Ripples in the Chalice: A Tale of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 2)

by Adam Copeland

  “I figured Teodorico would be ambitious and ruthless in obtaining what he wants, but employing such people to obtain something holy is... grotesque. Throughout the journey to Jerusalem, this particular army has been called the Company of Bad Men, which became, as jest, the Company of Bad Boys. They have been more accurately called, the Company of Lost Souls. Last I heard, they have been called a combination of all these: the Company of Lost Boys. There is no doubt in my mind they will burn down Greensprings, murder every man inside, and rape every woman.

  “They are led by a...” Patrick paused, his vision blurring a moment as he searched for the right words, “...a particularly brutal man by the name of Philip der Rhinelander. He is a disgraced knight who had been excommunicated until he successfully participated in the siege of Jerusalem.”

  The room fell quiet. When he had nothing more to add, the knights cleared their throats and pondered the news.

  “Well, we knew we were in for a rough time,” Corbin said at last. “We should count ourselves fortunate. The more we know about them, the better off we are.”

  “How is it you know so much about this particular band of mercenaries?” Mother Superior asked Patrick.

  Patrick took his time, swallowing hard before looking into her eyes.

  “Because I was one of them.”

  The collective gasp that rose in the chamber reflected the shock in Mother Superior’s face.

  “I don’t believe it,” Father Hugh said.

  “Nor do I. Surely you mean you had to associate with them as a crusader is all,” Sir Corbin added.

  Patrick shook his head as he hung it.

  “I was not always the man you see before you today,” he said, “and though I was not the worst of them, I was one of them. I was lost for a time. A lost soul. A Lost Boy.”

  “But how? How is that possible?” Mother Superior asked.

  “Getting lost is easy,” Patrick explained. “All a boy needs to head down the wrong path is to go on crusade because a girl hurt him. Then, because you are a foreigner who doesn’t speak any of the languages very well, the leaders of the Crusade throw you into a crowd of ruffians and scoundrels because they don’t know what else to do with you. After a while, those ruffians and scoundrels are the only ones who treat you well. The only ones to accept you. They become your brothers. That’s how.”

  Despite the shame and bitterness in Patrick’s voice, Mother Superior’s gaze turned kind and compassionate. She reached over to touch his forearm.

  “You won’t have to worry about associating with them now,” Corbin assured Patrick. “We have enough men and supplies to defend the keep. We only need to wait them out before help comes from either England or the pope. I am of half a mind to take the battle to the field, if what you say is true they are mostly bandits and criminals—I’d put any Avangarde against any two average knights, and against any five common scoundrels.”

  Patrick shook his head gravely. “According to Brother Ambrosius they number well over two thousand, and even their common foot soldiers were uncommonly vicious. Their core cavalrymen are capable knights. After all, I was one of them. As for waiting them out, we had better pray that help does arrive because this Philip understands siege warfare. He played crucial roles in the fall of Antioch and Jerusalem, and those were tougher nuts to crack than Greensprings.”

  “Then we are indeed fortunate,” Corbin said, smiling and clapping Patrick on the back, “because we have you to tell us every move this Philip will make.”

  “Yes,” Patrick conceded tiredly, “and Philip knows it.”

  #

  The enemy advanced on Greensprings the following morning. Patrick went to command Fletcher to assemble the archers on the walls, but Corbin stopped him.

  “No need—they come under a white flag,” he said. “They are not rushing the keep, and there appears to be a group in front coming for a parley.”

  Skeptical, Patrick mounted the walls with Corbin and what seemed like half of Greensprings. Indeed, the enemy had assembled a fair distance from the walls, but Corbin spoke true: no ladders or any other siege equipment. In front waited several mounted men, one bearing a white strip of cloth dangling from a lance.

  Even at this distance he could see their armor. Allowed to oxidize to a black color, it consisted of a mixture of chain mail, leather, scale, and the occasional plate. Helmets and shields had no standard shape or size. Though the arms and armament did not match, they were quality: the best pickings of the battlefield. Their outer garb carried no visible emblems or heraldry, the absence of which served just as well as any coat of arms to mark their allegiance.

