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No Good Deed

Page 25

by Kara Connolly


  The donnybrook in the hall must have been over because Will appeared in the doorway. “Guard the door,” I told him.

  “I am the prince and regent for the king in absentia!” roared Prince John. “I give the orders here! Sheriff’s men, go out. Keep anyone from approaching. You,” he said to Will, “guard the door.”

  Looking happy to get out of there, Will, for the first time since I’d known him, left without comment.

  “Sire!” said the sheriff, seething with desperation. He’d taunted me with threats just hours ago, and now he was just as trapped as I’d been, facing someone just as unreasonable.

  The prince cut off any excuses. “This witch just shot the physician that you sent to me, and your deputy has accused him of assassination. What do you say to that, m’lord sheriff?”

  The physician and the sheriff spoke at once to defend themselves. The sheriff was barely coherent, blustering that Master Jerome was his personal physician and he could vouch for his skill. The physician vouched for himself with “Your Highness, I have been this shire’s physician for five years! I’ve attended to nobles and knights, and I was trained by the most learned medical men in Paris.”

  “Paris!” The prince made the word both an accusation and a curse. He waved an imperious hand at Guilbert. “You…whoever you are. Give me your sword.”

  Guilbert looked uncertain. “My lord?”

  “Give it to me! I am your prince!”

  There was a moment when everyone seemed to be searching for any better idea than giving a sword to a crazy man. Then Guilbert handed over his weapon, with a slightly mocking ceremoniousness that the prince missed entirely. Prince John took it, his arm dropping under its weight. Then he pointed the sword at Master Jerome and said, “If you weren’t trying to poison me, then drink the tonic yourself.”

  Boy, I hoped my instincts hadn’t been wrong this time. If the physician drank from the cup and didn’t die, I’d be back on the chopping block, and I’d have brought Guilbert and James there with me.

  Guilbert was one cool customer. He wrapped his hand around the arrow holding Master Jerome’s sleeve to the wall, yanked it out, then offered the ornate little cup to the man.

  The physician had broken out in a sweat. “My lord,” he pleaded with the prince, “these ruffians could have poisoned the tonic to frame me for their treason.”

  “Drink,” growled Prince John. He pressed the point of the sword against the man’s chest until the physician whimpered.

  “Wait,” I said to stop that sound, and the sound of my conscience. “Your grace, if you kill him, you can’t learn who sent him.”

  Prince John turned to the sheriff. “You called for him. Your own man, your own expense, you said.”

  The sheriff stepped back. Bad move, with a prince who loved to hunt. The sheriff had made himself the prey. The royal guards watched their liege advance on the sheriff and exchanged glances.

  “Highness,” said the sheriff, begging for reason, “I have known Master Jerome for years. If he has some fiendish treason in mind, I have no knowledge of it.”

  The prince kept advancing, his robe sweeping majestically. “Then you must be an ignorant fool.”

  The sheriff stopped with his back pressed against a tapestry depicting a wild boar hunt. “No, my lord.”

  “Then you are incompetent.” Prince John was enjoying himself. “A fool, or a traitor.” He offered the cup to the sheriff. “Prove your loyalty and drink.”

  The sheriff’s lips were white and bloodless as he licked them with a tongue so dry it seemed to stick. I finally pitied him, and apparently so did James. “Your grace,” he ventured.

  “Quiet, Templar. If I want a sermon, I’ll go to church. Besides, if he’s innocent, then God will protect him,” said the prince, “and the poison will not kill him.”

  I dragged my eyes from the sheriff and looked at the physician. Master Jerome had no poker face; it was clear that he didn’t expect God to prove the sheriff’s innocence. The sheriff stared at the cup. I could see him reasoning it out: If he refused, he was dead anyway. So he gambled on the drink and took the cup from the prince.

  Everyone’s eyes were on the sheriff as he sipped.

  “All of it,” ordered the prince icily.

  But before the sheriff could comply, the physician cried out in alarm. Then I heard a sound that I knew like I knew my own name. I glimpsed a flash of swan-white fletching just before it was spattered with crimson as the broad barb of an arrow sliced through the poisoner’s neck. His mouth worked in a wordless gurgle as the last pumps of his heart sprayed blood over the hearth.

