The Du Lac Devil: Book 2 of The Du Lac Chronicles

by Mary Yarde

  36

  Miraculously, Amandine had fallen asleep. Merton slowly, regretfully, slipped his shoulder from under her head. She muttered a protest, but she slept on. He sat still for a moment and quietly watched her in the firelight. The bruise across her cheek was turning an ugly shade of purple. He touched it softly, wishing that his fingers were magical, and they could wipe away the hurt.

  No one would hurt her again, not while he had breath in his body.

  He had never felt this way about anyone before. The only love he could compare it to was his love for Alden and Tanick, but even that failed in comparison. He understood, at last, why Alden had risked it all and was willing to give up everything for his Annis. At the time he had not understood his brother’s feelings. He had respected them, but he had not understood. Now he did. It was frightening, this desperate need to protect, this intense need to be someone better.

  He was judged by every man he had ever encountered, and he himself was his harshest critic. However, Amandine looked at him and saw through the persona. She saw him as no one else did. And he wanted desperately to be that man for her…always.

  Annis had once asked him, a long time ago, if he would have preferred to be born a pauper and he had answered no and made a silly jest about the state of the wine. Right now, though, he would give anything to be a poor man, in some ramshackle old roundhouse, with no knowledge of war or the endlessly manipulative life at court. All he wanted was to have Amandine by his side and Tanick in his arms.

  Some men sought greatness. He now sought the opposite. Peace. He wanted peace. He wanted to forget. He wanted a second chance, if such a thing were possible for a man like him.

  Slowly, gently, so not to wake her, he eased out of the bed. Dawn was nearly upon them. It was time to prepare. One more battle. He told himself. One more fight and then that would be it. It would be over. He could take his life back and live it how he wanted to.

  He hesitated, wondering if he should stay in the Du Lac uniform. It would be easier to get Alden out of the dungeons if he were dressed as a soldier, but if a noble stopped him, then he could find himself thrown into the dungeons, which would be of little help to Alden. Coming to a decision, he quickly changed out of the Du Lac uniform and put on his own clothes.

  There was a soft knock on the door. The sound surprised and annoyed him. He didn’t have time for any interruptions. He ignored the summons, hoping whoever it was would go away.

  Still watching Amandine, Merton strapped on his sword belt and then reached for his weapons. War beckoned, yet again and he would answer her this one last time.

  He moved closer to the bed and kissed her softly on the cheek and then he whispered those sacred three words that he had never said to anyone before. “I love you.”

  She stirred at the sound of his voice but did not wake. Instead, like a child, she cuddled tighter into the furs and made a soft contented purring sound in her throat, and his heart broke. He wanted to be the sort of man who deserved her. He had never wanted anything more.

  There was another knock, slightly harder this time. Merton picked up his knife and slid it into his belt and then he took a smaller blade and strapped it to his ankle.

  He would have prayed that everything would go to plan, but God had never really listened to him anyway. And although he wasn’t particularly superstitious, he believed that if he asked God for anything, God, in spitefulness, would do the complete opposite. So he left the prayers to the ones who deserved to be listened to. But he felt a frightening sense of foreboding in the air that seemed to say that this time, he would need God on his side.

  He looked once more at Amandine and then he crossed the room and opened the door.

  Philippe was standing just outside of his room, looking very noble and very king-like. Power suited him, more so than it had ever suited Budic.

  “Sire?” Merton bowed politely.

  “Come with me,” Philippe ordered with a secret smile.

  Merton shut his door and locked it, pocketing the key in a pouch that hung from his belt. There was only one key to this room, and he had it. Amandine would be safe. And it wasn’t as if he intended to leave her alone for long. He would get Alden out of the dungeons, take him to the tunnel and then come back for her.

  Philippe watched him; his eyes were ablaze with excitement. “I have something to show you.”

  “I am intrigued,” Merton stated, raising an eyebrow. Philippe did not fit the picture of a conquering king. There was no sword hanging from his waist, and there wasn’t a hair out of place on his head. In fact, Philippe looked like he was going to spend an enjoyable day at a melee as a spectator — Merton felt a sense of dread — perhaps he was.

