“Why don’t we take to our horses? We can outride them,” Rosalind whispered. “Isn’t that why the king gave them to you?”
“Outride them?” Randolph’s brow lifted. “Aye, perhaps. But we’ve no way of knowing that there aren’t more of them out there. If we ride out over these moors, with no cover, anyone could sight us. And we could be lured straight into a trap.” He sank down, his face pressed against the rock. “Where did you go while we were meeting with Lancaster, Lady Rosalind?”
I pulled back on the bowstring and aimed the point of my shaft straight at Randolph’s head. “I’m of a mind to let loose on you for even thinking that, let alone giving breath to it.”
“What a grievous impulse that would be. Put your arrow to better use, James. There’s someone coming at us now.”
I stepped up on a low rock and peered above the bigger one. Scrambling over the dark hillside, a form skulked. Quietly, I jumped down, then crept alongside the boulder and leaned out from it. The boulder was to my right and so I had to expose more of myself than I wanted to.
Like a wolf on the attack, the man ran at me. His legs wheeled rapidly over the barely lit ground, sidestepping every stone and clump of grass with the nimbleness of a hill sheep. I gripped the belly of my stave, pulled tight, and waited. He let out a yip, as if signaling the rest of the pack to join in the kill. I honed in on the sound and released my arrow. The shaft ripped into his throat, drowning his cry in a gurgle of foaming blood. He staggered, fell forward, kicked in agony. Thrashing, he rolled down the hill. By the time he came to rest in the swale at the foot of the hill, he was no longer moving.
Behind me, Rosalind squealed and dropped to a crouch. A shadow leapt over the lower boulder at Randolph. He slashed wildly with his sword. Hand to hand, they struggled as the attacker tried to wrest the sword from Randolph’s grip. I nocked another arrow, but it was too hard to see, they were too close. I dropped my bow, pulled loose my sword. But before I could engage our foe, Rosalind had picked up a fist-sized stone and smashed it down hard on his left foot. The howl he let out was pause enough for Randolph to slam the butt of his weapon into the man’s jaw and send him reeling backward toward me. The wretch never saw the point of my blade coming as it gored his liver and exited his front side. Then I wrenched my blade free. The man fell dead at my feet, face down.
When I glanced at Rosalind, she was shaken, but not shocked.
Randolph gave a pert nod of thanks. “There are more.”
“How many?” I said.
“One at least.” Randolph nudged the dead man away with the toe of his boot. “Somewhere over near where the first one came from. If there were many more they’d have fallen on us all at once and taken us. Highwaymen, judging by their lack of device. Trained soldiers would have done a better job of it. Just the same, if they’ve any notion of who we are, or that we’re Scots, there’s a price on our heads worth their effort. So stay here, keep the lady safe. I’m going to ride the last one down.”
I would have told him he was mad had I thought it would do any good. In a bound, Randolph was on his horse, slapping it hard on the rump and racing laterally along the crest of the ridge and then up and over it. The pounding of hooves ceased as blade struck blade.
I wiped the flat of my sword against my leggings, staining them. From the small sheath at my hip, I took my father’s knife and handed it, handle first, to Rosalind. She grabbed at it without hesitation. Then, above the sounds of combat, came the rumble of feet over the heathery ground. I leapt on top of the low rock and saw, coming from opposite directions, two men, brandishing their weapons.
“More,” I warned.
Rosalind wedged herself into the tightest corner she could find and squatted, the knife grasped white-knuckled in both hands. I jumped to the tallest boulder, luring them toward me with a taunt.
“Come on then! Two dead already. Where’s the challenge?”
But only one came at me. The other went straight for Rosalind.
My assailant flew at me, his sword raised high. But I had the higher vantage point and when he levied his first swipe, I had but to step backward to avoid it. Agile and determined, he scurried up the slope. As he sought to gain balance, I ducked low and swung. My blade cut sideways and dug into his knee. The surprise sent him toppling backward in a flurry of waving arms. He hit the ground and I leapt on top of him. With a telling flick he started to swing his sword upward at my leg, but I crushed his wrist under my boot. With one shove, I drove my blade into the soft of his belly.
