by E. M. Powell
‘See?’ Her eyes took on a fresh gleam. ‘This is very exciting.’
‘We need to go down that path to that birch.’ He pointed to a small animal trail. ‘Then we’re there.’
Rosamund clapped her hands. ‘A silver tree! Oh, please, don’t pull that down. It should stay. I know.’ She cast him a lively glance. ‘I will race you there. If I get there first, the tree stays.’ She pulled up her cloak and pushed past him, dodging down the narrow path.
Cursing under his breath at her games, Palmer hurried after her. No wonder she had Stanton under her spell. The young messenger would believe all this culch. His sleeve snagged on a thick bramble, and he paused to free it, not wanting to tear the fine wool. A rasp like a coarse saw cutting wood came from nearby. That didn’t sound right. It’d be days before the clearing came this far.
‘Beat you!’ Rosamund’s breathless call floated back to him. He looked up, braced to see her swinging from a branch or some other foolery.
She stood on the ground, waving, with a wide grin of triumph.
But watching her, screened in the branches of a nearby oak, was the leopard.
The empty branches of the message tree blew in the stiff breeze, moving in mocking waves that shooed Theodosia home. It was far too soon. She knew that. Worse, she did not even know what to watch for. Her hand went to the pouch under her apron to check that its contents were still there.
The linen square. Such had been her shock at the King’s request, she’d forgotten to give it back to Hugo Stanton the night Benedict went away. Always a symbol of hope, it plagued her now as a reminder that he had gone, gone to unknown danger. Until she could hold Benedict safe in her arms once more, every moment would be one of torment. She should have gone with him. They all should. They belonged together.
‘Look, Mam.’ Tom came over to her, holding a straight stick, Matilde trotting after him.
‘I see it. But we have to go home now.’ She’d seized the chance to come here, with Joan departed on her mission to steal from Lord Ordell. To steal. She feared it to be an unwise move: she should have argued more firmly. But Joan appeared unconcerned. Like Benedict of old, her views on sin were unfixed in virtue.
‘I’m going to keep this for an arrow,’ said Tom.
‘An arrow?’
Tom nodded. ‘Then I can shoot that man when he comes for our money.’
Her chest tightened. ‘Now you listen to me, Thomas Palmer. It is very important that you are good while your father is away.’ She crouched down in front of him, hands tight on his shoulders. ‘No arrows. No fighting. No playing around water. You hear me?’
‘What about when he’s back?’
The wind rustled the branches again.
He would be back—he had to be. Theodosia gripped Tom harder. ‘Still no.’ She stood up. ‘And throw that thing away. It is dangerous.’
Tom opened his hand and let it drop. ‘You always say that.’
Theodosia gathered Matilde to her. ‘Because it is true.’
‘It isn’t.’ Tom set his jaw in a replica of Benedict’s displeasure. ‘You said the water’s dangerous. It isn’t. It’s easy to swim. Flap your arms like a bird, stride like you walk across the meadow. That’s what Pa said. It works.’
‘It—’
A twig snapped. Someone was near. Or something. Her mind flew back to the dead animals Remigius had seen.
Mouth dry, she grasped for Tom also. ‘We need to get home.’
More rustles. Then the leaves parted to reveal a surprised-looking, breathless Joan. ‘I thought I heard voices.’ She stepped out and came up to them. ‘But I didn’t expect it to be you.’ She blew out her cheeks and palmed sweat from her face. ‘I’m very glad it was.’
Theodosia let out a relieved breath. ‘And I am pleased you are empty handed, that you changed your mind.’
Joan held her hands up. ‘Perhaps.’ A smile lit her dark eyes. ‘Or perhaps not.’ She bent low and hauled up her skirts to her knees.
Theodosia’s hand went to her mouth. Sewn into Joan’s underskirt were a couple of loosely woven string pouches. In each of them, a clutch of eggs sat snugly.
‘Oh, Theodosia. Don’t be so shocked. It’s an old way of carrying things you might not want others to see.’
‘It is not a way I have heard of.’
