Boadicea's Legacy

by Traci E Hall

  Ela poured more wine into Natalia’s cup, and since her ale was gone, she poured herself a cup too. “Oh?”

  “Geoffrey would be king after Richard—if anything had happened to him, and God knows the Plantagenets are not ones to shy away from trouble—which made Arthur a legitimate heir to the throne.”

  Her own throat dry, Ela drank deeply. Intrigue was thirsty work.

  “Geoffrey died.” Natalia closed her eyes.

  “In a tournament in France. I heard that he was trampled by a horse, my lady. My condolences.”

  She scoffed. “Trampled in a tourney? My Geoffrey? Never. Geoffrey rode like he and the horse were one.” Natalia leaned in, and Ela noticed the slight slur to her words. “I’ll tell you what he was doing in France—plotting another rebellion with King Philippe, that’s what. Those two were thick as thieves.”

  “Oh.” Well, treason and treachery. Ela had a sudden longing for the clean, crisp air in the forest behind her home.

  “The family takes care of its by-blows, I will say that. Richard and John—and never forget their mother Eleanor, that wily bird—always tossed a crumb our direction, but never anything that might gain us power. And Thomas …” She rubbed at her temple. “He was not charming, nor personable. He was never grateful. ‘Tis my fault, for always wanting more. I longed for security, but I taught him greed.”

  Thomas was an evil seed and teaching him all the manners in the world wouldn’t change that, Ela thought uncomfortably.

  “You would have been a stable influence. I had no idea that he’d heard the stories of you and your sisters. Magic and red hair. Descended from Merlin.”

  “Merlin?”

  “Aye, gossip. Romantic tales … he put the truth together faster than I did. Why else would Roger Bigod, High Steward of England, want a spear that guaranteed victory in war—unless he planned on overthrowing the rightful king and putting the Duke of Brittany—Arthur—on it?”

  Ela felt the blood drain from her face and pool at her feet. To hear such talk was poison, to spread rumors such as this was to ask for the hangman’s noose. “Hush, my lady. You’ve had much to drink, and you can’t say these things.”

  “Have you found the spear? I’ve been imagining myself as a fierce tribal queen, ready to fight for a true cause.”

  “No. I’d never heard of it, until Kailyn mentioned it, and Os. I think the earl has decided to stop searching.”

  “The Earl of Norfolk is sly. Almost as sly as Thomas. Since I’ve lost my ally, and aye, friend, in the Countess Ida—I am of no more use to my child. He’s cast me adrift, left to wander alone and without funds while he joins with King John against Roger.” Her dark eyes spilled over with tears. “What am I to do?”

  Ela was asking herself that same question. “For tonight, let us sleep. Things are bound to look brighter in the morning.” At least we will be able to see which direction to run …

  “I’ve no coin left for a room.”

  “There are none left, anyway. Share with me. My husband is guarding the horses this eve, and he has his knights to keep him company.”

  I am sincerely sorry for this, Osbert. Her honorable husband had no doubt already surmised that Lady Steffen would need a bed, and he would gladly give up his own half of the bed to a gentlewoman—even if said gentlewoman had spawned a demon.

  “You are very kind.”

  His wife had the heart of a shrew.

  Or at least he’d thought so, until his friends joined him in the stables with stew and ale. “What are you doing here?” He sat on the edge of a bale of hay, his cloak folded for a pillow.

  “Surly temper. Is that why you’ve been banished to the horses?” Albric handed over a foaming tankard of ale. “Compliments of your lady wife.”

  “She said she’s sorry.” Warin gave him the bowl of steaming stew.

  “Aye, and near choked on the apology.” St. Germaine glared at him as if he’d like an explanation—the quirked brow warned that it had better be good.

  “‘Tis none of your damn business. I’m a fool and learning my way around having a wife. I am used to traveling alone.” He gulped his ale, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Oh, ho.” Warin lifted his tankard in a toast. “Ye tried to tell her what to do, aye?”

  His brow furrowed, Os growled, “And did she tell you that?”

