Both men shook their heads.
“What is this?” Brant shouted, and he stood. “Why am I being interrogated?”
Thaddeus stood as well.
“Because your story is false, Brant,” Thaddeus accused, “and so are you.”
Brant’s hand went to the handle of his sword. Thaddeus drew his blade, still glowing with the faint blueness of Wulfstan’s blessing.
“What are you about, Brant?” Thaddeus asked quietly, almost as if speaking to himself.
“The same thing you are,” Brant replied. “Serving my lord.”
“And who is your lord?” Thaddeus asked.
Gunnar and Asaf stood as well. So did Alden.
“Sit!” Brant yelled as Jarvis moved to stand as well. “Prince Harold is my lord.”
“I don’t think so,” Thaddeus said.
“I smell the stink on him,” Gunnar said. “It was weak at first, but it grows every day.”
Asaf nodded.
“Your lord is not an earthly lord,” Thaddeus said, “but it is no heavenly lord either.”
Brant looked from one man to the next, face growing red, teeth grinding and jaws flexing, eyes narrowing, cheeks puffing, but then he stood straight and laughed.
“You are fools,” he said.
“You serve the witch,” Thaddeus said, pointing an accusatory finger at the man.
“If she has possessed you,” Asaf said, “I can …”
“She didn’t possess me,” Brant replied with a scoffing laugh. “And she doesn’t control me.”
“That is where you are wrong,” Thaddeus said.
“We have a deal,” Brant said. “She tried seducing me into her bed. She had several other thanes, but I have no interest in some Frankish bitch. It might surprise you, oh holy warrior, that I resisted her charms.”
“Then why?” Thaddeus asked.
“She told me her plan,” Brant replied. “She wished to sow discord between the Normans and Scots, the Normans and Franks, the Jews and Muslims. What do I care? I have the same wish to see Norman, Scot, Jewish, and Muslim blood spilled.”
“But what of all the innocent people, murdered by Count Stephen,” Gunnar asked, “by the witch? Your people.”
“Peasants,” Brant hissed. “They’re expendable. If the aim is to rid this land of the Normans and the Scots and the Britons to the east, then I would sacrifice ten times more.”
“And your reward?” Thaddeus asked. “Payment for your help?”
“Kingship, of course,” Brant replied. “I wouldn’t do it for anything less.”
“So, you could care less about the Godwinsons?” Asaf asked.
“Fools!” Brant shouted. “They should have never lost England. Harold’s idiot grandfather died with an arrow sticking out of his eye. It is time for a new age. It is time for Brant Edgarson to be king of England and bring order to this land.”
“You are the fool, then,” Thaddeus said, “if you think the witch will uphold her end of the bargain. When she is done here, and you come to collect your debt, she will put you in chains and give you over to her host of demons, who will, in turn, bend you over a chair and have their way with you.”
“I will deal with that when that time comes,” Brant said. “She taught me some of her magic. And I have learned more, on my own. Old magic, from the ancient Saxons and Britons and Picts.”
“He thinks he’s a warlock,” Gunnar said with a laugh.
“That is how you killed Rowan, then, isn’t it?” Thaddeus asked. “You were gone, but you were able to kill him anyway.”
“I became a wraith,” Brant said. “I walked out of the abbey, and then floated back in. He was a traitor. He deserved what he got, maybe more.”
“And the witch’s apprentice?” Thaddeus asked.
“I blinded everyone, hit Jarvis over the head, and killed that bitch,” Brant said with a shrug. “Who cares? Renata thinks she is so powerful. Just wait. Wait until I am king.”
Asaf reached for the thane, but Brant reached into his tunic, retrieved a round amulet centered with a green emerald, and muttered something. The amulet flashed, and Asaf stumbled backward. Brant spoke another spell, and the fire blazed twice the size it had been only a moment before.
“Gunnar,” Thaddeus said, but as the Swede stabbed his spear at the thane, the thane extended a hand and a gust of wind forced Gunnar back.
“Devil worshipper!” Jarvis yelled, standing with his sword gripped in both hands, yelling in his broken Latin.
