The Du Lac Princess: (Book 3 of The Du Lac Chronicles)

by Mary Anne Yarde

  “Once again I must congratulate you on your rise in station,” Abbot Daniel said with a seemingly sincere smile knowing all too well that the Archbishop was too vain to understand sarcasm. “I must learn to control my compassion, but you see, in every situation I ask myself, what would Jesus do?”

  “You are asking the wrong question, my dear Abbot. You should ask yourself what would the Pope do?”

  “That is where I have been going wrong then. I shall endeavour to do better.”

  “I am sure you will. Did this demon lover confess?” the Archbishop asked with too much interest, a greedy light appearing in his eyes.

  “I believe as you say, that she is possessed by a demon. Although she does have moments of sanity. When she was lucid she begged me, most humbly, to save her soul.”

  “So she goes to the pyre willingly?” The Archbishop rubbed his hands with glee making no effort to hide his excitement, for he liked a good burning.

  “I believe she is looking forward to it,” Abbot Daniel stated. “She wants to be rid of the demon as much as we do, if not more. It is a shame that Brother Sampson is not here. He has made quite a name for himself ridding demons from bodies, and without the usual bloodshed and…” Brother Daniel chuckled awkwardly. “…Unnecessary pain.”

  “We have heard of Brother Sampson and his apparent gift from God. Rome is watching that young man very closely. But I believe even Brother Sampson would be unable to overcome such a powerful demon. Remember this demon possessed Merton du Lac as well. We should thank God she was never with child. I dislike watching a child put to death, but that is what would have happened if there had been a child conceived by two demons. Such a child would have been dangerous to everybody.”

  “May I remind you that Brother Sampson was instrumental in Alden’s and Budic’s escape from my dungeon? If he came here, I would have him arrested,” Philippe stated, his expression set into hard lines on his face as he listened to the Archbishop’s words.

  “You would do no such thing,” the Archbishop answered, addressing Philippe as if he were a boy at his lessons. “It is for the Pope to discipline members of the Church, not you. May I remind you, Sire, that it is you that seeks a Papal Blessing. If my report back to the Pope were to put you in, let’s say, an unfavourable light, then the chances of you getting the said Blessing would be rather slim.”

  “If that is the case then, of course, Brother Sampson will be made welcome here,” Philippe relented, cowing to the Archbishop’s threat. He turned his attention back to the nun by Abbot Daniel’s side.

  “Sister Mary Elizabeth, that is a very pretty ribbon on your wrist,” Philippe said, changing the subject. “I did not know that nuns were permitted to wear such…decoration.”

  Amandine had forgotten she still had it on and she tried, too late, to hide the condemning strip of blue by pulling down her sleeves.

  “I believe it was a gift from the Pope himself,” Abbot Daniel said, jumping in before Amandine could speak. “A token of their very long friendship.”

  He knows. He knows. Amandine waited for Philippe to shout an order for her arrest, but none came. Abbot Daniel continued to converse with the Archbishop, the Bishop and the King as if nothing were amiss.

  “The Pope has no time for frippery,” the Archbishop stated with a frown. “I have never known him to give anyone a gift unless of course, it is a Blessing,” he added quickly.

  “I am going to be sick,” Amandine whispered to Abbot Daniel.

  “Forgive me,” Abbot Daniel said. “Sister Mary Elizabeth is feeling quite unwell. I will take her back to the monastery and makes sure she is comfortable, and then I will join you directly. After the execution, I look forward to hearing more about Rome. I have a mind to visit her one day.”

  “That depends if you get an invitation or not,” the Archbishop stated coolly.

  “Like Jesus, I live in hope,” Abbot Daniel smiled. “Your Majesty,” he bowed his head in respect. “My Lords.”

  “I hope your health is restored soon, Sister Mary Elizabeth,” Philippe stated.

  Amandine gave a quick nod and daringly risked a glance at him. When her eyes connected with Philippe’s, he gave her a quick encouraging smile.