  I gasped as the hot, salty copper smell filled the room, and only the slump of the body onto the ground bumped me out of my shock.

  The shot had come from the door. Someone had silenced the physician, eliminating a conspirator. I knew the fletching on that arrow, too. It was Will’s, and Will was guarding the only way in.

  I was closest to the door and the first to move. I ran out and nearly tripped over Will, who lay in a pool of scarlet on the cold stone floor.

  The hallway was otherwise empty. I slid to my knees beside him, dredging my dress through the blood. “Don’t be dead,” I begged, pressing my hands to the gash in his side.

  “I’m not dead,” he moaned. So much blood welled up that I knew he wasn’t. Not yet.

  “James!” I yelled. “I need your help!”

  He was already coming out of the royal chamber. From inside the room I could hear Guilbert shouting out one of the windows for the guards to close the gate and secure the keep. Meanwhile, Prince John complained loudly about the sheriff being sick in his royal chamber pot. Guilbert came out of the room, sliding his sword into its scabbard as if he wished he were silencing His Highness with it.

  James replaced my hands with his and used his surcoat to stanch Will’s bleeding. More armed soldiers were headed our way. The clatter of steel and creak of leather didn’t sound foreign anymore.

  Will pointed down the hallway. “He took my bow. After all the trouble I took to steal it. He looked like the man you described. The pigeon friar.”

  Guilbert asked, “Did you see where he went?”

  “No,” Will said, his eyes squeezed shut. “I was busy holding in my spleen.”

  He was so pale. His eyes were sunken, his lips bloodless. I looked at James, who had probably seen more wounded people than I would in five lifetimes, and he avoided my gaze.

  “Take him to the barracks, James,” Guilbert said. “Our surgeon will see to him. No one will notice an extra man just now.”

  A mixed group of royal guards and the sheriff’s men reached us, and Guilbert gave rapid-fire orders for some to protect the prince and others to spread out and search for the assassin.

  I was getting to my feet to join the search, when Will grabbed my hand. “Ellie, listen. The man had on the tabard of the royal guard. That was how he was able to approach me.”

  I looked at the guards in the corridor with us, searching their faces. James murmured, “He’s eliminated his conspirator. Either he’ll flee the castle or he’ll do away with witnesses next. You have to find him, fast.”

  Realization gave me a solid, painful punch. “Isabel.” I jumped up. “How many people heard her say she’d seen the man?”

  “Anyone and everyone,” said James grimly. “Much said she’s with the ladies-in-waiting and the queen in the great hall.”

  “Right.” Grabbing my bow, I wiped the blood off it with my skirt. “I’ll start there.”

  “Eleanor—” said James, and I paused midstep. “Try not to kill him. I would like very much to know who sent him.”

  “I’ll try,” I promised. Then I pointed at Will. “You, don’t die.”

  I thought he’d fallen unconscious, but he smiled and said, “I knew you loved me best of all.”

  When it came to uncomplicated love, I did. If Will died, I’d be losing another brother, and if I let that spark of insight catch fire, I wouldn’t be able t
o stay in this moment. So much for the focused athlete who avoided interpersonal drama.

  Speaking of interpersonal drama, Captain Guilbert had finished delegating duties and fell into step with me as I hurried to the stairs. “Where are you going?”

  “The great hall. Isabel told the whole world she saw the assassin, right?”

  He followed my reasoning and nodded. Then he suddenly stopped and grabbed my arm. “You can’t go down there like that.”

  “There’s no time—”

  “This will take but a minute if you stop arguing.” As he said it, he was already approaching the two castle guards standing sentry at the top of the stairs.

  “Captain Guilbert!” said one, snapping to attention.

  “You,” he ordered the first man. “Go to the great hall and tell the commander of the royal guard to protect Queen Eleanor—that there’s been a threat to her and her ladies-in-waiting.” When the first soldier had gone, he turned to the second. “Give me your clothes.”

  “I— What, sir?”