He was close enough to Brant that he didn’t have enough time to cast a spell. His house soldier elbowed him in his gut, pushing the thane back, but the blow had missed the solar plexus. Brant dropped his amulet and drew his sword. The melee that followed was short. Brant blocked every attack Jarvis gave and followed up with a slash across the man’s inner thigh, under his arm, and across his chest. Jarvis crumpled to the ground in a bloody mess, but as he focused on his squire, Alden crept up behind him, sword in both hands, and stabbed Brant in his back.
The Mercian’s sword punched through Brant’s belly. The thane dropped his own sword and gripped Alden’s blade. As he turned to face Thaddeus, the look he gave was one of surprise and disappointment. He thought he was too good to die at the hands of a man like Alden. Alden let go of his sword as Brant staggered towards the fire. The thane fell to his knees, still gripping the blade.
“You are a wicked man,” Thaddeus said, “and you will reap your reward in hell as you burn for all eternity.”
Brant tried to speak but couldn’t. Instead, he fell forward, landing in the campfire, flame first consuming his clothing and then his body, the air filled with the stink of burning flesh as the ground pushed the sword back out of his body.
“Help him,” Thaddeus said, nodding towards Jarvis.
“Is he alive?” Gunnar asked.
“Yes,” Asaf replied, touching his fingers to the man’s neck.
“How did we miss this?” Gunnar asked as Asaf tended to Jarvis. Neither of his friends could offer an answer. Thaddeus was cursing himself for not seeing Brant’s treachery earlier.
The cut to the house soldier’s chest looked superficial, his leather jerkin and cloth hauberk taking most of the impact. But the cuts to his inner thigh and inner arm looked mean. Thaddeus knew that Brant was aiming for major arteries, trying to strike a deathblow. It was what he was trained to do, so many years ago in the Roman Empire. Most soldiers wore all their armor on their torso, protecting the heart and lungs among other internal organs and leaving the arms and legs exposed. One deep cut to either location and a soldier would bleed out before someone could say a prayer of forgiveness over them.
“I don’t have any stitching,” Asaf said.
Thaddeus looked to the fire, Brant’s body still burning there.
“Burn the wounds shut,” Thaddeus said, and Asaf drew a dagger that rested on his hip, pulled Brant’s body from the fire, and rested the blade in the fire, the handle resting on a stone.
When the blade was hot enough, Gunnar held Jarvis’ shoulders back and placed a cloth in his mouth while Asaf pressed the white-hot metal to both his inner thigh and inner arm. Again, the smell of burning meat caused a nauseating aroma to rise, and Thaddeus felt himself gag. This time he felt emotion for the pain the burning would cause.
“Will he live?” Thaddeus asked, looking at the now sleeping Jarvis, his face red and sweaty but showing no pain.
“Yes,” Asaf replied. “His wounds aren’t that terrible, and I’ve seen men survive worse. He will be sore.”
“Can he fight?” Thaddeus asked.
“If pressed,” Asaf said, looking at Jarvis, “yes. The wounds closed well, but his skin will be tight and painful. The burns will blister.”
“Did you suspect the thane?” Gunnar asked.
“I had an idea of something,” Thaddeus said, “when we were in Hyde Abbey. I don’t think I ever expected him of serving the witch. I knew he was false and a hateful man. I should have seen the
extent of his treachery sooner.”
“Shall we move on from here?” Gunnar asked, looking at the smoldering body of the thane.
Thaddeus shook his head.
“The stink of burning flesh is no worse than the stink of evil,” Thaddeus said. “Besides, Jarvis needs to rest.”
Thaddeus turned to Alden. The man seemed shaken.
“Alden, you did well today,” Thaddeus said.
“I delighted in killing him,” Alden said. “I imagined it, day after day. Is that wrong?”
“Yes, and no,” Thaddeus replied. “It is hard not to want retribution against a man who wished harm on you and your people, but delighting in another man’s death is sinful. But he was also evil, and we should praise God as evil leaves this earth and is replaced with His good things.”
Thaddeus looked at Alden, and the man nodded his understanding before Thaddeus continued.