  “To the Hall my Lords. Food has been prepared, and I have ordered several bottles of the finest wine to be opened in celebration of this monumental day.” Philippe smiled as both the Archbishop and the Bishop all but ran to the Hall.

  “I guess they are hungry,” Philippe laughed as he watched them enter the Great Hall. He turned back to look at the Abbot and the nun, and as he did so his expression changed. He stepped closer towards them and bent his head to whisper in Amandine’s ear. “I will try to delay the execution for as long as I can, to give you time to get away.”

  Amandine gasped out loud and dared once again to look at him. Philippe’s eyes were full of sympathy, sorrow and if she was not mistaken...love.

  “Don’t ever look back,” he said, and as he did so, he slipped a familiar small silk purse into her hand. “You must promise me that.”

  “Philippe.” A voice called.

  Philippe stared hard at her for a moment longer and then he turned and smiled a greeting. “Mordred, there you are. I have been looking for you. Is the pyre ready?”

  “All that is missing is one particular woman and a flame.”

  “Good. Are you coming in to eat before we set off for the day’s entertainments? The Archbishop is already in the Hall, and I know he wants to talk to you.”

  “He is a good friend of mine. We always have a great deal to talk about.”

  “I should imagine you do,” Abbot Daniel said under his breath.

  Philippe turned his gaze briefly onto the Abbot’s face, and the two of them shared a knowing look.

  “Then let us dine,” Philippe said with a smile, turning his attention back to Mordred. “After you,” Philippe gestured with his hand that he wanted Mordred to go first.

  “Are you coming?” Mordred asked when he reached the door of the Great Hall and realised Philippe was not following him.

  “Yes,” Philippe stated, turning his attention back to Amandine and the Abbot. “Go,” he whispered. “And may God go with you.”

  “Come on, my dear,” Abbot Daniel encouraged.

  Amandine did not do as Philippe told her, she could not help but look back as the Abbot rushed her down the corridor, past the many guards, towards the courtyard.

  Philippe was watching her, and when he caught her gaze, he winked. She almost stumbled, but Abbot Daniel had a good hold on her and kept her on her feet. Together they stepped outside into the blinding light of the courtyard.

  The bright light did nothing for the pain in Amandine’s head — if anything it intensified it. The pain in her stomach now was beyond bearing, and the nausea was back in full force. She stumbled on a loose paving stone and would have fallen to her knees if the Abbot did not have such a tight hold on her. As it was, she now had the pain of a stubbed toe to deal with as well as all the rest.

  They passed the place where Merton had been tortured, and Amandine could not hold on to the contents of her stomach any longer. But the Abbot only let her stay still long enough to sick some yellow bile before he marched her on again. For this was no place to linger.

  They approached Bastian, who was stood by the portcullis. Without saying a word to them, he ordered the gates to be opened.

  The Abbot smiled a thank you and ushered Amandine through the gates.

  They had made it. They were outside the castle walls. It had been months since Amandine had been out in the open, and the world seemed suddenly far too big. She felt panic twist around her lungs like a noose closing tighter until she couldn’t breathe. But still, the Abbot made her walk forward.

  Soon they joined a crowd of people who were all heading in the same direction. She overheard snippets of conversation about how much they were looking forward to seeing her burn. If they knew she walked among them, she feared what they would
do.

  Many people spoke to the Abbot as they walked. And he, seemingly without a care in the world, stopped and talked to them. Amandine would wait, with eyes closed and head down as she tried to breathe through the pain in her head, and her stomach.

  “This is where we say goodbye,” Abbot Daniel said as he abruptly stopped walking. “Peace be with you, Sister.” He made the sign of the cross, and then he walked away from her, following the crowd to the beach. Amandine, like a puppy who had been left behind, watched him leave her. She looked around her in panic. Where was she supposed to go? What was she suppose to do? She began to follow the crowd when a hand snagged her upper arm in a grip that was unrelenting. Panicking she began to struggle.

  “Calm down. It is me. It’s me.”