  They were armed: swords, maces, pikes, halberds, spears, cudgels, hooked bec-de-corbins, and every type of axe imaginable. They carried something else, too. Something small in their hands. These they raised to the keep walls and shook violently, creating a discordant jangling that sounded like Hell’s orchestra tuning its instruments.

  “What are those?” Sir Jakob said, eyes squinting at the little objects.

  “Spurs,” Corbin replied simply.

  “Spurs?” Jakob said, making a face, “why on earth would they shake spurs at us?”

  “It’s a taunt. It’s their way of saying they know Greensprings is full of knights and they don’t care. They’re still going to kill us,” Patrick answered.

  “How does shaking spurs tell us that?”

  “Where do you think they got all those spurs from in the first place?” Patrick pointed out, raising his eyebrows.

  “Quiet, someone is coming forward to talk,” Corbin hushed. “I’m certain it’s the man who killed the wagoner.”

  One of the mounted men, the larger one not holding the white flag, approached the gate. Chain mail wrapped his meaty forearms, which were exposed from under a great cloak similar to the sort Patrick wore. Though just as dark as his men’s, his mail had a certain sheen to it, as did his visored helmet. The sun caught a wide mouth and strawberry-blond goatee as he looked up to his gatehouse audience.

  He studied them long and quietly before removing his helmet and hanging it on the pommel of his huge broadsword. On his other hip coiled a whip.

  “What a fool,” Sir Josef murmured. “Who removes their armor on the battlefield?”

  “He’s showing he’s not afraid,” Patrick murmured back, eyes fixated on the man on horseback.

  Corbin hushed them again as the man peeled back the coif of his armor to reveal blond hair fashioned into a bowl cut. Peering up at them was a round, weathered face with a scarred right cheek.

  “Greensprings!” he called in a booming voice heavily accented in German. “I am Sir Philip der Rhinelander. I know there is one among you who knows my company. You must know by now what we are capable of. His Holiness Pope Theodoric urges you to reconsider your position and enter into negotiations to surrender the girl and the cup.”

  “We have no doubt Teodorico will take the girl and the cup and still turn you loose on us,” Corbin called down, refusing to refer to Teodorico as a pope. “So the answer is no. You can take that message back to him.”

  “And you are, good sir?” Philip asked, raising his hand to his eyes to shield them from the morning sun.

  “Sir Corbin, Steward of Greensprings,” Corbin replied.

  “You are not the one I was hoping to talk to,” Philip said, searching among the row of faces lining the walls. “Patrick! My brother! Where are you? Show yourself!”

  Patrick leaned heavily into Corbin and grabbed his arm to steady himself. Once steadied, he leaned forward and responded to the mercenary.

  “I’m here, Philip,” he said in an almost whisper, but his voice reached its target just the same.

  “Greetings, brother.” Philip smiled, though no warmth filled his voice. “I see you’ve filled out nicely. Good. You are going to need your strength.”

  “Corbin is the one you need to talk to,” Patrick responded flatly. “He is the one who makes the decisions.”

  “There wil
l be plenty of time for all of us to talk,” Philip returned, locking eyes with the Irishman, “unless you insist on refusing the pope’s offer. Personally, I hope you reject his offer as that would give me the opportunity to exercise my talents.”

  Corbin was still preparing a retort when Patrick leaned into his ear and whispered, “Take the offer to negotiate. It will buy us time, plus we may learn something new. It is as you say—the more we know, the better off we are.”

  Corbin nodded curtly and called down to Philip, “Tell Teodorico we will meet him for talks.”

  “Very well,” Philip replied. “I will tell His Holiness to bring his silly little tent and you can discuss matters with him within walking distance of your gate. However, His Holiness insisted on one condition for any discussions.”

  “Oh, what might that be?” Corbin asked, incredulous.

  “His Holiness feels there is only one among you worthy of having dialogue with a pope,” Philip explained “He will only negotiate with her.”

  “Her?” Corbin asked.

  “The Lady Katherina is bona fide royalty,” Philip continued, “and Pope Theodoric feels she is not so tainted by recent events as the rest of you. His Holiness will not waste his time with excommunicants and followers of false popes.”