“This is the struggle we have as warriors, soldiers, and knights, Alden. Our job is to protect and fight for that which is righteous and good, but that means we must take life, life that the Lord has given. I pray that every life I have taken was not taken in anger, although I know that many were, if in the midst of a good cause. So, I say prayers seeking forgiveness every night and have hope that the Lord our God hears them and accepts them. You should pray, too, Alden. Pray for forgiveness. Pray for the soul of Brant. Pray for the souls of the men you will kill.”
Chapter 25
ALDEN’S FACE SCREWED into a disgusted look. Death. Death had a peculiar smell, and each thing death touched differed in a way. Fruit smelled sweet when it first started to decay. Fish smelled like some twisted version of the ocean. Dead meat, crawling with maggots and turning black, smelled the worst, especially decaying meat that was human flesh. It smelled worse than any evil could smell. In fact, it was the epitome of evil.
“I think I smell it,” Alden said, sitting up in his saddle as they neared Richmond, “the demon stink you keep talking about.”
“No,” Thaddeus said, “that isn’t demon stink.”
“What is it then?” Alden asked.
“Death.”
Thaddeus pointed to a tall wooden pole rising from a small mound in the ground. As they neared it, they could see someone was hanging on the pole. As they got even closer, they saw it was a man, stripped naked, red marks all over his body. His hands and feet had been nailed into the wood, his hands tied to the wood as well just in case the nails ripped through his flesh.
“Christ Almighty,” Gunnar said, crossing himself.
“For God’s sake, who would do such a thing?” Alden asked.
“The witch,” Thaddeus growled.
Similar posts lined the road leading up to the city of Richmond. Some were crude poles, barely the trunks of trees with knobby stubs of branches still present, and others were crosses, fashioned to mimic the one on which Christ was crucified. The victims of crucifixion were indiscriminate. Men and women, young and old, hung to die an agonizing death. Whenever they came across a person still clinging to life, Gunnar blessed them with a quick death at the point of his spear, and Asaf prayed for each soul that met their end at the perversions of the witch Renata.
“She is worried,” Thaddeus said. “That is the only explanation for such depravity. Word of this will spread. She must be enacting her plans to influence the English courts earlier than she had hoped.”
“We can’t just ride into the city, Thaddeus,” Asaf said.
“No, we cannot,” Thaddeus agreed. “While the witch will no doubt sense our presence, we must enter undetected by her minions. Under cover of darkness would be best. Alden, is there a place where we can hide our horses in relative safety?”
“We should be able to leave our horses there,” Alden said, pointing to the thick forest of oak, ash, beech, and elm trees. “This was a hunting place for the thanes of Hinderlag, and now the earls of Richmond. No one has come around here for some time now; at least, not as long as the witch has been influencing Alan Rufus and Count Stephen. Normally, I would be worried about wolves, but I’ve hardly seen any signs of wildlife.”
The forest lay not even an hour away from Richmond. There wasn’t a village or town by the forest, but it was obvious that people had lived near there, with abandoned homes and tanning houses and supply houses for hunters. The buildings were dilapidated and looked as if they hadn’t been used even before the witch took control in Richmond, but who knew? Evil had a way of decaying things.
“If we tie them up inside one of the old homes, they should be all right,” said Alden before he led the way forward once more.
“You will be all right, Polemistes,” Thaddeus said, patting the horses massively muscled neck after he’d removed the saddle and tied the reins to a beam in one of the abandoned houses.
“You’d think he was talking to a woman,” Asaf commented.
“Nah,” Gunnar said, “we all know Thaddeus doesn’t do that. Although, I think he loves that horse more than he loves us.”
The Norseman laughed.
“Of course, I do,” Thaddeus said, turning around and smiling. “He’s never grumpy, and he doesn’t tell bad jokes.”
Thaddeus walked by Asaf and Gunnar laughing while they gave him flat looks. Alden began to chuckle.
“What’s so funny, eh?” Gunnar asked, and Alden just shrugged, still smiling.
“Gunnar, before we go,” Thaddeus said, “bring an oilskin bag of extra clothes—pants and shirts and breeches.”
“Why?” Gunnar asked.
“Trust me,” Thaddeus said with a smile.
As they approached the city, night began to fall, and Norman soldiers began lighting torches along the roadway.