  “Alan?” Amandine whimpered. When she saw that Alan was not only out of uniform, but was wearing a hood as if to hide his identity, she felt a wave of relief travel through her body. And she realised just how many people were putting their lives on the line for her. She wasn’t as alone as she first thought.

  Alan grinned at her. “We are getting you out of here. Come on,” he tugged on her arm.

  She would have willingly followed if another pain had not ripped through her stomach. She groaned in agony and fell to her knees amongst the dust and the dirt of the road.

  “Are you hurt?” Alan asked with concern as he bent over her. She began to heave again; each movement making the pain in her head even more pronounced.

  She reached up to her head with her hand. “My stomach and my head,” she moaned in agony.

  “This is not the day for being ill. Can you walk?”

  Alan helped her to stand, but she swayed into him. Cursing, he scooped her up into his arms.

  “Hide your face,” he whispered into her ear.

  Amandine closed her eyes and buried her face in Alan’s shoulder. He smelt of the sea and outdoors, it made a welcomed change to the stale air of her chamber. Another cramping pain in her stomach made her cry out in agony. The pain in her head and her stomach was so consuming now that death would be a pleasant distraction. She began to heave yet again, but Alan did not slacken his pace, even when the bile from her stomach escaped her mouth once more. Amandine felt too ill to feel embarrassed that she had ruined Alan’s tunic and the nun’s habit. She closed her eyes and willed this day to end.

  39

  The normally busy harbour was quiet, eerily so. In the distance, the sound of excited gulls could just be made out as they patrolled the beach where the spectators had gathered. The gulls were no fools — they knew that where there was man, there was also a chance at snatching some free food. A few circled overhead for that very reason.

  As for the sailors and the merchants, they had abandoned their boats and their precious cargo so they too, could watch the execution. Execution by fire was always a popular event. But this time it would be a disgraced noblewoman being set alight — no one wanted to miss that. The sailors and merchants were confident to leave their crafts unguarded for King Philippe had generously stationed a decent size military presence at the harbour, to deter any opportunistic thieves who may think to make a profit while backs were turned.

  This silence had an edge to it though, like the sky before a thunderstorm.

  “Damn it, there is another one,” Rand said, raising his bow. He closed one eye as he took aim at the soldier who was running for all he was worth towards the harbour master’s house where the warning bell was kept. If the bell could talk, it would tell how it had warned of a Saxon fleet. It would describe how the High King of the Britons tried to topple Lancelot from his throne. The bell would recall the revenge of Mordred Pendragon. And of course, it would speak of another Saxon fleet. But it would not call out a warning today. The soldier had made it to the house, he opened the door, but it was too late. He fell forward with an arrow sticking out of his back. He would never ring that bell.

  “Nice shot,” Eadger said, wiping the blood from his face with his sleeve. At the mercenaries feet lay a massacre. The soldiers that had been ordered to guard the harbour had not stood a chance against them. Merton’s men had earned, through bloodshed, the name ‘Demons.’ They were trained killers and they were masters at their craft.

  “What next?” Yrre asked as Merton walked unsteadily towards his men.

  During the attack Merton had kept back, he had not wanted his men to be distracted with concerns about him. It vexed though, him not being able to take part, but today was not the day for bitterness.

  “We need to disable the boats so that ours is the only one that is seaworthy.”

  “How do you propose we do that?” Trace’s voice was scathing. His eyes still held the glow of battle in them. When he was like this, Trace was dangerous to be around. “There are too many to sink.”

  “Are you doubting me again, Trace?” Merton asked, knowing full well that he was playing with fire, but right now, he didn’t care. It was time to put an end to this. He would not have Trace jeopardise Amandine’s life because of some petty quarrel over leadership.

  Trace tightened his grip on his axe, the blade of which was dripping blood. “One strike and you are dead,” Trace stated, “and all our problems will be solved.”

  “One strike and so are you,” Yrre replied, bringing his own axe up, mimicking the same threatening manner in which Trace held his.