When I turned, Rosalind was being held tight against the chest of her attacker. White hair, shorn unevenly, stuck straight out from his head. He laughed cruelly and pressed the sharp edge of his sword against Rosalind’s smooth neck. I made a step toward them, but he pressed it harder, making a clear indent across her flesh. She mouthed the word ‘no’ at me, then looked down. I followed her eyes and there, the blade tucked up against her forearm and the handle hidden in her palm, was the knife.
His lip lifted in a sneer. “The king will pay dearly for her.”
I held my arms out wide. “Tell him she’s not worth whatever it is he’s promised you. Cost me my last shilling, she did, and even that was too much to pay for her ordinary favors. So I’ve no quarrel with you. Have her yourself. You’ll toss her aside erelong.”
He gave me a puzzled look at first and then changed to one of wicked triumph. I took a step back and as I turned to go, the knife in Rosalind’s hand bit deep into his thigh. He roared in agony. Rosalind sank her teeth into his arm. His sword fell to the ground with a ‘clank’. She tore from his hold and came to me. In her hand, she clutched the bloody knife.
“You should have tried stealing the horse instead,” I told him. “I would have let you go then without a fight. The horse was worth fifty shillings. Idiot.” Without further thought, I punched the tip of my blade through his padded jacket and into his gut. He died with a gasp, toppling to the earth, my arm following the blade still buried in his intestines.
I let go of the weapon and took Rosalind in my arms. Her heart beat wildly against my chest, leaping and pausing before taking up its erratic rhythm again. I slowed my breathing, listened, raised my head to the fading stars of the night sky.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“Nothing. I don’t hear anything.” We stood there together, holding each other, the three fallen bodies lying close by, another lifeless in the heather beyond. We listened, but we heard no sign of Randolph or the fight he had taken up. Carefully, I freed my sword. Then, holding Rosalind’s hand, I peered out over the heather as the first sliver of dawn lit the eastern horizon.
There, over the ridge, hobbled Thomas Randolph. He limped toward us on foot, a scowl of disgust twisting his fine lips.
“Where’s your horse?” I asked him.
“Two of the bastards.” He snatched the flask tied to my saddle and sank down on his haunches next to the boulder. “One of them dragged me down while the other stole my good Irish horse. The thief between them was greedier than he was loyal. He was gone that fast. The other, though, was a fair opponent.” He drank deep and long, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I see you had hard work. Well, no time to waste. We can’t take a chance on the one who got away leading others to us.”
“Rosalind can ride behind me,” I said. “You can have the other horse.”
He looked from one to the other of us, then nodded. Rosalind bent down to look over his wounds.
“Can you ride?” She slid her fingers below a small cut on his forehead and wiped the thin trail of blood from it.
He scoffed, took another drink. “Certainly.”
“King Edward sent them after us,” I said. “But it’s you and I, Randolph, who were marked for dead. They wanted Rosalind alive.”
We rode north as fast as we could with no sleep to be found or food in our stomachs. My horse was slowed by the extra rider, being a horse meant for speeding over the open and not for carrying extra weight. It was ne
ar to three days before we reached Lintalee and there we rested well before readying to return to Edinburgh.
I paused on the steps above him, just outside the double doors to my hall. A fresh horse had been readied for him. “I’d go with you, but –”
“Stay, James. Rosalind needs a strong arm to guard her. I’d say she was as much hunted as we are.”
A guard of ten men waited at his back, so that he could carry his message to the king in all safety. “Then you have no suspicions of her anymore?”
“I do, actually, but none of that matters. You don’t, James, and you’d do everything in your power to defend her. I’m not sure what it is between you, exactly, but I’ll give you time to figure it out.” He lifted his hand in farewell and took to his mount. “I’ll see you again when duty calls. Until then, take good care of her.”
Randolph’s riding party disappeared along the wooded trail. The song of birds filled the forest as they danced limb to limb in the dappled sunlight. When I turned to go back up the stairs, Rosalind was looking at me from the open doorway.
“A shilling?” Her mouth curved in a pleasant line. “I do hope you were jesting when you said I was only worth a shilling and your horse was worth fifty.”