  Corbin shrugged. “As he wishes. Bring forth his tent.”

  Philip bowed slightly in acknowledgment and turned his giant horse. Before leaving, however, he looked over his shoulder and addressed Patrick.

  “I always said you looked good in black.”

  #

  Katherina fidgeted with the lapis lazuli brooch on her white dress, taking deep breaths without trying to look obvious about it.

  “Are you sure you’re up for this?” Patrick asked her while they waited for the gate to open. Katherina’s throat contracted as she swallowed hard, but she held her head high and smoothed out the front of her dress.

  “I’m quite ready, thank you,” she replied.

  “You’re perfectly safe.”

  The iron portcullis rattled upward, and it made Katherina jump.

  “You will have six Avangarde with you, and you will be within bow-shot of a hundred Aesclinn archers. They don’t miss.”

  Katherina nodded. The drawbridge descended. Beyond was a white cupola tent with fluttering pennants. Teodorico sat in his throne-like chair, surrounded by soldiers in a mixture of red and black garb. Her stomach knotted at the sight of the old man. Powerful old men made her uncomfortable, and the pressure of her mission to draw out negotiations as long as possible made her sick.

  “Thank you for this, my lady,” Corbin added. “Every hour we can delay an attack on the keep is one more hour for a rescuing army to come closer.”

  Katherina nodded again and set off across the bridge of the rocky chasm that separated Greensprings from the plain.

  A lifetime of protocol and palace life had taught her the importance of projecting confidence. Therefore, she made every effort to walk with chin up, back erect, and hands held gently together in front of her as she strode forward with an entourage of six Avangarde: six knights whom she had requested for their height. To that end, Sir Corbin, Sir Patrick, and the hulking Sir Bisch walked on one side of her and Sir Brian, Sir Waylan, and Sir Edmund on the other. Their silvery mail and helmets glinted in the sun. They carried only their sheathed swords as weapons.

  Before they reached the canopy, the Lady Lilliana approached them. Sir Edmund moved to bar her path, but Katherina admonished him. “It’s quite all right, Sir Edmund. She is my friend.”

  “As you say, my lady,” Edmund replied, and stepped back into his position at her side.

  The women embraced and kissed and continued to the meeting spot arm-in-arm.

  “I’m so sorry it has come to this,” Lilliana said.

  “I know,” Katherina responded, patting Lilliana’s arm, “but the world is a big place and things beyond our control often happen in it.”

  “You still can take control,” Lilliana whispered, looking side to side. “All you need do is agree to hand the girl and the cup over to Teo. If it is her safety you are concerned about, know that she will be with me as much as with him, and I will protect her. Or, if it pleases you, she can stay in your charge and you can be her protector. Teo would not dare harm her, especially if you become his liaison to the Orthodox Church. Not only can you save your friends here, but you can make the world a more peaceful place.”

  Katherina’s back stiffened and a whirlwind of doubt stormed behind her eyes. Uncertainty nagged at her. Would Teodorico just go away if he got what he wanted? Would Greensprings, with Father Hugh, Mother Superior, Jon, Willy, Trent, Patrick, and all the rest be allowed to live? Could she save them if she decided to agree? What would really become of Chansonne then?

  They neared the canopy where Teodorico sat.

  Lilliana added, “I know you’ll do the right thing.” She squeezed Katherina’s arm and slipped away, taking a place among the entourage.

  Among them, Philip der Rhinelander was holding a staring match with Patrick. The sheer fierceness of the display of bravado unnerved her, but she tried not to let it distract from her duties.

  “Your Eminence,” Katherina said, bowing.

  “His Holiness,” Victor corrected, scowling.

  The antipope tsked. “Now, now, we are all friends here, hmm? We are just having a friendly chat, and she is about to tell me what Greensprings has to say after they’ve had time to think about... recent changes, hmm, yes?”

  Katherina drew herself up, preparing to respond, but paused when Lilliana caught her eye. The woman’s amber eyes silently urged her to consider her next words.

  She did.

