by K. M. Grant
They stared at each other blankly. “What are you doing here?” Ellie couldn’t help herself. Marissa stopped midkick. “You!” She was momentarily taken completely aback. Then she grabbed at Ellie. “Will? If you are alive, is he? Is he? Oh, tell me. Tell me now.”
“He’s gone to Mainz,” Ellie said quickly, and watched as Marissa sank down to the floor. “We’ve just been in Mainz,” she muttered, “we must have passed him.”
“But you didn’t see him?” Ellie shook her arm. “And you didn’t hear anything? Marissa, I’m so afraid.” Ellie bit her lip. She was not used to confiding.
Before Marissa could say anything more, the nun attached to her, thankful for some respite, sighed and rubbed her shins. “I don’t know who you are,” she groaned, “but if you know this demon, maybe you can take her. We caught her as a runaway. She said she was coming to a convent here, but nobody knows her at all so my abbess decided to take her back to Mainz where the archbishop can decide what to do with her. Good luck to him.”
Ellie had no time to say anything before another nun disagreed. “You keep her with you,” she ordered. “Offer your bruises up to the Virgin Mary. The girl’s got to be punished.”
Marissa did not hear either of them. She was staring at Ellie’s hair. What on earth had happened to it? Had Ellie cut it off to prove something Marissa could not even imagine?
Ellie swiftly climbed into the wagon just as it began to roll. Amid the noise of the wheels, the two girls remained silent until Marissa’s jailer, now that her charge was quiet at last, was rocked to sleep by the wagon’s motion and began to snore.
It was then that Ellie told Marissa all that had happened. She restricted herself to the plain facts, trying hard not to reveal any of the deeper things that had passed between herself and Will. Marissa remained expressionless, revealing nothing of her own tale until Ellie spoke of Amal and the Old Man of the Mountain. Then she jumped.
When they stopped for the night at a convent on the road, Ellie fretted. How many miles had they covered in the day? Ten at most? Directly after supper she went to the stables, hoping to find that by some miracle Sacramenta’s legs were cured and the mare was ready to speed away. But there was no such miracle. Instead, under the light of the lanterns, Sacramenta was lying down and seemed disinclined to get up even when Ellie called her name. Ellie left her to rest.
It was on her way to her own straw pallet that she heard Marissa hissing. All the nuns lay in a long line, close together, and the girl was lying on her back, her jailer still tied like a millstone to one arm and one leg. “We’ve got to get away from these people. Are Sacramenta’s legs really too bad to ride?”
“Yes.”
Marissa tussled with herself. “Untie me.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Marissa!” Ellie had no time for this.
“Do you care about Will?”
“Of course I do,” Ellie exploded. “You know that.”
“Then untie me. I can help him.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
But Marissa shook her head. “If you don’t untie me, I won’t tell you anything.”
Ellie did not know what to do. It seemed inconceivable that Marissa could help Will, but if Will really was in trouble over the ransom, could she take that risk?
She hovered. She could see Marissa tense as a strung bow even though she was pretending not to care. “If your help involves stealing horses, I promised I wouldn’t,” Ellie said.
Marissa turned, her eyes full of scorn. “Well, if that’s the way you want it.” She raised her foot to kick her jailer awake. She needed somebody to fight.
“No!” cried Ellie suddenly, and then dropped to her knees, praying that she had not woken anybody. “I’ll do it, Marissa, I’ll do it, but if it is just a trick, I’ll never forgive you, never.”
“You’ll need a knife,” was all Marissa said.
Ellie wasted no more time and soon Marissa was free, exultantly attaching her jailer to the next nun in the row. She and Ellie did not exchange another word until they had crept into the stables, found the least sleepy-looking horses, and were peering out of the barn door. The grooms were busy warming their toes, so it proved surprisingly easy to slip across the yard. Once behind the buildings Ellie, hoping that she would be able to justify breaking her promise to Petronilla, helped Marissa to mount and then vaulted on herself. I’m not breaking my promise to Will, she said to herself. Or at least not really. He told me to stay with the nuns, and Marissa is a nun. Then she concentrated only on getting away. It was several miles before Marissa slowly told Ellie of her visit from Hal and Elric and, through the dark, she could feel Ellie’s tears, half of joy that they were alive and half of anxiety as to what had happened to them since. Then Marissa slowly revealed something else and when she had finished, it was gratifying to find that her great rival for Will’s affections was absolutely astonished.