Joan put her head to one side. ‘Then you must have been brought up very sheltered. I’ve been doing this from Matilde’s age.’
Theodosia glanced at Tom. ‘Please lower your skirts. If anyone were to see, we would be in the worst of trouble.’
‘Oh, sister, you are such a mouse! Tom won’t say anything. Will you, my love?’
Tom shrugged, his jaw stiff once more.
‘See?’ Joan dropped her skirts. ‘Ordell’s hens have provided us with a feast. And there’s plenty more where that came from.’
Theodosia went to protest.
Joan brought a finger to her lips. ‘Justice. Remember?’ She picked up Matilde and kissed her on the nose. ‘Now let’s get home. And have a feast.’
‘Feast!’ Matilde’s cry came with a giggle.
Theodosia forced a smile. Stealing was not justice. She followed Joan and her children from the clearing, with a last glance back at the tree.
The branches still moved in the breeze, no longer waving her home. Instead, they pointed out that a sin had been committed.
Thou shalt not steal.
Palmer’s mouth dried. ‘Rosamund.’ He ripped his sleeve from the thorns. ‘Stop where you are. And stand still.’ He began to move towards her with careful, fast steps.
The rasping sound came again. The beast’s call.
‘Why such a gloomy visage? You look just like Geoffrey.’ She laughed at her own bold jest.
‘Quiet.’
‘Why—’
‘I said, quiet.’
She stopped dead at his sharp order. Only the rustle of wind in the trees filled the silence.
And then a long, low growl.
Rosamund clutched her cloak to her, her gaze darting right, left.
‘Don’t move.’ Palmer moved forward, fast, steady.
‘What is it?’ she whispered, pale.
Palmer glanced up.
The animal turned on the branch, making for the trunk. The ground.
Rosamund followed his look. And screamed.
The animal climbed down the tree head first in a fast, fluid motion.
Palmer charged forward. The time for stealth was gone. The creature leapt for Rosamund at the same moment he did. Palmer crashed into her, sending her to the ground under him.
The beast’s jump collided with his, shoulder to back. Its bulk drove his breath from his body as the creature glanced off him and rolled to the ground.
Rosamund screamed and screamed, fought to get out from under him in panic.
Palmer shoved himself up on one hand, fumbled for his knife. ‘Get away—far as you can.’
She scrambled for the bushes.
The leopard was back on its feet again. Its snout opened in a long snarl as it faced him, two daggers of teeth showing long in deadly rows.
It jumped for Palmer, its flight long and low.
He kicked upward, hard. His nailed boot thumped hard into its white stomach. It half-fell on him. A swipe from one powerful paw caught him on the forehead, his flesh ripping from its ready claws.
His sight swam, blood filling one eye.
The animal opened its jaws wide and ducked for his neck. Palmer yanked his knife up.
The creature yowled as the blade met its open mouth. Its head jerked back.
He struck again and again, anywhere he could puncture the spotted, muscled fur, kicking it hard as he did so. The leopard jumped back. It faced Palmer, spitting, snarling, blood from wounds on its mouth, its shoulder. Its tongue
rasped over its face, tasting it.
‘It’s your own, you devil.’ Palmer’s voice came like another’s.
Then the wounded animal turned and fled into the bushes.
He got to his feet. ‘Rosamund?’
The bushes parted and she crawled out, her long hair snagging on the bushes. ‘Help me, please help me!’
Palmer stepped over to her and pulled her to her feet.
Her face and trembling hands were scratched and cut, her cloak rent from a blow from razor-sharp claws. ‘Oh, my God. Benedict—you’re hurt.’
‘I’m still alive. As are you. We need to get out of here. Now. Before that thing comes back.’
Chapter Ten
‘It wasn’t me, my lord! I swear to you!’ Choked male shouts for mercy met Palmer as he neared the menagerie’s enclosures.
A wary guard came with him, armed with a hefty axe.