  “You will be,” Philippe said and then he laughed, for he could not contain his excitement. He began to whistle a confident, cheerful song as they descended the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, soldiers loitered. They stepped back hastily and bowed very politely as Philippe passed them, still whistling. Philippe headed in the direction of the Great Hall.

  “There is something in the Great Hall I need to see?” Merton asked, glancing behind him as he did so. The door was open, and everything had a lavender hue to it, for the sun was only just rising. He could see the courtyard and the well, where a couple of soldiers were sat, breaking their fast on last night’s bread. Just past the well was the entrance to the dungeons. Alden was so close and yet he might as well have been on the other side of the world. Merton had one chance to get him out, and if Philippe detained him for any length of time, then the chance would pass him by. There wouldn’t be another.

  The guards opened the doors to the Great Hall, and they stepped inside. The Hall was full, yet silent. Everyone was awake. But, not even a whispered conversation could be heard. Wide, frightened eyes looked upon their new king and the brother of their old one.

  Merton stayed near the entrance, he suddenly felt cold, as if an icy wind had found its way through his skin and made a home around his bones. It was feeling he often got when there was a threat ahead. He hesitated in the doorway. There was still time. He could turn around, race back to his chamber, grab Amandine and get the hell out of here. It would be so simple to turn and run. But Alden…he couldn’t leave him here.

  “What do you think of my new decoration?” Philippe asked, his voice travelling across the Hall as he pointed upwards. A stupid triumphant smile adorned his face, and his eyes held the glow of a boy who had just played a well thought out trick.

  “Look,” Philippe encouraged. “Look up, Lord du Lac.

  Merton stared at Philippe, not trusting the look in his eyes for there was an evil glint that screamed danger. Philippe grinned, and Merton narrowed his eyes. Merton was in the lion’s den; he would play by Philippe’s rules for now. Merton slowly, reluctantly, raised his head.

  For those few silent moments that followed, Merton would have welcomed the dark abyss that was a blind man’s lot. How he wished his eyes were deceiving him. Never, in his wildest dreams had he thought to see a man hanging from the rafters in the Great Hall at Benwick. The dead man swung around on the rope as if he were caught in a breeze, and Merton could see the face of the condemned very clearly. It was Wann. Wann’s face was twisted and as grotesque as any gargoyle. He was deathly white. His eyes were wide open and bloodshot. Merton saw the red scratches where Wann had fought the rope, trying to loosen it with his tied hands, but to no avail. This was not an honourable death of a great warrior. This was murder.

  “What is this?” Merton demanded, his voice thick with rage. “Why would you do this to one of my men? I pledged my loyalty to you,” Merton felt the sharp point of a spear at his back. He glanced over his shoulder at the soldier behind him.

  “After you,” the soldier snarled and prodded Merton with the tip of the spear again.

  “As you asked so politely…” Merton stepped further into the Hall, as did a detachment of heavily armed soldiers.

  Philippe craned his neck to look up at the man he
had so recently ordered to die. “I was bored,” Philippe drawled. He looked back at Merton and grinned like a spoilt child who had got his way. “And it was very entertaining. You have no idea how long it took us to get him up there. His death was pretty spectacular. I am sorry you missed it.”

  “You are the one who will be sorry,” Merton warned.

  “No,” Philippe shook his head and laughed again, “I somehow doubt that. Merton, Merton, Merton, what am I to do with you? You bring mercenaries to my kingdom and yet you say you want peace between the two of us.”

  “We were passing through Budic’s kingdom, and I heard about the Queen and her son. I decided to stay a while and pay my respects.”

  “Respects that were not asked for or wanted,” Philippe reminded him.

  “With the greatest of respect Sire, me being here worked in your favour,” Merton said. “And as I recall, you were the one who begged me to support you in this,” he indicated the Hall with a wave of his hand, “endeavour. Did I not give you the support that you asked for? Did I not side with you against my brother?”