20
Hunger brought Will around at last and he had no idea how long he had been unconscious. He had been brought to a small room with a rush-strewn floor and a pallet for a bed. He was unwashed but blankets kept him warm and at his feet, now bare, somebody had placed a smooth stone that had clearly once been warm. He woke up quite slowly and stretched out his hand, thinking it would touch Hosanna. When his knuckles hit a clammy wall, his eyes jerked open and he tumbled off the pallet, making for the door. It was locked but through the window he could see straight out into the yard below and the sight was not reassuring. Hal was standing by the water trough and his expression was so grim that Will’s heart crashed. Hosanna was dead. He was sure of it. His sense of loss was overwhelming but he fought it. He must get to Richard even though he too could be dead by now, for it was quite possible that Amal had done his work in the night. Ignoring the food placed on a table in the corner, Will banged on the door until he heard soldiers shouting at him to shut up. This made him bang all the more and he quieted down only when they thrust spears through the bars. But he could not sit still and eventually, hating himself, he wolfed down the food, choking as he suddenly heard Richard’s name. The king was dead. He felt it. He threw the remains of the food away.
When the door at last opened, Will was prepared for anything except for the sight he now saw. Richard himself came in, shrouded in a cloak. Will dropped to his knees at once, but when the king lifted a warning finger Will got up again and waited until the door slammed to pay his homage. Now Richard pushed back his hood. In the daylight, his hair was a little grayer and his cheeks a little fuller than Will remembered, but when Will’s hand was clasped, he found Richard’s grip had lost none of its strength. The king, however, was still as remote as he had been in the cathedral.
The key turned in the lock. They were alone. Still the king gave no gesture of warmth and Will’s heart sank. “Am I a prisoner?” he asked. He was not sure what else to say.
Richard walked to the window. “We are all prisoners,” he said pleasantly enough, but as if Will were a stranger. “I can wander about the emperor’s court more or less at will but I am not free since the ransom is not paid. My mother will arrive tomorrow, but it seems we will wait in vain for the wagons in your charge.”
Will went cold. The reason Amal had not yet killed Richard was clear. If Richard died before Queen Eleanor’s part of the ransom was delivered, she would turn straight for home, for Richard’s subjects would not be happy to exchange their silver for a corpse. Only once the Queen’s silver was safely in the imperial vaults would Amal strike. But now something else began to agitate at the back of Will’s mind, to niggle.
“So much silver,” the king continued, his tone almost whimsical, “is surely a temptation for any man. Our mutual friend Kamil, where is he now, Will? Your squire and your boy arrived with a very garbled story. Then, just yesterday, one of the emperor’s servants told us how the imperial soldiers were set upon by your men and how he followed you and watched as ships sailed from southern ports taking my ransom t
o Saracen coffers. It seems that Kamil was not quite the man of honor we thought he was. That is a pity, but perhaps nothing better can be expected of such people. But you, Will …” He stopped and looked Will straight in the eye. “I am told that you have been corrupted by visions of untold wealth and the power that wealth brings. I am told that you are here now only because Kamil double-crossed you and took not just his share of the silver but yours also before abandoning you. His treachery seems to know no limits.” Richard paused. “And yours, Will? How far does that stretch? Let me guess. I think you are here now either with some preposterous fairy tale of your own or simply to beg my forgiveness. Frankly, I don’t know which would be worse.”
Will flushed with anger. “That is what you were told,” he said, “and you choose to believe it?”
Their eyes locked and Richard came very close. “The thing is, Will, it doesn’t matter what I believe. It matters only what the emperor believes, for he has the key to my prison door. Without the silver in your charge, I must remain here at his pleasure.”