  Trace scoffed. “I should have known. You always were Merton’s loyal hound. What was that back on the boat about, Yrre? You had no intention of becoming our leader, did you?”

  “No,” Yrre answered honestly as the men stepped closer so they could all listen to the exchange. “For six years I have followed Merton. Six years of war. I have lost count how many times Merton has saved my life—”

  “You have lost count how many times he put you in a position where your life was at risk,” Trace replied. “Can you not remember how you paid for his mistake in that prison?” His words were tipped with a poison that could turn any man from those he was loyal to.

  “I remember that Merton got me out of that prison.”

  “As did I, and Eadger,” Trace reminded him. “It wasn’t just Merton that saved your life.”

  “What about all the money he has made you?” Yrre asked, determined to not let Trace win this argument because if he did, it wouldn’t just be Merton’s life on the line. “You are a rich man because of Merton”.

  “And yet there is always more money to make, and with me, I will help you find it. Stay with Merton and you will—”

  “I pledged my fealty to Merton,” Yrre interrupted. “We all did. I will not go back on my word,” Yrre stated.

  “Neither will I,” Vernon said, speaking up. “Wann died while in Merton’s service, and if needs be, so will I. Give it up, Trace.”

  “I believe the road to Saxony is in that direction,” Rand pointed with the tip of his bow. “Go now, while you still have a head upon your shoulders.”

  “You are fools. All of you are fools. Has anyone wondered how much money King Philippe would give for Merton’s head? We could return to Saxony as rich as kings. You would be a hero, Vernon. You could charge what you wanted for the hire of your sword. And you Eadger, you could buy yourself some land and not have to worry about handouts from Alden.”

  His statement was met with silence. A few of the warriors looked at each other as they contemplated Trace’s words — an easy kill for lots of money was something to take very seriously. At the end of the day, they were mercenaries. Their loyalty was to gold coins, not a single man. Trace knew he had them and he basked in the glory of the power he thought was coming his way.

  “We need to disable the boats,” Merton said again, although this time the pain of betrayal was all too evident in his voice.

  “I say we kill him,” Trace raised his voice, his eyes locking with Merton’s as he spoke. “And take the reward we should have taken years ago. I will lead you to victory. This man will lead you to your death,” he pointed his axe at Merton a
s he spoke.

  “You are damn right he will,” Yrre said, but before he could throw his axe, another one went flying through the air.

  The blade hit into Trace’s chest with a sickening thud. Trace looked down at the axe, which was embedded in his chest, with surprise. Blood instantly began to drip out of his mouth, and he fell to his knees. At the same time, Merton fell to his.

  “Merton,” Trace mumbled Merton’s name, and he held his hand out towards him. Trace then fell sideward, his eyes remained open, but they no longer saw for he was travelling towards Hel and her Great Hall.

  Merton closed his eyes as pain travelled down his back, around his shoulder blade and down his arm. If he didn’t know any better, he would say that someone had torn his arm from its socket. He couldn’t even remember taking the axe out of his belt, but the pain in his arm and back was as condemning as his axe that now stuck out of Trace’s body. He dared not ask himself where that moment of strength came from, but he would suffer for it now and later.

  “We need to disable the boats,” Merton said for the third time. “And I don’t want to have this conversation again.” He continued to look at Trace’s body. He had killed him. One of his own men had died by his hand. He never thought he would be able to do something like that, but there it was, he could not disbelieve his own eyes. Trace was dead.

  Yrre crossed to where Trace lay. He used his foot to push Trace onto his back, and then he reached down and pulled the axe free.

  “Do you want it back?” he asked, turning to look at Merton.

  Merton looked at the axe that had taken Trace’s life — the telling blood on the blade was just another stain that would blacken his name when it came to the day of judgement. But that was in the future, no point dwelling on it now. “Not unless someone else has a notion of killing me?” Merton looked at the men who had gathered in silence. All looked upon Trace’s body — he had been a comrade in arms, a friend, before he thought to turn traitor, and this was the consequence.