Palmer’s head pounded from the animal’s strike, and his own drying blood matted his hair. But with Rosamund returned safe to the palace, he had to try to find out what had happened. He’d given his account of the attack to the captain of the guards. A search was underway of the grounds to see if the animal was dead of the stab wounds Palmer had landed on it.
He entered the main gates, let in by two newly stationed armed guards. He rounded the corner to see Geoffrey strike another blow on the older animal keeper.
The small man slumped against a water barrel, one hand raised in an attempt to shield his pulped face.
Held back by another guard, the man’s son wrestled to break free. ‘My father has done nothing, my lord. Nothing!’
‘Then if not you, who?’ Geoffrey struck the older man again with a weighty fist, his sharp iron ring gouging the man’s flesh. ‘You are responsible for this place. Which of the idiots that work for you allowed this to happen?’
Stanton stood by, pale at Geoffrey’s work but paling more as he saw Palmer’s injured forehead.
The King’s bastard raised his fist again for a new punch.
‘Leave him.’ Palmer strode to Geoffrey’s side and caught his arm. ‘He speaks the truth.’
‘I thought you’d be snivelling at the physician.’ Geoffrey shoved him off. ‘Yet this is your business now, is it?’
‘I didn’t say it was. But this man and his son were working on clearing the land for the labyrinth earlier today. I saw them. The work started at dawn. I’ll wager the overseer could vouch for both of them.’
‘That’s where we were. I swear it,’ said the young man.
‘I will check your story,’ said Geoffrey. ‘And if it is not God’s own truth, I will have your tongues cut out. You hear me?’ He nodded to the guard that held the man’s son, who released him.
‘Yes, my lord.’ The younger man took hold of his dazed father, wiping blood from the older man’s face.
‘Do we know how the creature escaped?’ asked Palmer of Geoffrey.
‘I ask again: What business is it of yours?’ replied Geoffrey.
‘My business is working in these grounds at his Grace’s request.’ Palmer fought to keep his tone civil. ‘And there are many who could have been killed or injured today.’
‘Any of us,’ said Stanton. ‘Even his Grace.’ He caught Geoffrey’s glare. ‘Though he, of course, would have slain the beast.’
‘This fellow claims he found the outer gates open,’ said Geoffrey, ‘and the main lock to the leopard enclosure undone. The creature jumps against the bars all the time. You’ve seen it yourselves. It would have quickly opened the unlocked gate.’
Palmer looked to the man to confirm his account.
‘That is God’s honest truth, sir.’ The old man could scarce get his words out through his split lips.
‘This man has no reason to lie,’ said Palmer to Geoffrey. ‘You told me the beast killed his own son.’
‘No reason?’ Geoffrey gave a tight smile. ‘Have you never heard of revenge, Palmer? What if he released it so it could attack at will? Cause havoc and bring death to this royal place, as it brought death to his son?’ He tested one fist in his other palm as he eyed the cowering man again.
‘I think it was set free on purpose,’ said Palmer quickly, ‘but not for any reason this fellow has.’
‘Then what reason?’ Geoffrey’s full, scowling, attention was on him.
Stanton’s silent scrutiny too.
‘I believe it was another attempt on Rosamund’s life,’ said Palmer.
Geoffrey’s frown deepened. ‘And how did you come to that idea?’
‘Rosamund walked out with her servant this morning. I only took the servant’s place by accident. An old woman could not have fought off that creature. Anyone could have opened the enclosure unseen. The men who usually work there have been working on the labyrinth.’
‘You mean to tell me you’re accusing someone within the King’s own palace of such a foul deed?’ Geoffrey took a step towards Palmer. ‘What knave’s—’
‘I don’t know.’ Palmer raised his hands to calm him. ‘But it’s the most dangerous creature to release. Someone on the outside wouldn’t know that.’
Geoffrey snorted but stayed silent.
‘Sir Benedict could be right, my lord.’ Stanton stayed well back out of Geoffrey’s reach.
‘I might be wrong,’ said Palmer. ‘But I think it would be folly to discount the idea. And whoever is behind it, these men are innocent.’
