by Sam Burnell
“Robert, you’ve left us both for dead, if we can both manage an untimely resurrection, then getting out of the back door of brothel wasn’t exactly going to be a challenge was it?” Richard pointed out conversationally.
“Get out of the way,” Robert spat drawing his sword, “or we’ll come through you.”
“I don’t think so, not this time,” Richard didn’t move. “You and that snivelling rat at your shoulder; are you sure?”
Jack closed in and stood ready, his sword drawn. Standing next to Richard, he leant his head close and said something Robert could not hear.
“You think that half-breed gutter whelp is going to back you up, do you? You might have dressed him in silks but he’s still a baseborn piece of filth!” Robert shouted.
Jack made to step forward, but Richard grabbed his arm. “Not yet.”
“Listen to your master,” Robert addressed Jack, sneering. Jack’s eyes narrowed and his breathing quickened as his temper rose.
“When was the last time your lackey raised a blade in earnest or yourself for that matter?” Richard asked, still holding Jack back.
Robert ignored him, seeing the effect his insult had on Jack and he pressed on. “Has he told you what he’ll do with you when he’s finished with you? He’ll dump you back in the gutter you came from, he has no care for you. How did you ever think you could be more than what you really are?”
Jack pulled himself roughly from Richard’s hold. “Why don’t you find out exactly what I am?”
“Robert’s mine,” Richard said angrily, making a grab for Jack’s arm again to stop his advance.
“I’m not taking Harry, he’s yours.” Jack countered.
“Well we can’t both take on Robert, that wouldn’t be fair.” Richard complained.
“Fair?” considered Jack for a moment, “When did fair come into this?”
Harry and Robert stared between the pair, neither able to believe they were arguing between themselves.
“Robert is mine,” Jack stated again.
“No he’s not,” Richard countered hotly, “Bloody hell, I’ve waited years for this, out of my way.”
There was a metallic crash as Jack slammed his sword back into the scabbard. Then he stepped forward and turned to face Richard, his back to Robert.
“You have to have everything, every time it’s always the bloody same,” Jack complained. Then turning to Robert, “See what I have to put up with?” Then looking back at Richard, “Well this time…” Richard gave a nod and Jack took the lead. He had closed the gap between them and Robert. When he stepped back and turned with lightning speed, his elbow smashed into the side of Robert’s face. Robert’s sword was lost to him, flying from his hand to clank and rattle noisily against the flagged street. In the same moment, Richard stepped past his brother and levelled the sword at Harry who, wide-eyed dropped, his own sword and raised his hands.
They stood looking at the pair: Robert with his hands to his blooded face and Harry, white as snow, staring at them, hands still raised in surrender.
Robert suddenly lunged for Jack, a knife aimed to slice between his undefended ribs, Richard repelled his advance, cannoning into Robert and sending him reeling backwards, off-balance.
“Come on, you churl.” Robert had the knife in his right hand. Richard dropped his sword and pulled out his own poniard.
“You come here where I can see you.” Jack grabbed hold of a handful of Harry’s jacket and hauled him to stand in front of him. Pulling Harry’s knife from his belt, Jack applied it to his ribs. “One move and this goes through your back.”
Neither had engaged. Robert weighed the knife carefully in his hand, a sneer on his face. “The odds are in my favour, I think.”
Richard said nothing but watched his brother carefully, waiting for his move. When it came, he threw his body along the arc prescribed by the knife, grabbing Robert’s arm and pulling him forward. Lighter, but faster than his brother, he had the bigger man off-balance. He stamped his boot heel hard into the back of Robert’s calf to ensure his descent into the mud. Robert knew he couldn’t prevent his fall; he released a great howl, fastened his fist into Richard’s sleeve and pulled him down with him. They landed heavily, Richard on top, but only for a moment, before Robert brought his greater strength to bare, reversing the positions and rolling away from Jack.
