Into the Dim

by Janet B. Taylor

  BEFORE I COULD ASK EXACTLY WHAT I DIDN’T KNOW, voices sounded outside the door. Collum stiffened, but Eleanor hustled to open it herself. William Lucie rushed in, cradling someone in his arms. She was hooded and cloaked, but I would’ve known her anywhere. Pain struck low and hard when I saw the coarse ropes knotted around her ankles. The severed ends swayed as she struggled weakly in the soldier’s arms.

  “No,” my mother whimpered. “Take me back. He’ll punish me again. I said I’d be good. I swore it. Please . . .”

  The queen stepped forward, her voice glacial. “What is the meaning of this, Captain?”

  He laid my mother gently on a chair draped with soft animal skins and pulled back the hood and cloak. Her eyes were red rimmed and wild as she slumped there, dressed only in a long white shift.

  William dropped to one knee to address the queen, his kind eyes pinched in pity. “I found Lady Babcock in her chambers, as you said, Your Grace. Her guard is dispatched. The lady had been most ill-used. Bound to her bed and . . .” A disgusted exhale through his nose. “She’s been scourged, Your Grace. Her back is naught but a shredded mess.”

  Phoebe’s hands covered her mouth. I wanted to run to my mother, who cringed and huddled over her round belly. But my knees had turned to water and my lungs to empty paper sacks.

  Eleanor stiffened in outrage. “What? And she with child? This will not stand! Not in my kingdom.”

  My mother’s weak voice filtered to me. “Celia told Babcock the baby wasn’t his. That he’d been cuckolded. She watched while he did this to me. If the baby was a boy, he said he’d drown it in the river and lock me in my room until he got another on me. Take me back, please. Don’t you see? She’ll tell him I tried to run. She’ll come after Hope.”

  Bran, suddenly at my side, gave a moan and dropped his head in his hands.

  “Sarah. Sarah, listen to me.” Collum’s voice was so tender as he knelt down before her. “Hope’s here. She’s safe. And we’re taking you to Lucinda. We’re taking you home.”

  She shook her head violently. “No! If I do as she says, she’ll leave Hope alone. She swore it.”

  Mom rocked forward. The cloak puddled around her hips. And I sucked in all the air in the chamber. All the air in the world.

  “No,” Bran whispered.

  I closed my eyes, but the image was imprinted forever inside my lids. The back of my mother’s shift had been ripped to the waist. The pale, freckled skin beneath was scored with dozens of torn, bloody lash marks.

  My mother cried out as the air hit her raw flesh. I stumbled across the room and dropped to my knees beside her as Phoebe moved to the other side.

  “What do we do?” My gut rolled at the blood seeping from the rips in her skin. “We need Rachel. She’ll know—”

  The chamber doors burst inward. Collum whirled and stumbled back as Thomas Becket sauntered in. Four members of the black-clad city watch formed a line behind him, dragging the limp body of Eleanor’s guard, his chain mail jangling. Hate, white hot and pure, surged inside me when I saw the pale blond head of Eustace Clarkson move up next to Becket and shove a bound Rachel to her knees. Shuffling in at the rear was Wilifred, the old serving woman who’d been so enamored of Becket back at Baynard’s Castle.

  “It’s as I told you, Father Thomas,” she said, pointing at me. “The girl is here. And I saw this Jewess and Captain Lucie myself, embracing in the hallway less than an hour ago.” She sneered down at Rachel. “Blasphemer.”

  William’s hand was at his sword. He’d had eyes for no one but Rachel since the second they’d entered.

  Thomas Becket clapped his hands in delight, then gave the simpering servant a pat on the shoulder. “You may go now, madam. I also thank you for bringing this sacrilege to my attention. A Christian and a Jew in carnal relations. The laws against this are clear, and they will both pay the price.”

  Eleanor glided across the room, her face flushed with outrage. “How dare you burst into my chambers, you trumped-up clerk! And you”—she loomed over the now-cowering Wilifred—“you will live to regret this.”

  The serving woman paled under the queen’s furious scrutiny. She bunched her shoulders as if warding off a blow and hustled out of the chamber.