Will’s whole face blazed. He wanted to shake Richard. However, he would not beg the king to believe him. He would not stoop to that. He would say what he had to say and the king must judge for himself. Will was acutely conscious that he barely looked like a knight, wrapped in a blanket and with a face streaked with filth. Nevertheless, he would remember his father and bear himself like a de Granville. “Sire,” he said, knowing he had only one chance, “I ask only that you hear me to the end. Then you must decide whether I am to be trusted or not. The imperial servant you speak of is not German at all. He is a Saracen called Amal. He sought us out at Hartslove, saying he was sent to deliver the horse you gifted to my brother, Gavin. You must remember the horse, said to be the fastest in the world? If you look, I expect you will find her in the imperial stables. We took this man for a friend, never suspecting that he would turn Kamil into a conspirator. Some of what he told you is true. Kamil did wish to steal the ransom because Amal persuaded him that he could stop it from being used to pay soldiers to kill his own people. Surely that is something you can understand?” Richard made no movement at all. Will went on, more urgently now. “Kamil’s actions were treacherous. They were. But he himself was a victim of treachery. The ship waiting for the ransom did not belong to Saladin’s followers but to Saladin’s enemy, the Old Man of the Mountain, who bears a grudge against Kamil. It’s neither the Saracen leaders nor the emperor who is Amal’s true master, but the head of the Assassins.” Richard crossed his arms. His eyes were still cold as marble.
Will chose his next words very carefully. “And there is deeper treachery even than that, sire, treachery that goes against every grain of Christian chivalry.” It was an effort to speak quietly for his veins ran hot, but nobody except the king must hear him now. He spoke very distinctly so that there could be no misunderstanding. “I wondered why, sire, when soldiers disguised in the imperial colors helped Kamil to commandeer the ransom, there was no pursuit. Why did we see nobody? But now I know the answer. The soldiers who helped Kamil were not disguised as imperial soldiers: They were imperial soldiers.” Richard caught his breath and Will pressed on. “It’s so obvious, sire. If the ransom vanished, then the emperor could keep you his prisoner and you could do nothing about it. You would be powerless. The truth is that the Old Man and the emperor are in this together.” Will found it harder and harder to keep his voice steady. “But there is something worse, sire, something that even the emperor does not know about, for the Old Man keeps his darkest secrets to himself. You are not to be kept a prisoner. Once the queen’s silver has arrived, you are to be found dead with Kamil’s dagger between your ribs. The Old Man knows that the emperor will be angry, for you are of much more value to him alive. But what does he care? You see, the Old Man wants Kamil to be thought of as a murderer. With his dagger stained with your blood, Kamil’s name will be blackened. It will be assumed that he slipped in silently and carried out the Old Man’s orders, like every other good Assassin. I suppose the Old Man reckons that the ransom silver will soon dry any tears the emperor sheds on your behalf.” Richard frowned. Will spoke faster and faster. “Sire, you must see. Your death will complete the Old Man’s revenge. By using Kamil’s knife to kill a king, he can ensure that Kamil’s name will be denounced among all honorable men, whether Christian or Muslim, until the end of time. It will be said he betrayed everybody, that he was a man of no value and no quality: that he belongs only among the damned. That will be the Old Man’s final triumph.”
Will fell silent though his eyes still burned fierce and bright. Richard’s expression, however, was unaltered and when he spoke, his voice had a steely rasp. “Will you swear on the life of your red horse that what you say is true?” He made Will face him directly. “Will you swear?”
Will felt as if the king had struck him. He had lost his father and his brother in the cause of the king. He had broken Hosanna in the cause of the king. Everything he did was in the cause of the king. To be doubted by the king was intolerable.
“Swear, Will, swear,” Richard’s voice commanded him.
Will sank back onto the pallet, completely deflated. The king had certainly changed. Once, Richard could have judged a man’s character with only a look. Now he demanded oaths and weighed up the word of a knight with whom he had fought in the field against the word of an enemy he scarcely knew.