I went to her and lifted her chin with a finger. “I’ve no idea,” I said, placing a light kiss on her lower lip. “Though you may prove me a liar, if ever you wish to. Now, you still owe me an answer.”
“I’m here, aren’t I? What more answer do you need, James Douglas?”
Ch. 20
Edward II - Pontefract, 1322
Lancaster and Hereford. In union with the Bruce. I had suspected it even before the aborted siege on Berwick. Now I knew.
Hugh Despenser and I rode at the head of a large contingent past Baghill and through the south gate of Pontefract. The morning had dawned in rare brilliance. Even the flies, it seemed, were too content to be a bother.
“I feel ... omnipotent – like Zeus throwing lightning bolts to smite my enemies.” I glanced at Hugh beside me. “Is that blasphemous of me to say?”
“It is.” His mouth curved into a wicked smile. “But what a glorious feeling it must be. They defied you, Edward. They’ll now receive their due: Lancaster, Mortimer –”
“Phhh, the queen insisted on sparing his life. Went to her knees. Tears, wailing like a –”
“Mortimer? Why?”
“Because he gave himself up willingly.” Last year, the barons had forced the exile of Hugh and his father. In January, Sir Roger Mortimer, along with other Marcher Lords, rose up in rebellion. The same old argument had surfaced that they had used during Piers’ time: that I had disregarded the Ordinances and allowed Hugh undue favors. Rumors were that Lancaster was treating with the Scots and had plotted to take part in the uprising, as well, but at the final hour, he had turned coward and stayed home, leaving Mortimer and his aged uncle to fend for themselves. Starving and with soldiers deserting them daily, the rebels surrendered at Shrewsbury. Had it not been for Isabella’s pleas, Roger Mortimer, his eldest son and his aged uncle would have been hanged and quartered. Instead, they would live out their natural lives in the Tower – unless some untimely misfortune or malady befell them. Entirely possible. Meanwhile, I recalled Hugh to my side and set my hounds on Lancaster’s trail. Sir Andrew Harclay engaged him at Boroughbridge. And won.
“Harclay will receive a vast reward. Only,” – I ran a fingertip over my lower lip in thought – “it’s such a shame Hereford didn’t survive the battle, too. I would have liked to have seen him grovel for mercy alongside Lancaster.”
“And the queen has not pled for his life?” Hugh asked with a delicately raised eyebrow.
“Her cousin he may be, but sometimes blood ties are not enough.” I smiled at my triumph. Soon, all my troubles would be gone. Vanished like winter snows under an ardent spring sun. “After so long, everything is finally going in our favor.”
“As it should, my lord. As it should.”
In the barbican outside the porter’s lodge, we dismounted. Hugh and I strolled into the castle yard and made our way to the round tower that stood at the western entrance.
Before we ascended the tower stairs, I waved our escort back, stepped through the door and pulled Hugh inside for a word.
“My dear Hugh,” – I touched him lightly on the cheek, drawing my fingertips down over the slight stubble on his face until they rested beneath his jaw – “Lancaster signed his death warrant when he forced me to banish you. Please, know that I was only biding my time, waiting for the proper moment to levy a punishment upon him. It will not happen again. You will not leave me – now or ever.”
He lowered his eyes and in the same moment turned his face toward my hand so that his breath curled inside my palm. “You have him now.”
“Yes, and as I live and breathe I swear he will not get away with one whit more.” I moved my hand to his shoulder in a firm grip of reassurance. “His wickedness will end ere the sun sets this day.”
“Will you ... make an example of him?” His eyes sparkled with the glimmer of revenge. Whatever grudge he held on Lancaster for sowing envy in the ranks toward him, my grudge was a hundredfold that: for the undermining of my birthright, for the murder of Piers. I could not allow Lancaster to live if even the slightest possibility remained that he would one day do the same to Hugh.
“A very fine one. And he will not be the last. You will attend to hear the charges?”
He moved back toward the doorway. “I regret not. Confront him on your own, Edward. Let this be your moment.”
“Call on me an hour before sundown. Lancaster’s case will be heard and decided by then. Together we will revel in our triumph.”