“There should be a drainage system leading into the city,” Thaddeus said. “The walls are Roman. They would have built a grate into the city. Our best chance is there.”
They slinked away into the growing darkness, using what shadows they could find to avoid the watchful eyes of guards patrolling the top of the curtain walls of the city. The ditch around the city was shallow and, in places, mounds of wet earth rose from the murky water. Thaddeus found one such mound, jumped to it, even though his boots sunk almost knee deep in the mud, and then leaped to the narrow strip of earth on the outside of the wall. His companions followed suit.
Their going was slow, backs pressed hard against the wall so they wouldn’t fall into the water. They probably could have waded through the water and been quicker, but it would have caused unnecessary noise, and it was undoubtedly frigid. Thaddeus could feel that much as some of the water had already entered his boots.
After an hour of creeping along the wall, Thaddeus stopped, putting up a hand.
“Do you hear that?” he asked, as the sound of trickling water could be heard. “It’s just over there,” he added, and in moments, they came to a small archway in the bottom of the wall protected by a gate of crisscrossed iron bars.
“Is that demon stink?” Alden asked.
“No,” Gunnar said with a quick laugh, “that’s piss and shit.”
Thaddeus stepped into the water. It rose just above his knees, and he shivered. It was freezing. He began working his dagger along the tops of the iron bars of the grate.
“This gate is old,” Thaddeus explained, “and rusted.”
He was careful as he worked. Being old and rusted, the grate might be removed rather quickly and painlessly, but it would make a lot of noise, no doubt alerting watchful guards. Thaddeus slowly worked his blade against the old bolts holding the metal to the stone wall, seeking to lever each one out as he tried to steel himself against the freezing water. He had to stop for a moment, just to gather himself, he was shivering so badly.
Gunnar tapped him on the shoulder, revealing his own dagger, moved Thaddeus to the side, and Gunner replaced him in working at the grate.
“By Christ Almighty,” Thaddeus exclaimed in a whisper. “This stinking water is freezing.”
Gunnar finally finished what Thadd
eus had started, and they pulled the iron grate away, gently leaning it against the wall.
“When we are done with this,” Gunnar said, trying to lighten the mood as they worked their way through a sewage tunnel filled with human filth, and rats the size of cats, “and Count Stephen has his wits about him, we must tell him about this weakness in his defenses.”
“This isn’t good for Jarvis,” Asaf whispered to Thaddeus. “Human filth in his wounds.”
“We should have left him back in the Forest,” Thaddeus replied.
“I’m fine,” Jarvis said. “Just keep moving. I will be fine. This witch must pay for what she has done to my people.”
Thaddeus nodded with a smile, but the man’s normal ruddy complexion was lost on his skin’s paleness. His eyes looked sunken, and his lids hung half closed. He grimaced with pain with every step and movement.
The city of Richmond was quiet and dark inside the city walls, save for the torch fire of Norman guards and the occasional lantern still hanging lit in a window. They were lucky for the sewer leading to the city’s moat. Rome and any other significant Roman metropolis was known for its sewage systems, but it seemed a lost art of municipal construction after the fall of the empire. Thaddeus had been all over Europe, and the only places that bore any semblance of a sewage system were those like Richmond, ones built over former Roman forts and cities.
“What now?” Asaf asked.
“By God we smell,” Gunnar said, crinkling his nose and turning his head away as if that would save him from his own smell.
“Now you know why I suggested those clean clothes,” Thaddeus said, managing a grin as he still shook from the cold.
“You could have told me why I was packing clean breeches,” Gunnar said, retrieving the clean clothes from his haversack and distributing them to each man.
“I just wanted to make sure you understood how smart I am,” Thaddeus said with a smile, “and that I am always two steps ahead of you.” Gunnar just rolled his eyes and chuckled, removing his mail shirt and underclothes.
When they had changed, Gunnar collected the men’s dirty clothes and threw them into the sewer. They still smelled, but no worse than many others in a large city like Richmond, so Thaddeus knew they wouldn’t attract any unwanted attention. They were walking about at night, which would always be an oddity in a city in northern Europe, so they would have to use the shadows to their advantage.
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