  I stared at Rachel, tears prickling my eyes when I saw the fresh bruise that marred her delicate cheekbone. Her yellow veil was missing and blood trickled from a swollen lower lip. Yet she appeared so serene, so poised. When her gilt eyes met mine, I gave a sharp nod, letting her know we’d get through this. Somehow.

  “The bloody rat bastard,” Phoebe muttered in Becket’s direction.

  “Enough!”

  At Becket’s shout, Eleanor advanced on him. “When my husband hears of this . . .”

  “Oh, but I suspect he will not hear,” he said with a condescending leer. “For if he does, will you not have to explain how two of your servants committed treason?” As he skimmed across the floor toward our little group, he pointed at Collum. “And that you concealed a thief under his very roof?”

  Becket’s men moved up behind him as he flipped the hood back from Collum’s face and stepped back. The queen stiffened, but Hectare reached for her sleeve and pulled her down to whisper in her ear.

  “And”—Becket’s saturnine smile widened as his gaze sharpened on me—“that you parley secretly with the French as well?” He pivoted toward the queen with a bark of laughter. “Oh ho, milady. I think His Grace would be most interested to learn of the company you keep, don’t you?”

  The queen paled, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Without a sound, Bran moved to Collum’s side. With only the briefest hesitation, William Lucie joined them, creating a wall between Becket’s men and the rest of us.

  “Madam,” Becket said, “you have taken an item presented to our king by the Jews of London. A jeweled dagger.”

  I forced myself not to look at the bag at Collum’s waist.

  “His Grace doesn’t realize the value of the blade. He believes it naught but a pretty bauble. I’ve convinced him to gift it to the church.”

  “Oh really?” Bran muttered through clenched teeth. “You claim the dagger belongs to the church. Yet I know you promised it to Lady Alvarez. Which is the truth?”

  Thomas Becket studied Bran. “Ah, the traitorous son. Your mother will be most pleased to see you.” A fanatical light shone in Becket’s eyes. “Lady Alvarez is blessed with holy prophesy. I’ve seen the evidence myself. This dagger holds an object of great evil. One cursed with pagan magic. Only Lady Alvarez can take it from here and destroy it.”

  “Priest.” Sister Hectare pushed herself up on wobbly legs. The queen rushed to support her old friend. Frail, her back bowed, the little nun shook off the queen’s arm. Exuding a magnificent dignity, she hobbled across the floor until she was standing directly before Becket. Her wavering voice gained volume and strength as she proclaimed.

  “‘Then the Lord saith unto me, the prophets prophesy lies in my name: I sent them not, neither have I commanded them, neither spake unto them: they prophesy unto you a false vision and divination, and a thing of nought, and the deceit of their heart.’”

  Fury ignited Becket’s gaunt features. With a movement too quick to see, his arm reared, striking the small, fragile nun in a backhand blow to the face that sent her reeling to the fur covered floor. Crossing himself, he hissed down at her prone, crumbled form. “Witch! You dare quote scripture to me? Our God has blessed Lady Alvarez with the gift of true sight.”

  Teeth bared, Bran took a furious step forward. “But you are the only fool who believed her.”

  Becket glared at Bran for a long moment. Then, lifting his chin, he mastered his rigid control.

  He snapped his fingers as the thugs ranged behind him. “Search them, and bring me the dagger. I must away to the king. Secure the others in the Tower, but return Lady Babcock to her chambers.” He made a mocking bow in my mother’s direction. “I’m sure her husband would have words with her upon his return.”

 
Mom whimpered, cradling her round belly. My jaw clenched so hard, I thought my teeth would shatter.

  Eustace Clarkson mumbled something to the priest. Becket glanced down his long nose at the kneeling Rachel. “Yes, yes,” he said, dismissively. “You may have the Jewess for a time. Do what you will. Then she goes into a cell with the others.”

  A throaty, animal rumble came from William as Eustace stroked Rachel’s hair. With a sweeping bow in his queen’s direction, Thomas Becket slipped to the door.

  “Becket.” The queen knelt by her barely conscious friend. When she spoke, her voice sounded raw, dangerous. “We are enemies now, you and I.”

  “Your Grace,” he said quietly, “do we not already walk that path?”

  As Becket opened the door, the queen of England slowly got to her feet. “Priest,” she called. Regal and brilliant and cold as the moon in her fury she said, “The day will come when I shall see your blood spilled for this, Thomas Becket. This is my vow.”