  Philippe snorted, “Do you honestly expect me to believe that you were on my side? Budic told you to get close to me. He ordered you to murder Lord Jenison. Oh yes, I know about that. Do you really think that I do not know what is going on in my own castle?”

  “I very much doubt you know the half of it,” Merton replied. “And as for Lord Jenison, I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”

  “An accomplished liar as well as a cold-blooded murderer. What a great gift you possess.” Philippe chuckled softly. “You underestimated me, didn’t you? You and your brothers thought I wasn’t a threat.”

  “You still aren’t,” Merton stated.

  “So arrogant. So sure of yourself. The curse of the du Lacs — you, Budic, Alden — you are all the same.”

  “I resent being compared to Budic, but-”

  “I want to tell you a story,” Philippe interrupted, “about a young, arrogant, ignorant man who made a pure, beautiful, kind little girl fall in love with him. He stole her virtue and then abandoned her. Such a man should be punished, don’t you think?” Philippe asked. At last here was his opportunity to avenge his dear Josephine. She had looked so scared when he and his men had burst into Budic’s chambers. He had taken in the state of her clothes and the mess of her hair, and he had felt such a blinding rage that for a moment he had lost all sense of reason. It was obvious what he had walked in on. Budic had tried to rape her. But she was safe now. He had escorted her to her chambers and left her with her maid. Men he trusted guarded her chamber; no one would ever hurt his beloved again. But he had made sure that Budic paid for his barbarity, oh yes, he paid.

  “I also once heard a prophecy,” Merton countered. “That said Benwick would one day fall to a dragon. But the dragon would not hold the crown for long. The stories tell of a knight. A knight from the noble house of du Lac who would bring the dragon to his knees and free the people.”

  “I do not believe in prophecies, only the truth,” Philippe snapped.

  “I believe in prophecies because no one tells the truth anymore,” Merton answered. “No one. Not even the beautiful maiden of your story. I heard she was in love with a boy who thought of her as his sister. This boy had just come back from a very bloody war. I heard she got him drunk so that she could seduce him.”

  “You dare speak of…” Philippe purposely bit his tongue. He would not implicate his beloved Josephine, for she was going to be his queen. “Only the devil would say such a thing. Only a devil would accuse the innocent.”

  “Maybe. But do not forget, that once upon a time, that devil was an angel. The most beloved servant of God. What makes you think he can lie?”

  “Show me the proof that he cannot.” Philippe laughed, seemingly amused, as he bantered words with his cousin. Merton wasn’t the only one who could use words to get what he wanted. Look where his words had got him…he was a King and not just any king, but the King of Brittany. “Come on Merton; we are all waiting, show us the proof.”

  “His breath kindleth coals, and a flame goeth forth from his mouth,” Merton spoke the words slowly as if talking to an idiot, punctuating each syllable.

  “And now the devil quotes scriptures,” Philippe shook his head in disgust. “Wilt thou condemn me, that thou mayest be righteous? I am not the dragon your prophecy speaks of. I am Brittany’s liberator. Budic was the dragon.”

  “Yea, the light of the wicked shall be put out, and the spark of his fire shall not shine. Your reign will not last long,” Merton promised.

  “As amusing as this is, we do not have the time to test each other’s wit, and I don’t know about you, but I always found the Book of Job somehow wanting. Will you kneel to your King, Merton du Lac? If you do then your death will be swift,” Philippe said, with a flush and a wave of his hand. There was humour in his expression again, but his eyes were deadly serious. He had promised himself that he would avenge Josephine, one way or the other, and this was so much more poetic than a knife in the back. He silently congratulated himself. Today the demon would die, and the world would thank him. Josephine would thank him.

  Those in the Hall did not know where to look. Some looked at their feet, while others stared at their new King with a sort of fearful fascination. The old ones remembered the prophecy, for it had been foretold in Lancelot’s time. Was Merton right? Was the dragon a mere symbolic symbol for a flesh and blood man? Was it too late to stop these events from unfolding? What had they done?