“Damn,” Jack muttered, pushing Harry forward with the knife. Robert might not be aware of Richard’s weakness, but Jack knew only too well that Richard was ill-prepared for a fight like this. Robert had only to pressure Richard in the wrong place and he would quickly know he had the advantage.
Richard still had his knife - the blade was between their bodies - but Robert also now had a hand on the hilt. Jack couldn’t see which way the blade tip was pressing.
“Bloody hell.” He deliberated for a second more, then he moved. Still holding Harry, he delivered as hard a kick in the side of the ribs as he could to Robert. It bought Richard the opening he needed and he was able to push Robert off him.
“Get up,” Jack hissed under his breath. He shoved Harry to his left so that he could kick Richard’s fallen sword back over to him.
As Richard stooped for it, Robert flung himself forward, aiming to land on top and take Richard face down into the street. The sword flashed in the moonlight, although the blade swung only inches from the surface of the road, it was high enough to catch Robert in the side of his thigh as he dived on top of his brother. There was a scream as he half-landed on Richard, who quickly pushed him away and was on his own feet in an instant, sword in his right hand and the injured left shoulder away from Robert.
Harry wailed and Jack shook him. “It’s not you that’s bleeding you idiot.”
Robert had found the wall and was pulling himself upright, his right hand running with blood as he clutched it to the cut. “You’ll bloody die for this, you bastard.”
Richard sheathed the blade and stooped to retrieve his knife before walking over to Robert. Jack, trusting Robert not at all, forced Harry to follow at knife point.
“Hear me,” Richard’s voice was cold. “I’m going to take everything you have, I am going to take it slowly, it’s going to be painful and in the end you will be stood with nothing.”
“You’ll take nothing from me,” Robert retorted, breathing harshly.
“I can and I’m going to start right now,” the point of Richard’s knife pressuring Robert’s chest. “Take off your jacket.” Then to Jack, “Looks about your size would you say?”
“Aye, I even like the colour,” Jack grinned.
Robert didn’t move.
The pressure on the point increased, piercing the skin. “Well I can’t bloody take it off with a knife in me, can I?” growled Robert, pressing himself against the wall and away from the knife.
Richard, inclining his head in agreement, took a careful step back. “The jacket, now please.”
Robert complied and hurled it in Richard’s face. It didn’t meet its mark; Richard snatched it neatly from the air and hung it over his arm. A smile came to his lips. “Feels like it has full pockets as well.” Then to Robert, “Now the hose.”
Robert looked at him in disbelief.
“I said I was starting tonight and I am starting by taking your dignity.” The knife point returned to his chest. “Now the hose if you please.” Richard passed the doublet to Jack who held it up appreciatively before folding it over his own arm.
Robert leaned back against the wall. “I can’t; can’t you see I’m bleeding?” He had indeed gone quite pale.
“A point well made. You need some help? Harry, go and kneel down there and pull his boots off for him,” Richard instructed Harry.
Jack chuckled and pushed Harry forwards with the knife that still pressured his back. Richard and Jack stood, shoulder-to-shoulder and watched as Harry knelt, pulled, tugged and whimpered as he removed Robert’s boots.
“Bring them over here,” Jack demanded, “they look a lot finer than mi
ne, at a guess, I’d say about the right size as well.”
Harry brought them over and Jack took them. Lifting one of his own boots, he measured the sole of Robert’s against his own.
“A perfect match,” Richard agreed grinning.
“I believe,” Jack addressed Robert, “my brother said the hose as well. Come on, Harry, help him,” Jack chuckled. “I think by the looks of this, Harry’s helped you off with your clothes a time or two before hasn’t he?” Then to Richard, “Do we stop here, or do we send them back to mademoiselle with their backsides out?”
“And the rest,” Richard said, earning a broad grin from Jack. “Now, Harry, get yours off as well: I don’t want Robert here covering his shame with your clothes.”
In a few moments both men stood before them completely naked, shivering in the cold, Robert with blood running down his leg and leaning heavily against the wall.