  “I’m afraid those in Greensprings—we in Greensprings—are compelled to keep the girl and the cup,” she said, looking Teodorico directly in the eyes. “The cup will only allow itself to be held by the girl, and the girl has made it perfectly clear she does not want to leave Greensprings.”

  Teodorico’s eyes flared and his lips formed a hard line. He glanced to Lilliana, whose expression fell to one of profound disappointment.

  “Young lady,” Teodorico addressed Katherina, “I want you to consider very carefully what you are saying, hmm? This is not a game. Many people are going to die unless you do as I say, hmm, yes? Now, be a good little girl, run along, and GET ME THE GIRL AND CUP.”

  Katherina stiffened at the condescension. Heat rose in her as she realized Teodorico had never intended any real negotiations. She took her time responding, using the technique Lilliana had taught her. She pictured Teodorico as a rat with a twitching nose. A grin spread across her lips.

  “No,” she said pointedly, “I made myself very clear. Surely, someone who prides himself on having control of a situation should see I am not about to repeat myself.”

  “Y-y-you petulant child!” he raged. “I-I-I should put you over my knee and spank you for your insolence!”

  “We can make that happen, Your Holiness,” Dragonetti said, taking a step forward. “I say we take her now.”

  In a flash, the Avangarde closed ranks about the princess with swords drawn, forming a black pincushion about a white spindle.

  Katherina did not move; instead, her fingers calmly formed a steeple as she pointed them downward, creating what looked like a dove held in her pale hands. She regarded Teodorico, who labored to control a fit coming over him. A spasm rendered him speechless and breathless.

  Meanwhile, like a stubborn and ignorant dog, Dragonetti did not take the hint to stay away from Katherina, even after Patrick tapped the Italian’s chest with the tip of his sword.

  “Sir Patrick, I’m going to enjoy—” Dragonetti started to say, but Philip grabbed a handful of the guard’s cape and yanked him back.

  Dragonetti turned to strike whoever had dared to touch him, but backed down when he saw who had done the deed.

  “Why are you stopping me?” he growled.

  Philip didn’t bother to face the guard, but kep
t an unwavering glance on Patrick. “I’m saving your life.”

  “E-e-enough!” Teodorico cried, finally managing to gain a measure of control over his paroxysm. “I am a man of my word, hmm? I said no harm will come to them, and so none shall for now, but as God is my witness, I will burn Greensprings to the ground! So go back to your death trap. See if I care, hmm, yes?”

  “Are you certain of that, my lord?” Katherina asked, tempting him back into dialogue.

  “Yes, quite certain, hmm?” Teodorico snapped. “May God have mercy on your soul, hmm, yes?”

  Katherina bowed and turned to leave.

  “However, consider this, hmm?” Teodorico called to her back. “Lady Katherina, your mother still resides in Rome, hmm, yes? When I am through here, it will only be a matter of time before I’m recognized as the only pope, and I will run Paschal out of Rome and his protection of your mother will come to an end, hmm? Your uncle will pay handsomely to have her returned to him, where he will give her his own kind of justice, hmm, yes?”

  Katherina stopped cold in her tracks. After a brief moment, she turned back towards the gloating old man, the confidence in her face wavering.

  Teodorico stood. “You remember your uncle, hmm, yes?” He took a step forward, reaching the rope that held his robes in place, toying with it. “He would like to see you too, I’m sure, hmm?” he said. “Perhaps I’ll instruct Philip here to save you from destruction, just so I can send you back to your uncle and his loving embrace, hmm, yes?”

  His wrinkled hands toyed again with the belt about his waist as he subtly thrust his hips. Her heart skipped. She wanted to respond confidently, cleverly, but found herself strangled by fear. Her uncle’s touch spread like a spider crawling along her spine—the memory of it was the same as the real thing.

  Only Lilliana had known. It was she who had told Teodorico her secret.

  Anger rose in Katherina and the confidence that had evaporated slammed back into her frame with righteous indignation.

  “My lord Teodorico,” Katherina addressed him icily, “my mother has survived better men than you, as have I. Your threats ring hollow with me. As for your success here at Greensprings? It is gravely premature and before all is done and said, it may very well be your head that will rest on a stake. Now, good day.”