cunning would produce children who would be useful additions to any kingdom.”
At that Gavin tried to spring up, but he needed the table to help him. “You may or may not be the king, but you should watch your tongue.”
John got up, too. “Look, Count,” he said, deadly serious. “Neither you nor I is a fool. We both understand that the peace of this nation depends on the presence of a monarch who cares about what goes on here. England is my home. But what has Richard ever done for the place? He uses Englishmen as his bankers, milking them for money for a holy war he knows he can never win. Where’s the greatness in that? Have you not heard the joke doing the rounds, that Richard would have sold London if he had found a buyer? Nobody could write that about me. I may have my faults, but at least I know more about this country than how much silver you can extract from every last acre.”
“Richard will spend more time here when he gets back.” Gavin could think of no better defense.
John laughed out loud, and it was not a nice sound. “Even you don’t believe that,” he said. “Now, because of your gallant history, I am going to give you a little time to make up your mind as to your future course. Then I will return. Support me and you get the girl. Support my dead brother and you will be a traitor. Girls like Eleanor cannot marry traitors, so she will become Lady de Scabious. I know the constable is repulsive, but he is also ambitious and ruthless. I do not have to like him to recognize his usefulness.”
“Whatever I do, Ellie will never consent to marry de Scabious,” said Gavin.
“No?” asked John. “I wonder about that. Your servants have told my men that your brother and that red horse everybody talks about have left here to find where de Scabious has his lair. Your brother is too impetuous for his own good. Alone, he stands no chance of rescuing Eleanor. Far more likely, don’t you think, that his lonely”—John stressed the word to make Gavin wince—“lonely raid will end in disaster. Maybe even now he and that horse find themselves—how shall we say it nicely?—detained.” He leaned back. “I shouldn’t like to be detained by the constable,” he added almost conversationally.
Marissa stood up and clenched her fists.
John glanced over at her and, pleased to find his threats so effective, pressed his point home. “All I am saying is that you do not know where your brother is, but if he and the horse do find themselves in the constable’s custody, which, you must admit, is quite likely, Eleanor might find herself with little choice. She might prefer to marry de Scabious than witness anything unpleasant happening to either of them. You must see the risk.” He heard Marissa exclaim and watched Gavin’s knuckles whiten. Then he gulped some wine. “Look, Gavin, I am not a monster, even if it would be convenient for you to paint me
as such. And my brother Richard is—was—not a saint. I may not be the Lionheart, but in many ways I will make the better king. Believe me, confirmation of Richard’s death will come shortly. But if I wait for it before I take the crown, we will be plunged into civil war. So if you will not do as I wish and support me—and England—at this critical moment, I must find others who will. That is my duty as king. My father did not wear himself out on England’s behalf to see everything he worked for disintegrate. And don’t forget that when confirmation of Richard’s death does come, I will remember those who put their faith in me and those who did not.”
Gavin stood in silence as John called for his horses and his men, but it was some time before the thump of the lowering drawbridge and the echo of hooves showed that Hartslove was at last free from his presence. Only then did Gavin sit down again, and as the hunting dogs pushed their great heads against him Marie and Marissa crept away, holding hands.
Hal began to push himself back along the beam. He got almost to the end when he felt it begin to sway. It complained, then cracked, and finally, with a terrible tearing and splintering, broke off completely and crashed to the floor in a hail of powdery grit. Hal was pitched straight onto the trestle. He slid across, spilling all the wine before Gavin put out his arm and stopped his unexpected guest from landing in his lap.
“What the—?” he exclaimed.
Hal tumbled into the rushes, then picked himself up and began gingerly testing each arm and each leg. His normally freckled face was gray and his nose wrinkled as he coughed and sneezed.
“Hal?” said Gavin.
Hal wiped his nose. “Yes, sir, it’s me,” he croaked.
Gavin picked up a tankard from the floor. He could not stop his hand from shaking, and his face was still blotchy with fever. Nevertheless, he banged the tankard on the table. “I should have you sent before the justice for leaving this castle without permission,” he said. “You stupid fool. What on earth made you risk a valuable warhorse by pushing it up the drawbridge? What Will does is his own affair. But you? You should have known better.”