“Now off you go back to The Angel,” Jack laughing, watched the two flour-white backsides, lit by the moonlight, make their way back to the brothel.
Turning, he saw Richard was heading away from the brothel. “It’s this way,” Jack grasped Richard’s arm.
“No, this way, come on follow me. We haven’t finished yet.” Richard set the pace and Jack hurried to keep up. Initially he had no idea where they were headed, but after ten minutes he realised they were setting their feet in the direction of the London Fitzwarren house.
Jack had suffered humiliation enough at William’s hand already; he had no desire to be subjected to that scathing tongue again. He grabbed Richard’s arm this time to stop him. “Not there again. I don’t want to be reminded of just what I am by him.”
Richard smiled, not at all put off. “This time will be different. Come on, we have an hour before Robert, in borrowed breeches, makes his sorry way back here, licking his wounds.”
“You’d better be right, an hour is not long. If he arrives before we’ve gone, Robert will see us in Hell.”
Richard laughed. “As Sybil found out, it is not the descent into Hades that is hard, it’s the getting back that can prove tricky. We will get back out, have faith.” He was walking backwards in front of Jack.
“You’d walk through Hell with a smile on your face,” Jack’s voice was resigned.
“Fortune favours the audacious,” came the light reply.
“Oh well, in that case you’ll be just fine on your own then, if audacious means stupid,” Jack said tersely.
Richard was amused. “Robert and Harry are otherwise engaged, so come on: let’s go and annoy the Devil.”
They stopped shortly, outside the house.
“Front door, or back?” Richard asked, then before Jack could stop him or reply he announced, “Front I think.”
“Oh God save us,” Jack muttered under his breath.
“He won’t, Jack.” Richard had heard his words. “You’ll save us, come on.”
His knock was answered quickly; through the leaded panes both saw the torch bobbing as the servant made his way to the front door. He opened it a crack to see who was on the other side. Richard forced it open, bringing himself to stand in the passageway with the retainer backing from him.
“It’s Charles, isn’t it?” Richard, smiling broadly dropped his cloak onto the old man’s arm. “Surely you remember me?” The look of fear on the man’s face was answer enough. “Don’t worry, Charles, my father is expecting me. I know the way; save your legs and we shall make our own way up.”
With that, he mounted the stairs and set off, leaving Jack and Charles in the Hall. Jack looked apologetically at Charles, added his own cloak to the old man’s arm and bounded up the steps two at a time to catch up to his brother.
They met up outside the door to William’s room. Richard silently lifted the latch and pushed it open. As before, the room was bathed in candlelight from the sconces and the fire, wrapping the sleeping man in the chair in a homely warm orange glow. Richard put his finger to his lips and closed the door quietly behind him.
Richard pulled Jack with a hard grasp on his sleeve until the two stood in front of the man sleeping in the chair. Jack longed to be anywhere else. Feeling the heat from the fire behind him, Jack wasn’t sure if it was the flames or fear of the man before him that made him suddenly feel so uncomfortably hot.
Richard moved forward and kicked William’s feet. Jack wanted to say under his breath: “Don’t you’ll wake him.” But he managed to still the words.
William blinked and stared between them both, confusion apparent on his grizzled face.
Richard’s shoulders slumped. “That’s the last time I waste a dramatic entrance on you.” He scooped the spectacles from the side table and carefully placed them over William’s ears and nose. Satisfied, he stepped back once again and stood next to Jack.
William’s eyes widened.
Richard smiled maliciously. “Hallelujah, what it is to be recognised! They say, do they not, that if no-one knows a man he shall cease to be?”
William was still recovering his senses, looking between the pair.
“And, of course, you’ve met Jack?” Richard continued. “He is, of course, your mistake, my trial, and he will be Robert’s undoing.” Jack reddened even further in the firelight.
William pulled himself up in the chair.
“I almost forgot.” Richard picked up the side table and moved it just out of reach. “Now we have our happy reunion, what shall we do?”