  Tiny hairs prickled on the back of my arms as Bran and I exchanged a stunned look.

  Had we changed history, or only aided in its inevitable outcome? If we had never traveled here, would Henry still one day call for Becket’s death? Or had we only changed the catalyst which would drive Henry to murder, pitting wife against friend? I had no time to process this. Eustace Clarkson had dropped the heavy beam across the door. Collum reached for the plain, serviceable blade Bran had procured for him. Bran withdrew his curved blades, while William lunged forward and seized Rachel’s tied wrists. With a twist, he wrenched her to her feet and flung her in my direction. I caught her, and in seconds Phoebe had sawed through Rachel’s bonds.

  William ripped his sword from its scabbard as Eustace Clarkson’s eyes followed Rachel. When he yanked a heavy gladiator blade from his belt, the tendons in Collum’s neck went tight.

  “That sword,” he said, “belongs to me.”

  Eustace grinned, little baked-bean teeth showing between his thick lips. “Then come and claim it, thief.”

  The world held its breath. Though dozens of candles lit the room, not even their tiny flames dared to flicker. I looked to the queen, who held the barely conscious Hectare in her arms. With a hiss of hatred, William Lucie launched himself at Eustace.

  While Eustace parried the blow, Collum and Bran engaged the other guards. Sparks erupted where steel met steel. A table tumbled over. A writhing mass of limbs bashed into one of the large braziers, sending it hurtling to the ground. Red-hot coals skittered across the floor and smoked on the animal skins.

  Eleanor dragged Hectare away from the fray, protecting the old woman as she shrieked for her guards, calling for help that would not come.

  “Hope!” Phoebe raised my mother to her feet as the clash of blades filled the room. “We have to get Sarah out of here. Now.”

  “What?”

  I ripped my gaze from the fight to see my mother staring at me with terrified eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  “What are you talking about, Mom?”

  “There’s . . . there’s something I should’ve told you,” she said.

  Too distracted by the battle being waged only feet from us, I didn’t have time for confession. I waved her off. “It’s all right, Mom.”

  “No, Hope,” she urged. “You must—”

  She cried out and bent double, hands white-knuckled on her bulging stomach. Beside me, Rachel made a low hum of distress. Jerking on my arm, she drew my attention to the floor beneath my mother’s feet.

  I looked down. What I saw nearly sent me to my knees. There, spreading across the flagstones, was a growing pool of pink, watery fluid.

  “Mistress Hope,” Rachel said. “The babe, it is coming.”

  Chapter 39

  NO. NONONO. NOT THIS. NOT NOW.

  A shout jerked my attention back to the other side, where Bran had just sidestepped one of the guards. With his lithe cat’s grace, he spun and brought the hilt of his weapon down on the back of the man’s skull. The man dropped like a bag of sand. Collum was slashing furiously at a red-haired giant, who battered at him with superior muscle power.

  Bran ran to Collum’s aid, and the two of them worked in tandem. The brutish guard leaped forward to smash a chain-mailed fist into Bran’s left side. Bran yelped, and dropped to a knee. Seeing his advantage, the giant rallied. Driving toward us, he slashed and beat at Collum, who seemed to be tiring, his movements going sluggish.

  Phoebe snarled, struggling to draw out her throwing blades. One arm still around my mother’s waist, she flicked one of the knives through the air. It whistled past Collum’s ear. The giant stumbled back, then slid down the wall, blood bubbling around the small blade protruding from his throat.

  Both boys turned to Phoebe, Bran’s eyes wide in admiration. When Collum heaved him to his feet, Bran gave a low whistle and told him, “Remind me not to get on your sister’s bad side, mate.”

  Across the room, the queen knelt near the bed, shielding Hectare’s body with her own, while Collum and Bran joined William who was battling the last, ferret-faced guard. They were winning, and I allowed myself a tiny bit of hope that we might get out of here after all.

  But I’d forgotten about Eustace, who’d stayed by the door on the edge of the fray. Before I could call out, he dashed around the battling men and bolted across the room to where we stood near the far corner. He wrenched Rachel from our midst. Drawing her back up against him, he set the edge of his sword against her throat.

  “Stop,” Eustace called out. “Or I slit the Jew’s throat.”

