“Anything, my lady,” he replied hoarsely.
She turned away from the window, focusing on him with unnaturally bright eyes. In fact, her entire countenance was very strange and tight as she looked at him.
“I love a man,” she said as she approached him. “He is a good man, a knight of the highest order, and he loves me in return. What we share is something that most people dream of but never experience. Even now, I am sure he searches frantically for me but will probably never find me, at least not before I meet God personally. I must therefore ask you to deliver a message to him. You must promise me.”
Radcliffe looked at her and his face crumpled into tears. Big fat droplets pelted his cheeks as he quickly wiped them away. “I will promise,” he sniffed. “What would you have me tell him?”
She was standing close to Radcliffe now, watching his face as he wept. She stared into his eyes, seeing his sorrow. She realized she had nothing left to lose by telling him everything. Moreover, she was desperate that Rhys should know that her final hours were spent thinking of him and their child. Slowly, she untied the bow that Radcliffe had fussed with, pulling the ribbons away until the robe fell open. With her hands, she pulled her sleeping shift tight across her belly, exposing the rising bubble-shape of her stomach.
“Do you see this?” she asked Edward softly. “This is the child I carry for the man I love. He does not know about this child and I would ask that you tell him. Tell him that my love for him has grown by the day and my joy in our child has made my entire life worth living. Although I will die, I die a happy and fulfilled woman because of his love. Can you do this for me?”
Radcliffe’s eyes were wide on her rounded belly. “God’s Bones,” he gasped. “Is… is that why you have been so ill?”
She nodded, a twinkle in her dull eyes as she revealed her deepest secret. “And tell him something more; tell him that I do not wish for him to grieve overly. I wish for him to find a good woman and have many more children. Tell him… tell him that my wish is for him to find love again.”
Radcliffe broke into soft sobs, wiping furiously at his eyes. Elizabeau pulled her robe closed again and secured the sash. “Will you do this for me, Edward?” she asked quietly. “It is important.”
He nodded, trying to calm himself. “Who is this man? Where will I find him?”
Elizabeau pictured Rhys in her mind, the strong lines of his face and those brilliant blue eyes that were so distinctive. She felt her heart warm at the memory. “His name is Rhys du Bois,” she said softly. “His liege is Christopher de Lohr, Earl of Hereford and Worcester. I imagine you will find him with de Lohr.”
Edward’s tears were fading somewhat. “I know of de Lohr. His seat is Lioncross Abbey, not far from here.”
“Then it will not be too difficult a journey for you to go and relay the message.”
“Nay, it will not,” Edward shook his head. “Is there anything else?”
She smiled wanly at him. “I’ve not had many friends in my lifetime, nor many close relatives,” she said. “In fact, it has only been my mother and I since I was born. But if I had a brother, I would wish for him to be like you. You have been very kind to me in a situation that did not require it and I will miss you.”
His tears returned but he fought them. “I will miss you also, my lady. I am sorry it has come to this.”
“We thought it might, didn’t we?” she said, then eyed him as he wiped at his face. “You will not forget to relay my message to Rhys, will you?”
He shook his head emphatically. Then, he stared at her as his tears once again faded. He was calming quickly, almost too quickly. His manner seemed to take on a strange, eager cast, as if a brilliant thought had just occurred to him. “I will relay the message, my lady,” he nodded firmly. “I promise.”
She patted his cheek and turned away. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Now, if you do not mind, I would like to sit and contemplate the rest of my very short future. I have much to say to my child and would like to do it alone.”
Edward quit the chamber without a word. Retreating to the solar downstairs, he found Lewis hunched over the desk, finishing the first of four missives he would be sending out to the neighboring allies regarding Elizabeau’s execution. The older knight was very business-like in discussing the plans with Edward, who stood next to him and listened silently. When Lewis finished the first missive for Walter Clifford, Edward volunteered to deliver it. Feeling some pity for the knight who had been caged up with the traitor Elizabeau for the past three months, Lewis relented.