William ignored Richard; he could sense the unease from the other man. “His idea was it, to drag you here? Humiliate you again so he can get what he wants? He only wants Robert’s inheritance and then you’ll be back in the gutter where you came from.”
“Careful, Father, he has a temper I’m well acquainted with,” Richard warned, then, considering what he had said, added “Pray continue.”
William ignored him. “Association with him gets you nothing. It’s only in his eyes you are not a gutter snipe. Look at you? He has you like a pet monkey - dressed to dance - but remember a monkey, remains nothing but a stinking animal, no matter…”
Jack cut William off. “Christ, still your words. I can see it is a family tradition to wound with rhetoric, but I prefer a poniard.”
“A family tradition?” Richard repeated, raising his eyebrows.
The knife in Jack’s hand glistened in the firelight.
“I’ll not take your life, it’s enough for me that age is robbing you of it very quickly.” Jack’s comment hit a wound and he saw it.
“Like you said, a family tradition,” Richard remarked out from where he had hitched himself up on the edge of a coffer.
“What do you want?” Spat William.
Jack looked expansively round the room. “All of this will do me fine.”
Richard produced a sheaf of papers form his pocket. “I shall not bore you with the legal Latin, but this will, I am assured, stand up in the Court of Chancery. We need only your signature and then Jack will be named as your heir.” Richard laid them flat, the last sheet he placed on top, the space for William’s signature blank, an empty line awaiting his shaky handwriting.
“You sign, we leave. You can live out the last of your fetid days in that chair, then, on your death, Jack will claim his inheritance. We are prepared to wait. You doctor is Master Juris, am I right?” Richard asked.
“What right have you to see my doctor?” William was furious.
“I am your son. I have every right to worry about the failing health of my aged father.” As Richard spoke, William became paler. “He tells me you have a tumor growing within you. Obviously he can’t be certain, but he is confident you have one last Christmas in you.”
William’s nostrils flared and his mouth became a thin hard line.
“Juris is a fool,” William spat.
Richard smiled maliciously. “Are we having a little difficulty dealing with our own mortality? Face the facts old man, age is creeping through your bones and it will not be long before they’ll be sealing yo
u in a shroud. We can wait.”
William turned again to Jack. “You trust him?” he demanded.
Jack declined to answer, until a more familiar voice asked, “Well do you?”
“Aye, I trust him,” Jack stated quietly and firmly, surprising both the other men in the room. “You laid the wrong bet. You know as well as I do what Robert is and where he came from. Mark me, he will lead your name into the gutter.”
There was a silence in the room. Richard observed his brother closely.
William’s eyes were fastened on his face. “That maybe, but I can feel nothing for you. Nothing, you hear?”
“Well then,” said Jack without humour, “that is indeed something we have in common. Now sign that and we will leave you to what little peace you have left.”
Richard offered the pen and William snatched it from his hand. He spoke to Jack as he signed the paper. “Having this will do you little good. No-one who matters will ever accept you.”
Richard took the completed document back into his keeping. “Thank you for that.” His eyes checked the signature before he stored the paper back inside his doublet. “If you have a conscience then maybe we have eased it a little for you.” Then to Jack, “Time to go.”
It was when he turned to leave that he saw her for the first time. He knew her name: Eleanor. While she had lived he had never set his eyes on her. It could be no other, he was sure. On the wall was a painting of her: long blonde hair strayed over her shoulders, at her feet a pair of black and white spaniels played and in her hand she held a goblet emblazoned with the Fitzwarren emblem. Her eyes, by some talent of the painter’s trade, held his and seemed to look straight into his soul. Her face, faintly smiling, gazed at him and Jack stood transfixed. It took a hard shove in the back from Richard to set his feet moving back towards the door, such had been the shock.
†
They walked back to their lodgings, Jack feeling better than he had for a long time. “So we are definitely leaving then?” he asked.
“Well, after tonight we have little choice. We couldn’t really strip Robert naked and expect to be able to remain in London. He will have every stone turned looking for us,” Richard replied, kicking a pebble in the street.