  St. Germaine grunted. “She said nothing but that she was sorry.”

  He’d been inside the stables, thinking of all the ways she was supposed to be treating him. “A man deserves respect from his wife—is that not true?”

  The three knights nodded and slurped.

  “He should expect to be obeyed when he gives an order.”

  They all three broke into loud chuckles.

  “What?” He glared, making sure each man felt the weight of his anger. “I don’t know why I am asking you, anyway. None of you have been married.”

  “For a good reason, eh?” Warin exchanged a glance with Albric. “Who wants to have to answer to a woman, day in and day out? I like me freedom. Nobody but my liege tells me what to do.”

  “I’d rather pay for a whore than keep on paying until death do us part for a wife.” Albric used his finger to scrape the last of the stew from the bowl, then popped it in his mouth.

  St. Germaine grunted—but it could have meant anything.

  “What happens when you fall in love?” Os regretted the words as soon as they fell from his lips.

  “Love?” Albric made kissing noises toward Warin. “Love is for idiots.”

  “Marriage is for security and land—such as what you’ve done. Don’t bring emotion into it, Os, or you’ll never be at peace.” Warin flipped the lid on his tankard and drank deeply.

  “Love makes a man weak.” St. Germaine set his empty bowl down by his feet.

  Os shook his head, frustration like a pounding hammer against his temple. Ela’s hands could soothe the pain, but Ela was a woman who needed to be taught her place. At least until he got her home and safe behind the keep’s walls.

  That decided, Os changed the subject. “How did you get to be here?”

  “We found Lady Steffen, limping along the side of the road and dragging her bag. Her rotten son set her out, and now she’s helpless.” Albric shook his head in disgust.

  “Dear God,” Os sighed. That meant Ela would offer to share their room, so it would do no good to go in and accept her apology … if he was so inclined, which he wasn’t. He shoved aside his uneaten stew. Ela was as mercurial as a child and had a compassionate heart. Their enmity would be forgotten in the face of Lady Steffen’s plight.

  He wouldn’t be surprised to find Lady Steffen coming home with them.

  Warin added, “We’ve heard rumors along the way that Thomas and his men have been setting fire to small villages as they passed. Random cruelty to livestock and abusing the girls.”

  “Raping and pillaging? De Havel is an animal, and he needs to be stopped.” Osbert got to his feet and paced ten steps to the left and ten steps back.

  “Warin said he’s on a ship to France, to find John and ask to be part of his army. The king is desperate enough for men that no doubt he’ll be hired on.” Albric picked at a piece of beef caught in his teeth.

  “We saw de Havel’s mercenaries head back toward the castle and Norwich—did you see them?” Os tapped the hilt of his sword as he walked to and fro.

  The three knights all answered no in unison. “But we arrived here separately,” St. Germaine said.

  Os rubbed his chin. “What do you mean?”

  “Albric and Warin came together from the castle. I spent two days visiting my mother. I caught up with them right after they found Lady Steffen.”

  “That’s right,” Warin agreed. “That doesn’t change the fact that we still didn’t see any mercenaries.”

  “Yea,” Albric said. “I would have enjoyed wetting my blade against their throats. I’m ready to go to France myself, just to take part in battle before I
forget how.”

  “There’s grumbling that the king is not quick about paying his men. I’ll stay here with the earl and steady coin.”

  “I thought you were all going to be my men? Why else did you come if not for that? And where are the other knights the earl promised me?” Os paced some more, his other duty weighing heavy on his mind. Could one of his friends be a traitor?

  His emotional answer was, never.

  St. Germaine rose to his great height. “I offer my sword for you. With thanks. And for pay.”

  “Don’t forget that, eh?” Albric grinned. “I volunteered to come and help you set up your home, but I have wanderlust.”

  “And bloodlust,” Warin pointed his tankard toward his friend. “And wench lust.”

  “Just as important as pay, that.” Albric shrugged. “I will help because you are my friend. But no promises once the keep is secure and your new knights trained.”