  “Your uniform,” ordered Guilbert. “Now.”

  The bewildered soldier rushed to comply, leaning his pike against the wall and pulling off his mail coif so he could unlace his leather tunic.

  Guilbert switched to French to tell me, “You need to move through the hall without attracting attention. Even if you weren’t covered in blood and dungeon filth, you’re a wanted woman. And a wanted man, which may be a precedent, even in Nottinghamshire.” The soldier handed over his jerkin and Guilbert gestured for him to fork over his pants. The man was wearing a full undershirt that covered his thighs, but I turned around anyway.

  “Even after I saved the prince’s life.” I shook my head sadly, taking the trousers Guilbert handed me. I put them on under my dress, then bent to pull the heavy gown over my head. I’d forgotten to unlace it, but Guilbert grabbed the fabric and yanked. I emerged, and tugged my chemise so it covered everything important. More or less.

  “Arms up,” he told me. I complied and he dropped the leather jerkin onto me, pulled it into place, and tightened the laces under my arms so I wasn’t swimming in it. Medieval clothes were a lot easier to put on when you had help.

  “You shouldn’t expect mercy from the prince merely because you saved his life.” Guilbert kept his eyes on his hands, not on me. “At best he’ll grant you a quick and clean execution.”

  It was definitely weird having a guy talk about your execution while his fingers were moving so close to the ticklish sides of your ribs. “I don’t plan to be here for that,” I said.

  “Good.” He nodded as he straightened and met my gaze. “I would truly hate to see your head taken off. But what I wish were justice is not always so in this shire.”

  I didn’t have time to sort out why I was blushing, so I finished tucking in my chemise and picked up my bow from against the wall. “Let’s go, before you overwhelm me with your flattery.”

  He switched to English and told the guard, “Give me your helmet.” When the poor guy handed it over, he added. “Say anything of this, and I will cut out your tongue.”

  “You have a real flair for command,” I said, adjusting my quiver as we hurried down the steps.

  Guilbert gave me a wry look. “Whatever he’s thinking, it’s probably not as strange as the truth.”

  We hurried to a staircase that spiraled down one of the corner turrets with no exits until the bottom, which made it easily defensible and quick to navigate. Even without Guilbert, I would have found the great hall easily. As we rounded the last turn, voices and torchlight overflowed into the stairs. And so did smells—the smell of straw and mud and people and dogs, and also the scent of roast meat and savory vegetables and sage and onion and baked apples.

  After all I’d seen that day, I didn’t think I’d be hungry. But I was wrong.

  I tried to look soldierly as Guilbert and I walked into the hall. Things had been rearranged for the feast, with giant heavy tables moved into rows, each set with more food than the people of this shire probably saw in months. There was definitely a rating system, rank-and-file landowners at one end of the room, lords in the middle, and local barons closest to the U-shaped head table. In the very center was Queen Eleanor, next to an empty seat for the prince. Along the sides of the table were a bunch of well-dressed, mostly well-fed men, including the bishop of Leeds and Baron de Corsey. The royal fraternity buddies looked pretty drunk on wine and rich food.

  Isabel sat beside one of the hunting party, and I was relieved to see her safe. She nodded at whatever her dinner companion was saying, but she hadn’t eaten the food in front of her. I didn’t know if anyone had been able to get word to her that they were going to spring me from the dungeon, but I was sure no one had had a chance to update her since then.

  “Any sign of him?” asked Guilbert.

  “No,” I said, scanning the faces of the royal guards stationed behind the dowager queen. I saw no one I recognized, so that was good. But I did identify the serving girl standing behind the barons with a flagon of wine—Much, in his disguise, literally watching Isabel’s back.

  I looked around for the biggest guard in the room and found him positioned midway down the hall. Little John was keeping watch, too.

  “Keep an eye on the gallery,” I told Guilbert. “He has Will’s bow, and he seems pretty good with it. If he’s going to shoot someone, it’ll be from there. I’ll watch faces down here.”

  “As you wish, m’lady.”