  “If you get my King out of the dungeons, then I will,” Merton answered, and Philippe’s humour vanished from his face. “You forget, Philippe. This isn’t my country. Budic wasn’t my king. Why should I kneel to you?”

  “You pledged your loyalties to me.”

  “I might have lied about that,” Merton said with a careless shrug. “My loyalty is only assured if the money is good and you didn’t mention anything about payment.”

  “A true mercenary,” Philippe said with disgust. “You are nothing but a thieving magpie, who thinks not of the blood you spill, but has eyes only for the pretty, shiny, object-”

  “Better a bloodthirsty magpie than a dragon,” Merton replied.

  “Well know this…magpie. Soon your King Alden will be dead, and you with him,” Philippe stated, and there was a shocked murmur amongst those gathered. Their new King could not possibly be serious. The implications of murdering the King of Cerniw were great. Trade would be disrupted. And any chance of regaining the trust of old allies would be over. Not to mention the Cerniw army, who would undoubtedly cross the seas to avenge their King’s death. It would be like bringing a plague down on all their heads.

  “Kingship is a responsibility. If you kill Alden, then you will plunge your kingdom into a war and your day old reign is not secure enough for that yet.”

  There was, for the first time, a general murmur of agreement.

  Merton risked a glance back up at Wann. Their last words had been in anger, and now, Wann would never know how thankful he truly was. “You killed one of my men. I applauded your bravery. My men will seek revenge for this. They always do. I would not want to be on the receiving end of their vengeance.”

  “Your men do not scare me, nor do your threats. They are nothing compared to my army, a mere fly on a horse’s back, insignificant and easily dealt with. They may try to avenge this…” Philippe paused as he searched for the right word, “…demon, but they will not succeed. I am sorry to tell you, my Lord, that the reign of the du Lac’s is over. The bards may tell stories of you, but such men are easily silenced and eventually you will be forgotten — just like your scheming, lying, adulterous, bastard of a father.”

  “You want to sully my father’s name as well? Go on then. We are all ears.” Merton sighed as if he was bored of the conversation. But his mind was a hive of activity as he tried to see the best way out of this situation.

  “Lancelot du Lac raped King Arthur’s Queen. That
is why Arthur brought his troops here, to seek justice and revenge.” Philippe’s statement was met with a wall of silence.

  Merton sighed again and shook his head. Why did weak men always seek to massacre the memories of those who were great? That was not the reason Arthur brought his troops across the sea.

  “It seems you have traded one bastard in for another,” Merton addressed the Hall. “How is that working out for you all?”

  “Lancelot was a good king and he was a good man. How dare you desecrate his memory with such disgustingly vile lies.” One of the courtiers dared to speak, and others murmured their agreement. They had all loved Lancelot. “You may murder his sons, but we will not stand ideally by and let you dishonour his memory.”

  “Kill him,” Philippe ordered through clenched teeth and a soldier with a sharpened blade stepped forwards. The terrified courtier’s eyes caught Merton’s for a moment, and then he began to push his way out of the Hall, desperate to escape, but another soldier grabbed his arm. The man turned and began to plead for clemency, but the soldier with the blade stabbed it into his stomach. The man screamed out in agony, his eyes showed equal parts fear and surprise and then he fell to his knees, his hands clutching the wound. Blood seeped through his fingers. “The prophecy is true,” the man whispered and then his eyes rolled, closed, and he fell forward with a resounding thud.

  “Does anyone else want to question my judgement?” Philippe asked as the dead man was dragged from the room, leaving a warm trail of fresh blood behind him. No one uttered a word in response and no one dared to raise their head to look at their King. Several held their hands over their mouth, trying to swallow back the bile.

  “Is that how you are going to rule? With an iron fist and a sharp blade?” Merton asked.

  “I will have obedience,” Philippe stated, his eyes on the members of his court. “Do not forget that I am your king.”

  “Do not mistake obedience for loyalty. They are not the same,” Merton said, drawing Philippe’s attention away from the petrified court.