And Will resisted. He could not—would not—swear on Hosanna’s life. Even if the horse still had a life to swear on which Will, in his heart, scarcely dared to believe, it would be entirely wrong. Worse than wrong. If the king could not believe him without an oath, the trust between them was at an end. He tried to find some form of words that would not be insulting but gave up. “I will not swear on Hosanna’s life,” he said dully. “I will not swear to you. I will not swear at all. If we are reduced to oaths of loyalty, then there is no loyalty left.” He put his head in his hands.
There was a short silence, then, “How like your father you look now,” Richard observed, sitting down beside Will and taking his hands from his face. The king’s eyes had lost their glacial gray and now shone green and quizzical. It took Will a moment to adjust. “I miss him, you know,” Richard said.
Will could hardly think straight. He sat with his jaw half-open. Richard studied his fingernails. Only slowly did Will begin to understand that he had passed some kind of test. Richard allowed him time to close his mouth before touching him lightly on the shoulder. “In times like these men swear oaths easily,” he said. “I have found it better to depend on the man who won’t swear.” Relief flooded Will’s entire body. He put his hand between the king’s cool palms and, looking up, found that they understood each other very well.
They spoke at length and when Richard finally got up to leave, Will begged that he would guard himself with vigilance. “From what you say, I should be safe until the queen’s silver arrives,” Richard replied, trying to reassure.
But Will could not be content with that. “There may be others here in the Old Man’s pay. Try and keep Hal with you, sire,” he pleaded. “He would die defending you, and Elric, too.”
“If they can be spared from that red horse.” Richard gave a faint smile.
Will shook his head, trying to hide his overwhelming distress. “I saw Hal from the window earlier,” he said. “I think Hosanna is beyond human care now.”
“Oh?” said Richard. “Before I came up here, he was still worth saving. That boy—Elric, is that his name?—well, he is quite clear that Hosanna is going home. He tells the horse so all the time, and Hosanna won’t want to disappoint him.”
“Hosanna would have been happy to die for you, too,” Will said when he could trust himself to speak, and Richard did not laugh at such a thought. He was not a sentimental man, but he knew something of the bond that could grow between a knight and his destrier. He half envied Will his attachment. Sometimes the king thought that the only thing to which he was truly attached was war. On a sudden impuls
e, he walked swiftly over to Will and embraced him with the embrace of a father. Then, just as quickly, he left him.
The day dragged on and now Will allowed himself to rest. Hosanna would pull through. Richard knew everything and Richard believed him. Hal would foil the Assassin’s knife and the king was clever. When the door next opened, it would be to announce that they were all on their way home. That night, Will slept. In his dreams, Ellie was riding Sacramenta. They were just about to meet. Ellie was smiling. Then Will was shaken awake by a terrible clattering.
At first he thought it was just the rest of the ransom rolling in and he paced up and down, anxious for reassurance that Hal was alert at his post by Richard’s side. But the wagoners also brought news that they shouted out with glee. Richard’s lands were under fierce attack from the king of France. The queen had brought with her not only the ransom silver but long lists of knights openly in revolt against their absent lord. At once the wagoners found themselves surrounded by cheering imperial soldiers and Richard’s powerlessness was openly mocked. He would need to get home quickly, they catcalled, or he would find he had no home to go to. Will kicked his door with impotent fury.
It was not until midmorning that, without any ceremony at all, he was hauled out and frog-marched, still barefoot and filthy, along dark corridors reeking of damp. This was not the release he had hoped for. Then the dark gave way to light and he found himself being hurried right into the middle of the great hall. Will blinked, almost blinded by the flickering of hundreds of candles. With no time to collect himself, he was being stared at by a great and distinguished gathering, all crammed close together on benches, their fine furs and silks shimmering as wax dripped from above their heads. A public gallery had been erected at one end, for the emperor liked his subjects to witness his justice, and people from the town had flocked in, men and women jostling for space.