  I didn’t spare him a glance. There were so many bodies moving around, even with most of the guests seated—servants bringing food, guards patrolling, pages delivering messages, and giant wolfhounds getting the scraps from under the table. There were five servants circling the head table. Each carried a wooden board with different cheeses and fruits on it. Another servant worked his way down the table pouring wine.

  If I were going to be an assassin, a servant would be the best disguise. No one paid attention to them. Their heads were down as they moved behind the dinner guests, so I couldn’t get a good look at them.

  “I can’t see their faces,” I said.

  Guilbert turned to me. “What?”

  “The servants.” One approached the queen’s side with a flagon of wine, easy to poison. One moved closer to Isabel with a tray and a cheese knife. Both servants had weapons; both women could be targets. “Poison or knife?”

  Guilbert followed my gaze, and I pulled an arrow from over my shoulder. I was just a soldier next to the captain right now. But as soon as I raised my bow, I would be smothered by a mountain of bodyguards. “Which is he?” asked Guilbert. “Poisoned wine or cheese knife?”

  “I don’t know.” My eyes flicked from one to the other as each moved closer to a target. “I can’t see their faces!” I said again.

  If I shot the one with the wine, and I was wrong, the assassin could strike with the knife and be gone in the chaos. If I shot the one with the knife, the queen would be distracted and not drink her wine—and I’d have shot an innocent man.

  “The one with the knife,” said Guilbert. He grabbed the closest page and told him to run and tell the queen not to drink.

  But what if, what if, what if—

  The fletchings were stiff against my fingers as I nocked the arrow. Both men moved one person over, as if choreographed.

  Stay in this moment, Ellie.

  “Pick one, Hudson!” ordered Guilbert, and I obeyed that voice.

  “Thaddeus!” I yelled down the length of the hall.

  One of the men looked up.

  I shot the one who didn’t.

  “Protect the queen!” shouted the guards, surrounding her. “Protect the queen!”

  As soon as my arrow hit, I dropped the bow, almost before anyone screamed. The moment expanded to hold a thousand details as they rushed toward me. The points of swords and pikes. The slide of steel from scabbards. The creak of timber above and boots on stone below. The smell of armored men, musty and salty with old sweat.

&
nbsp; There was a splintering crash and I thought the gallery floor had given out under the weight of the price on my head. It hadn’t, but the dining tables cleared as a mob rushed at me. Guilbert called “Hold!” over the chaos, and it was echoed—“Hold!”—at the ends of the hall.

  But it was as though every soldier and good citizen in the place wanted to capture Robin Hood and they all looked giant as they came at me. I squeezed me eyes shut and got ready to tuck into a ball so I wouldn’t be pulled to bits. But the first one to reach me wrapped the hard band of his arm around me, picking me up around the waist and tucking me against him.

  “Stop,” commanded James, his voice vibrating through me as he held me with one arm, his other free for his sword. “I have her. Come no closer.”

  I opened my eyes and tried to sort out what was going on. I’m not sure I had any better luck than anyone else.

  The soldiers and good citizens had fallen back, all except Little John in his disguise, protecting James’s back. A path cleared between us and the head table, which had been overturned by the royal guard to better surround the dowager queen. James set me on my feet, Little John picked up my bow, and we followed Guilbert forward.

  The assassin was sprawled on the floor, wine soaking his clothes along with the blood that seeped from around the arrow shaft protruding from under his collarbone. More royal guards surrounded him, their pikes at his throat.

  It was certainly Thaddeus, of the messenger pigeons, dagger, and arrow.

  The commander of the royal guard stepped over the wreckage and picked up the flagon of wine, dipping his finger in the dregs still in it, and touching it to his tongue. He spat immediately. “Poison, your grace.”

  The lords and ladies at the head table who dove for cover started to pick themselves back up. Much helped Isabel to rise. She saw me and smiled, covered her heart with both hands, and mouthed “Thank you.”

  “Lady Isabel,” said Queen Eleanor, coming out from behind the table as well, looking as regal as ever. The guard had pulled the assassin to his feet, and the queen gestured to him. “Can you confirm for Commander Boyer that this is the man you saw make an attempt on the life of the prince today?”

 

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