Edward planned to make a slight detour before reaching his destination.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Miracles do happen.
That was what Christopher told his men the night his son was born. When the earl and the physic had retreated to the bedchamber with the intention of cutting into Lady Dustin to extract the child, they had walked into the tail end of the child’s birth. The midwife was just pulling the baby free of his mother’s body by the time Christopher entered the room, causing the man to list heavily to one side until the physic guided him into a chair. Curtis Richard Henry de Lohr had been a very fat, lusty baby who screamed quite loudly his displeasure at being born. Christopher had held his wife and wept.
With that, the earl seemed inordinately attached to his family for the next few days, as if appreciating what he had almost lost. If he wasn’t with his wife, who was still recovering from the difficult birth, then he was holding his newborn son while his two young daughters followed him around. The girls were enamored by the baby and, like moth to the flame, followed wherever he went. Lady Christin de Lohr was four years of age and her sister, Lady Brielle, was almost three. They were sweet, chatty and adorable.
Rhys should have been irritated with the earl’s distraction but found he could not muster the energy. He had been there when Christin and Brielle had been born and, as Dustin had told him, the girls looked to him as an uncle. Until three months ago, he had been very proud of his relationship with them. But the past several weeks had seen that dissolve somewhat until just after the baby was born and the girls were upset, looking for comfort. After some relenting on Rhys’ part, and a little coaxing, they found it in his arms. They wouldn’t even leave him to go to their Uncle David. The night Curtis had been born, Rhys had sat for hours with the sleeping toddlers in his arms, more at peace than he had been in a very long time.
But the bliss of a new son and healthy family faded as more important things came to the forefront. Though aware of Rhys’ plan to leave for Ludlow before the bulk of the army, Christopher had asked him to wait one more day to see if de Braose’s troops would arrive. He wanted Rhys to be completely informed of the strength of the coming army before leaving alone for Ludlow and they needed de Braose’s five hundred men. But a day’s delay saw no incoming army and by the next day, Rhys prepared to leave at dawn.
His best option, as he and Christopher had decided, was to pose as a bachelor knight seeking shelter. In his old armor from St. Briavels and his shaggy appearance, he did not look anything like the Rhys du Bois that John’s supporters were familiar with. Taking his great-grandfather’s name of Armand de Foix, he was prepared to call upon Ludlow and search every inch of the place for Elizabeau. They knew she was there; all he had to do was find her before the siege began. His excitement, his anxiety, grew.
Shortly after dawn, Rhys, Rod and David were making their way to the stable to retrieve Rhys’ charger. Christopher had said everything he needed to say to the man and was back inside the keep with his men; the rest was up to Rhys. There was small talk between the three knights, mostly because there was nothing more of significance to say. By the time they hit the stables, David begged off to return to the keep while Rhys and Rod continued into the barn. Collecting a solid gray stallion that belonged to Christopher, who Rhys had become rather fond of, Rhys mounted up.
Rod stood at his feet, adjusting a stirrup strap that was threatening to shake loose. Rhys pulled tig
ht his gloves and secured his helm. They fussed for a moment, each not looking at the other, feeling the impending mission like a heady weight. Then Rod lifted his face.
“I suppose anything emotional I say at this moment might sound trite or foolish,” he said. “But I do want to wish you Godspeed, brother. And the very best of luck in finding Elizabeau.”
Rhys nodded, his bright blue eyes fixed on his brother. “I will find her,” he said confidently.
Rod just nodded his head, not saying what he was thinking. He didn’t know about the conversation between Conrad and Rhys and Christopher; his brother had not confided in him. For all he knew, it was still the same offer on the table; you will find her only to turn her over to the prince. He seriously wondered what would become of his brother when all was said and done and Elizabeau was a princess of Saxony. He didn’t even want to think about it.
“Well,” he slapped the charger on the buttocks to get it moving. “Take care of yourself. I will see you at Ludlow.”
Rhys winked at him before slamming his visor down and proceeding out into the gently blowing snow of the bailey.