  Os looked at Warin. “And you? Do you feel the same? Or is it that you can’t bow your knee to me, your friend?”

  “You think that of me?” Warin stood abruptly, anger on his face.

  Os stilled as Warin stalked toward him with deliberate steps. He was surprised when Warin dropped to both knees and bowed his head. “There is no man I would rather pledge my sword to.”

  “Then get up, brave knight, and know that I am proud to have you on my side.” Os sat down and finished his ale. The night passed, and they talked of the future and glorious battles of the past.

  “Did you hear that King John will take a child bride?” Warin braided a few strands of hay together.

  “Aye. Barely a year into his crown and he’s lost allies and land. He’s not like his father.” Albric curled his cloak around himself like a cocoon and closed his eyes.

  “Or his brother.” St. Germaine made no secret of his admiration for Richard.

  “Which one?” Albric jested. “Geoffrey?”

  “What did Geoffrey ever do for the Plantagenet name?” St. Germaine huffed.

  Albric opened one eye. “He gave birth to a royal son. Some people think he would be—”

  “Careful.” Os gave the warning, but without heat. They were friends and should be able to speak their minds without censure.

  “What? Richard named him heir, before sneaking John forced him to give it up.” Albric sat up again and belched. “‘Tis not secret, that.”

  “Arthur has no love of England. He is French. The Duke of Brittany, no less.” Warin rolled onto his side, pillowing his head on his saddle. “It’s why the English people won’t follow him as they will John.”

  Osbert was counting on the fact that Roger Bigod, Earl of Norfolk and High Steward of England agreed.

  “John is our king, and as such, he has my sword. If that is a problem for any of my men, then they shouldn’t be my men. What do you know of the knights the earl is sending?”

  Warin and Albric roared with laughter.

  “What?”

  “He is sending you knights he finds … difficult.”

  “Albric’s being nice. The earl is sending ones that can barely stay astride. Why else do you think we didn’t want to ride with them? It would hurt our reputation.”

  Os smiled into the dark night, lulled to sleep by the sound of horses and men.

  Ela’s stomach-curdling scream woke him as if he’d never shut his eyes.

  Chapter

  Nineteen

  Os, Albric at his heels, leapt over the prone forms of Warin and St. Germaine. “Get up,” he said as he ran for the inn.

  He tried the front door, but it was locked. Os refused to let a piece of wood stand between him and his wife—especially when she needed him. Shoulder down, he lunged into the door. One time, two times, at the third lunge, the center splintered, and Os barreled through.

  Ela grasped the banister of the stairs, her uncovered hair a sea of braids. Her thick cotton nightshift shielded her from prying eyes, but he noticed that her feet were bare. Her green eyes were huge in her oddly pale face. “It’s Natalia—Lady Steffen. She’s dead, Osbert. Dead.”

  Logic and calm descended over him, as he’d trained himself to act in a state of crisis. “Where is the body?”

  “The body?” Ela’s chin jerked stubbornly. “Lady Steffen is … is … at the bottom of the servants’ stairs.”

  “Show me.” Os held out his hand for Ela’s. He saw her tremble, and it took all of his willpower not to scoop her into his arms and tuck her away. She wiggled her toes, as if the stairs were cold. “Do you need a robe, my lady?”

  “Nay.” She wrapped her arms around her middle instead of taking his hand. “I will show you …”

  The innkeepers, as well as the other guests of the inn, were now gathered either in the hall where the upstairs bedrooms were or down around the front steps. They all wanted to know what was happening and talked over each other so that Ela couldn’t be heard.

  Os whistled loudly, cutting through and demanding silence.

  “This way,” Ela said, leading the group toward the back kitchen area. She pointed to the still form on the stone floor, keeping her gaze averted. The innkeeper’s wife took one look and screamed, then quickly crossed herself.

  The kitchen maid, roused from her cot behind the pantry, came around the giant table, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She saw the crumpled body at the bottom of the stairs and immediately started walking in reverse. “What’s the matter with ‘er neck?” She brought her hands to her throat. “Why is everyone in me kitchen?” Her large bulk hit the chopping counter and she stopped, staring at the innkeeper. “Did ye see her head? ‘Tis on backward!” She broke into loud sobs.