Geoffrey’s gaze went to the beaten keeper and his son, then back to Palmer and Stanton. ‘How noble you both are, defending these peasants. You will have your reward.’
Stanton gave a delighted bow.
Palmer didn’t budge.
Geoffrey went on. ‘If that animal’s carcass is not found by nightfall, I will be leading a hunt for it after Mass in the morning. And your reward will be to ride out with me.’
Stanton’s face fell.
Geoffrey marched towards the exit without a glance back.
Some bloody reward. Palmer’s hand went to the throbbing gashes on his face and head. But he had a score to settle with the creature that had put them there.
Dawn light lit the stained glass windows of the crammed chapel at Woodstock Palace.
Palmer looked forward to breaking his fast soon. He’d not wanted anything to eat last night, with the pounding of his head wound driving him to seek darkness and quiet. A deep, dreamless rest had restored him, and he’d awoke hungry as a bear.
The priest sang his way through the endless Latin prayers, incense from the gold censers hung above him sweetening the air. So much gold. The large cross on the altar. The chalice the priest raised and lowered. Gold leaf on the altar panel, giving the brightly coloured scenes of Our Lady and her baby an extra glow. Yet the set of the painted Virgin’s head as she bent to her baby made his heart turn over. Theodosia had the same look for Tom, for Matilde. He hoped she could be strong when the prying questions came about where he had gone. You fool, Palmer. Fool for even thinking it. Theodosia had the courage of the fiercest warrior when put to the test.
And he had yet to pass his own test, to find who wished Rosamund Clifford dead. The would-be murderer might well be in this full chapel, devout on his knees as he planned evil in his black heart.
Palmer sensed eyes on him and looked to his right.
An unsmiling Geoffrey sat on a huge carved chair on a raised stone dais, dressed in fine dark-green bishop’s robes.
Geoffrey returned his gaze to the altar.
Robed he might be, but his actions were not that of a holy man. Like others Palmer had known. Doubt nipped at him, but he pushed it down. Henry trusted his bastard son. The doubt pushed back. Perhaps the King misplaced his trust.
‘Ite, missa est.’
Finally the three sung words Palmer recognised, ending the Mass. He got to his feet, ready to file out with the re
st.
A raised hand from Geoffrey stayed him. The chapel emptied quickly, and Palmer walked up to him.
‘We’ll be setting off on the hunt soon.’ Geoffrey stepped down from his dais and made his way to a wooden door set in the wall. He opened it, and called through. ‘Enter.’
Rosamund stepped into the chapel, her long hair covered with fine silk and soberly dressed. ‘My lord.’
Geoffrey pointed to the altar. ‘Go and give thanks to your God. And try asking for His forgiveness. Again.’
She walked past, eyes demurely lowered, her scent a match for the strong incense. She dropped to her knees before the altar and began quiet prayer over her clasped hands.
Geoffrey folded his arms and watched in sombre silence.
Palmer wondered why he had to witness this. ‘She could have prayed at Mass.’
‘I can’t allow her in the presence of the sacrament. She’s an adulteress.’
As Henry is an adulterer. He didn’t dare utter the words.
‘And until she repents and is forgiven, she cannot receive the Eucharist.’
Rosamund got to her feet, crossing herself before tucking her hands into a fur wrap. She met Palmer’s eye with a coy glance that didn’t speak of penitence.
Geoffrey shook his head. ‘I fear for your soul. Come.’ He led the way out through the main door.
The wide stone corridor echoed under their three sets of steps.
‘Your new rooms are satisfactory, Rosamund?’ asked Geoffrey.
‘They are. And so high up.’ She shot Palmer a pert smile. ‘I live in a tower now. Geoffrey has moved me to the one in the middle of the palace. He says I shall be safer there.’
‘Then maybe I do talk sense.’ Palmer dared a quick grin at Geoffrey.
He got the usual scowl in return. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Palmer. She’s under guard there at my command. Until the beast is caught.’
‘Then the hunt is on today?’ asked Palmer.
‘It is,’ said Geoffrey. ‘As soon as I personally see to it that Rosamund is out of harm’s way.’