The brothers moved out into the ward of Lioncross, an oddly-shaped yard that had two distinct halves to it. As they made their way towards the main gate, the sentries on guard suddenly rushed to it and began pulling one of the massive panels open. Snow had blown up against it and the men had to shovel the snow out of the way with their boots. Rhys reined his charger to a halt, watching the soldiers try to clear the gate, assuming they were clearing it for him. But two of the men yanked the gate open as the snow began to clear and a knight on horseback abruptly charged through.
Rhys didn’t recognize the knight, nor did Rod. Rhys was the only one armed and he unsheathed his broadsword and charged forward, intercepting the warrior. He blocked the man’s path from coming any further.
“Announce yourself, knight,” he commanded.
The knight’s visor was down, but he lifted it to show his slightly apprehensive face. He then lifted his hand in greeting.
“My name is Sir Edward Radcliffe,” he said. “I am looking for Rhys du Bois.”
Rhys didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, he lifted his visor to look the man in the eye. “I do not know you.”
Radcliffe wrestled with his excited, exhausted charger. “I have just come from Ludlow Castle. I must see du Bois on an extremely urgent matter. Is he here?”
With mention of the castle, Rhys’ eyes flew open wide and he was suddenly bailing from the charger. But Rod was quicker; he raced to Radcliffe’s horse and took the knight down, and the horse with him, in a brutal tackle. Rhys hurled over the side of the downed charger and landed on Edward, and the three knights wrestled on the ground as Radcliffe’s charger scrambled to its feet and ran off. Rhys reached up and ripped the helm from Edward’s head, almost taking his scalp off with it.
“Who in the hell are you?” he demanded. “What do you want?”
Edward was more angry than frightened. “I told you who I am,” he snapped. “And if you kill me, you’ll never know the news I bear about the Lady Elizabeau. Where is du Bois?”
Rhys didn’t think he could be any more frantic and furious than he already was, but he was wrong. “I am du Bois,” he snarled, grabbing Edward around the throat. “What about Elizabeau? Tell me now or I swear I will rip your head from your shoulders.”
By this time, David and Christopher had heard the shouting and were bailing out of the keep with swords drawn. They could see Rhys and Rod on the ground with an unknown knight and they hastened to make their way towards them. But if Rhys knew they were coming, he did not acknowledge them; he was completely focused on Radcliffe as if he was a wolf who had just trapped his quarry. The look in the brilliant blue eyes was frightening.
But Edward gazed steadily back at him, inspecting him. “So you’re…?”
Rhys shook him hard enough to snap his head. “I said I was. What about Elizabeau?”
At this point, Rod put his hand on his brother’s wrists as he gripped Edward around the neck. “Rhys,” he hissed. “Ease down, man. Let him speak.”
Rhys was beside himself and fading fast. He struggled to keep his wits about him but the mention of Elizabeau’s name had him reeling. Still, he heard his brother’s soft plea and he stiffly released his grasp around Edward’s neck. It helped that Rod had peeled his fingers away else he would probably not have moved. Edward rubbed a hand along his neck.
“She is being held at Ludlow Castle to the north,” he said. “Two days ago, we received a missive from King John. It was the lady’s death warrant. Tomorrow at dawn, she will be put to the block. I have come to tell you this so that you may do all you can to prevent this from happening. Time is almost at an end for her. You must help her.”
Rhys just stared at him. Rod was so stunned that he couldn’t even draw a breath, his horrified gaze turning to his brother. But Rhys was frozen in place, turned to stone by those fateful words. He hovered there, unmoving, unblinking. Then suddenly, his hands went to his head and he fell off of Edward, hissing to himself.
“God, no,” he muttered. “Dear God, please no. This cannot be. This cannot be.”