  It was just what was needed to get everyone into motion. The innkeeper’s wife consoled the crying maid, while Ela came forward and knelt beside the body. “There’s no pulse, and she’s not breathing.” She looked up at Osbert, her eyes deep and dark green. “She has no aura.”

  Albric snorted. “Aura? What are you, some kind of witch that knows how to raise the dead? The woman broke her neck, ‘tis plain as that!”

  “No, Sir Albric, I do not raise the dead. However, I do believe in respecting them—which you could learn to do.” Ela bristled with irritation.

  Os kept his voice calm and even. “Enough. Albric, help me lay her out … carefully. Ela, do you know what happened?”

  “There were no rooms left last night, so I offered to share mine with Lady Steffen.” She glared at him, that stubborn chin trembling.

  He kept his expression passive, though on the inside he was punching Albric to the ground for being so insensitive. “When the men told me of Lady Steffen’s affairs, I assumed you would do as much,” he said.

  “I woke earlier in the night, to the sounds of her crying. I thought it would be kinder to let her shed her tears in peace. Perhaps I was wrong. Do you think she threw herself down the stairs? She was desolate, Os, just at her wit’s end.”

  “Sounds like it was an accident,” Albric said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Os also knelt down, leaning over the body of Natalia, Lady Steffen, to straighten her cloak. Cloak? “Why is she dressed for outdoors? I thought you said she was sleeping.” He patted down her pockets and pulled at the strap beneath her body. He tugged at it until it pulled free.

  “When she wasn’t crying, she was snoring. I was sleeping.”

  Ignoring Ela’s defiant attitude, he raised the bag and showed it around. “You will all bear witness to what I find inside.” Os unclasped the fabric bag and frowned. Lifting a long strand of pearls, he showed them to Ela.

  She gasped. “Those are mine.”

  Os exhaled, pulling out a few small rings that he’d also just bought for his new bride. Along with her coin purse. “You were robbed.”

  Ela defiance deflated. “I would have given her coin—I was going to ask her to stay with us until she found a home. I—”

  Simmering with anger, Os held up his hand and pulled out a vial of wolfsbane. “And in return for y
our kindness, she was going to kill you.”

  Ela sank to the floor, eyeing Lady Steffen’s corpse with new horror. “She brought me water. I didn’t drink it, because otherwise I have to”—she blushed—”you know. Oh! Henry!”

  He made the mistake of blinking, and Ela was gone. She raced up the thin set of servants’ stairs, exploding into the hall on the third floor. It took Os a second to follow. She headed for her room—her door was wide open. Os warned her to slow down. He felt a tingling on the back of his neck—something was wrong.

  She was already across the threshold when she called his name, then there was a loud crash. He couldn’t run fast enough. Sliding into her room, he saw her struggling with the window sash. “What happened? What are you doing?”

  Her hair fell over her shoulders in thick ruby ropes. “Somebody was in my room—and they jumped out the window before I could hit them with the candlestick!”

  “Let me see.” Os pulled her away and lifted the jammed sash with a tug and hard tap to the frame. It went up, and she was halfway out before he thought to pull her back inside.

  “Let me go!”

  “The person in your room is gone—tell me what you saw. Where were they? What could they be looking for?” Her body trembled—with anger, he knew now. Not fear. He rubbed her back just the same.

  They both looked at the few bags Ela had packed. They’d obviously been ransacked—but by whom? Lady Steffen, or the man who just jumped to his freedom?

  Ela marched over to the water glass and tossed the contents, glass and all, out the open window. “Take that!” She brushed her hands together, then took Os by the arm. “I have much to tell you. We are up to our ears in intrigue. You wanted no secrets between us.”

  A ding of guilt pelted his pride. Before he could tell her to not speak of such things in an open space, Warin and Albric were at the door.

  “Intrigue?” Warin nodded, his eyes speculative. “The Lady Steffen was murdered.”