***
I sat in the Earl of Lancaster’s own chair in the great hall of Pontefract Castle. Six days past, Sir Andrew Harclay had met and defeated Lancaster and his co-conspirator the Earl of Hereford at Boroughbridge. Hereford died most ingloriously when a spear pierced him from below as he tried to flee over the bridge spanning the river.
A hobbling Thomas, Earl of Lancaster, was prodded at sword end the length of the hall. Before the dais, he fell to his knees. The gilded rays of a March sun stabbed down through high windows, warming the peers who had gathered at my bidding to witness the flaying of a traitor. Flanking the aisle, there stood a throng of nobles – among them my younger brother Edmund, in his fine furs and golden chains; Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, whose loyalty to the crown since my sire’s time had earned him high offices; and the Earls of Surrey and Arundel, shaking their heads at the misfortunate fool before them.
My chief justice, Robert de Malmesthorp, began by informing Lancaster that he was not permitted to speak or enter a plea. His treason was a known fact. He had been present at and instrumental in the murder of Piers Gaveston at Blacklow Hill. Mocked me from these very walls as we retreated in defeat after Bannockburn.
Malmesthorp continued on. “ – letter found on the person of Humphrey de Bohun, Earl of Hereford, bears evidence that there was both collusion and intent to form an alliance with one Robert the Bruce of Scotland. That said letter did contain a direct invitation to the Scottish rebel to cross over into England in force and bear arms against Edward, King of –”
The presumptuous bastard had put a leash around my neck and I would now hang him with his own device.
Those who reach for the sun burn when they grasp it, Cousin.
Tilting my crown so it sat more imposingly forward on my head, I gazed upon Lancaster. Felt no compassion for him. No pang of love, remote or real. Only a yearning to bring this chapter to its natural conclusion. To take the breath from him. To stop the blood from coursing through his body. To look upon his corpse and know that this was the day I could truly begin to live and rule as I desired. As God intended.
I ran my fingers over the threads of my brocaded robe. From the corner of my eye, I saw Lancaster’s body jerk and stiffen as he took in the chief justice’s final sentence:
; “ – shall show no mercy upon him. Our lord sovereign, in regard of Lord Thomas’ noble descent, waives two of the punishments, that he shall not be hanged and quartered, but executed by beheading.”
For the first time that day, I met Lancaster’s eyes. His countenance was blanched, his eyes bloodshot. The lines that edged every fold in his guilty face were as deep and dark as chasms to the underworld.
“Edward!” He reached forward with both hands, palms up in a gesture of humility. “Mercy, I beg, as our Heavenly Father would wish you to –”
“Plead your case with Him, Cousin. I am the law of the land and the punishment for your crimes has been meted out. If you have sins to reconcile, you will meet Our Lord soon enough.”
***
When Hugh arrived at my chamber door, I beckoned him to the window.
“There,” I said, standing aside so he could have the better view. “Do you see St. Thomas’ Hill in the distance? The castle yard would have been more convenient and expedient. But I remembered the name of that hill. Couldn’t resist the irony.”
The execution party had just arrived at the hill’s summit. The journey there had itself been a public trial for Lancaster. The verdict delivered in a hail of stones and pigs’ rumen.
From a velvet-lined box of carved cherry wood, I gathered the long gilded chain from which dangled a lion pendant, its eyes afire with rubies, its paws clenching four milky pearls. Hugh looked from the window.
“A gift – for my most loyal.” I held the trinket up for him to see, but he appeared more observant than impressed. “Given to me by the King of France on my wedding day.”
“Ah.” His brow lifted slightly. A smirk tilted his fine mouth. “Not a Plantagenet lion, then?”
“Oh, it is. One of many. But it is the most treasured one of all.”
He clasped his hands behind his back, feet braced wide, and bowed his head. I slipped the chain over his head. The pendant fell to one side and I nudged it to the center of his chest with a single finger.
As I went to pour Hugh and myself goblets of fine French wine, he caressed the facets of the jewels with his thumb.
The Honor Due a King (The Bruce Trilogy) Page 23