Edward sat up as Rhys slid off. Rod was still beside Radcliffe, half-restraining him, but at the moment the only thing the two knights could focus on was Rhys. Rod watched his brother through horrified eyes; the man had been brittle for months and he seriously wondered if this news would throw him completely over the edge. He was sitting on the ground with his hands on his head, muttering to himself. By this time, Christopher and David and the others had joined them, hovering in a semi-circle around those on the ground, swords half-raised and wondering what was going on. They hadn’t heard Edward’s softly uttered news but they clearly saw Rhys’s stunned reaction.
“What is it?” Christopher demanded. “What’s wrong?”
Rod spoke. “This knight has come from Ludlow. King John has signed Lady Elizabeau’s death warrant and she is slated to face the block tomorrow at dawn.”
Christopher’s expression didn’t change as he slowly sheathed his sword. His gaze moved from Rod to Edward and back to Rhys; he could only imagine how this news had toppled the man. The anguish was obvious. As he watched Rhys slowly lower his arms and struggle to stand, he looked back to Edward.
“Who are you, knight?’ he asked in a low tone.
“Edward Radcliffe, my lord,” Edward replied. “I have been the lady’s companion and jailor since the start of her captivity. She told me of Sir Rhys and further explained that I might find him here. So I have come to tell him that he must do all in his power to save her, for I cannot.”
Christopher cocked a blond eyebrow. “Why would you do this for her?”
Radcliffe looked uncertain a moment, his gaze moving from Christopher to Rhys and back again. “Because..,” he began quietly. “Because the lady has been kind to me and I have grown fond of her. But my liege is Clifford and I am sworn to him. I can do nothing for her. But Sir Rhys… he must help her. If he loves her as she says he does, then he will.”
“You say you are sworn to Clifford, yet you have betrayed him by coming here,” Christopher pointed out. “Why did you not bring the lady with you when you left Ludlow?”
“Because she is very closely watched,” Edward said. “A contingent of soldiers is assigned to her. I could not remove her by myself. So under the pretext of riding to Clifford Castle to announce the lady’s execution date, I came here instead to tell Sir Rhys that he must go and save her.”
By this time, Rhys was on his feet and was no longer mumbling to himself. His momentary brush with complete insanity quickly left him, leaving him emotionally weak and brittle and struggling to focus. As the soft snow fell, he removed his helm and brushed his long black hair from his eyes, focusing on the enemy knight still sitting on the ground. His face was pale, his voice strained, as he spoke.
“By coming here you have indeed saved her and I will forever be in your debt,” he rumbl
ed. “I will ride to Ludlow now and prevent this heinous act.”
Christopher looked at him. “You cannot simply ride in and steal her away, Rhys. If she is slated for execution on the morrow, then it is as this knight has said; she will be very closely guarded.”
Rhys pondered his statement a moment before looking back to Edward. He stared at the man. “I can indeed simply ride in,” he said slowly, “if Radcliffe assists me.”
Edward looked dubious and eager at the same time. “What would you have me do?”
Rhys raked his fingers through his long hair as he thought on a plan. “I will return to Ludlow with you and you will tell everyone that I am an old friend. Vouch for my loyalties to the king. In fact, you may tell them that I am an envoy from John to ensure the execution is carried out. Tell them… tell them that I am, in fact, the king’s executioner.”
“They will want proof, Rhys,” Christopher said softly. “They will want documentation proving you are who you say you are. She is a political prisoner and they will never let an unknown knight gain access to her.”
Rhys looked at him. “You have missives from John, do you not?”
Christopher shrugged. “Old ones, when he was still prince.”
“Then wash away the text of the missive, leaving the signature and have de Wolfe scribe in a new message vouching for my directive.”
“Are you serious?”
“Never more so in my life.”
Christopher pondered that a moment before slowly nodding his head. “It could work. De Wolfe is a master with the written word. He could make it sound most official.”
“Then do it,” Rhys sounded suspiciously as if he was giving his liege an order. “But make haste; it will take time to travel to Ludlow in this weather and I must be there by nightfall.”
“But I cannot help in this,” Radcliffe insisted. “If I do, they will kill me when the deception is discovered.”
Fathers and Sons: A Collection of Medieval Romances Page 25