  The boys’ attention wavered for only an instant. But it was enough. Like a striking cobra, the final guard bashed the hilt of his sword across William’s neck. Before William even hit the ground, the ferret whirled and, with a meaty thwack, buried his blade in Collum’s upper arm.

  With a furious shout, Bran whipped his sharp curved blade up and brought it down where the man’s shoulder met his neck. An arterial jet of jewel-red blood arced through the air once, twice. Then the man’s beady eyes rolled to white, and he crumpled sideways to the floor.

  Jaw set, Collum wrenched the embedded sword from his own arm. He swayed but didn’t go down as Bran helped a staggering William to his feet.

  With two of his guards dead and the other still unconscious, Eustace now backed nervously toward us as a united Bran, Collum, and William advanced on him. His cheek twitched and I could see the beads of sweat that pocked his pale scalp as he held the sword across Rachel’s throat. Blood flooded down Collum’s arm, dripping off his fingertips. In the low light, I could see him blinking too fast.

  Shock. He’s going into shock.

  “Coll!” Phoebe yelled.

  “Back up, or I swear I’ll kill her,” Eustace snarled, candlelight glinting off the links of his chainmail.

  It was a standoff. If the boys moved, Eustace would kill Rachel. Of that I had no doubt.

  But we’d run out of time. Sunrise was only hours away, and if we didn’t make it to the glade, it was all over.

  I had to do something. But what? I skimmed the room frantically, trying to find a way that didn’t involve getting some of us killed.

  No way out. There’s no way out. At the very least he’ll kill Rachel. I can’t let that happen. Oh God, what do we do?

  Phoebe edged up beside me, slender blade in hand. Leaning close, she breathed in my ear, “If all else fails, stick them with your knife.”

  I nodded my understanding. The guys couldn’t chance him hurting Rachel. It was up to us. And we’d have to do this together. By itself, Phoebe’s tiny blade was no match against armor and sword.

  With a few gestures, she indicated her plan. I shook my head, still not trusting my own ability with the blade in my boot. Instead, I snatched up the heavy silver candlestick off a nearby table. Scorching wax splashed over my hand as the thick taper fell to the floor and spluttered out.

  Phoebe smiled, mouthing, Even better.

  Eustace was so close now we could smell his greasy
hair and the rank oil he used to polish his armor.

  A muscle twitched beneath Bran’s eye. He saw what we meant to do but didn’t take his eyes from Eustace.

  With a slow exhale, I raised the heavy candlestick to my left shoulder like a baseball bat.

  Just a little closer, you barbaric freak.

  Phoebe darted forward, jabbing her blade toward the man’s armpit, the one place the chainmail didn’t protect. As Eustace jerked and gave a surprised grunt, I swung the candlestick at his skull.

  I was off. Too low, and the angle was wrong. Still, the solid mass of metal smashed into the side of his neck and face. There was a sickening crack, like a chicken leg snapped in two.

  Eustace went down, crushing Rachel beneath his weight.

  As Phoebe crowed in triumph, a clump of bloody hair slimed down and crawled across my knuckles. I shivered and flung the stick aside as cries and the sounds of a struggle came from the other side of the door. Eleanor’s eyes found mine. She gestured to Collum and shook her head. I understood. She knew who he was now. And knew what would happen when the castle guards got into the room. There was no way we’d get out in time. The queen would back us up. But even she could do nothing once the authorities recognized Collum.

  William dragged Rachel from beneath Eustace’s bulk. He hugged her fiercely to him. But at Collum’s low moan, Rachel pulled back, patted William’s cheek, then raced to Collum’s side. She pressed a wad of cloth to his arm. When the blood soaked through too quickly, she muttered under her breath.

  “Rachel?” I begged as, out in the hallway, something slammed against the thick door. “What do we do?”

  Chewing her lip, she rifled through her supplies. “There’s no time to stitch. Only one thing will stop the bleeding.”

  Our eyes met. Hers flicked to the brazier. My stomach lurched, but I nodded. “What do you need?”

  “Take the poker and bury it in the coals. Make certain it is red hot.”

  Rachel became a whirlwind. Using clumps of something that resembled moss and spider webs, the girl applied pressure to the gaping wound until I returned with the glowing poker.