by Dan Davis
“My precious woman?” I said, still laughing. “Is that truly what you think?” And I laughed harder though my heart ached.
John kicked the bars of my cage, his huge strength rattling the thing in its timber frame.
“You don’t fool me,” John said, blinking through his tears and the bars above my head.
“I would wager there is little that does not fool you, John the Bailiff,” I said. “You are as thick as two short planks. Is your great head no more than solid skull all the way through?”
He roared and kicked my cage again. The iron bars shook and shifted before settling back.
I wished to rile the monster further, hoping that he would inadvertently break my cage loose from its moorings. Instead, his fellow men drew him off, muttering about disturbing their lord and glancing at William’s door.
“You will bleed and bleed,” John said, his huge voice lowered to a rumble. “You will bleed for days and months and years and we will make an army from your blood. You will be in here when England falls. You will be in here when Ashbury burns to the ground. You will be in that cage until you are mad with grief and weak as a woman. You are nothing now, not a lord, not a knight. You are cattle.”
His men drew him away while John sneered down at me. Then they were gone.
All of them, they left me alone in that underground chamber with no one to watch over me and no one to watch over the other body. Tied to the table was their comrade, Tom the Cumbrian, covered in blood. His own was mostly outside his body, yet he had a belly full of mine working inside him.
The candles guttered and the room grew darker. The first thrill of the blood faded away and I sat and observed the body of the brute called Tom, wondering if he would ever awake and what he would be when he did.
William’s followers were a mix between his monsters, changed forever, and those who were not. No doubt, William would feed those who were not changed forever with his own blood when he wanted them to be strong for a short time. Perhaps he fed them from his own veins, on every Sabbath, just as he had decades before in the hills of Palestine.
I did not know how many of each type of follower William had in the lodge he named Eden but there were enough. With the group that had taken me in the village, the men who guarded the wall as I was brought in and the other faces I had seen in the overgrown courtyard and grounds, I would guess two or three dozen. Thirty or even fifty men, all brutes, some of whom were possessed of strength similar to mine. Some had been soldiers.
I prayed that Jocelyn would flee Sherwood, find William Marshal, the Regent, and beg him for a force large enough to take Eden.
But Jocelyn was not a man to back down from a fight. Not when the woman he wanted to marry was in danger.
Of course, Jocelyn would be certain of gaining victory. He was convinced that the moral rightness of a man’s character would endear him to God. Surely, a knight on a mission of such importance would receive God’s strength.
But then, Jocelyn was never very bright.
Just as I knew that he was sure to make the attempt, I also know an assault on Eden was doomed to fail.
Sure enough, as I slept curled in the bottom of my cage, he and the rest of my men hatched a plan. A plan destined to end in disaster and death.
***
“Tom? Tom?”
I woke. Some time had passed but whether it was day or night, I had no idea. Without sunlight, the measure of time is almost impossible. The candles had guttered but William stood on the far side of his altar table, leaning over the body of Tom.
Little John stood by William, holding up a lantern. Other men shuffled around the edges of the ornately carved room.
I had slept heavily and I ached from the prolonged confinement of my limbs. My back cracked as I stirred.
William patted Tom’s face.
“He is dead,” William said. “The true death. The final death. My brother’s blood did not work.”
All eyes in that cavern turned to me.
I yawned. “Good morning, my dear friends,” I said. “Which of you shall I kill today?”
The men did not like that and they stirred into anger.
“Perhaps,” Little John said, his rumbling voice hesitant. “Perhaps, my lord, his blood is not like yours after all.”
“Perhaps,” William allowed, his head tilted to one side. “But look at him. That man in that cage is fifty years old, thereabouts. Is that not proof enough of his blood’s potency.”
“I need a piss,” I said.
“Could it be,” John said. “That your blood can change another man, my lord, but Richard’s does not?”
William appeared thoughtful. “No,” he said. “It is the same blood. Our father’s blood. This time, it simply did not take. It has happened to me too, has it not?”
“It could be that he lacks the will to put his magic into the blood,” John suggested. “You, my lord, you wish us to be changed. And so we are changed. Our base bodies are transformed into the bodies of the sons of Adam, through your will. And that man in the cage does not possess that same will.”
William pursed his lips. “You could be correct,” he said. “But all we can do is try again. Get this lump of flesh off my holy altar. Cut him up and feed him to the blood slaves.”
“But—” John started.
“Bring my brother food and ale,” William said, glaring at John. “And blood. Then we will try his blood on another potential.”
William went into his chamber opposite my cage. John and most of the men left by the other door, carrying the body.
“I need a piss,” I shouted.
One of William’s minions jammed a bucket against the outside of my cage.
“Put it inside,” I said to the men. “I will stand as far back from the door as I can, I swear. I swear upon God’s bones. Upon the Christ’s Holy balls, you pathetic little bastards.”
They decided to not believe me so I pissed through the bars. But they did bring me bread and pork and ale and a cup of some poor soul’s blood. I devoured it all, praying for the chance to use the strength I would regain.
And then they dragged in Eva.
Rope bound her at the wrist. Her face badly bruised. Both eyes black and her nose broken. She wore no more than her shirt, black with filth and brown with blood. She shivered and when her eyes met mine they were full of a cold fury.
Little John yanked her to behind William’s altar and held her there. William and John loomed over Eva though she was not a short woman.
“Shall we try this again, Richard?” William said. “It is my belief that you will try harder to keep this woman alive than you did poor young Tom, who you had already murdered.”
“I am sorry,” I said to Eva, my face pressed to my bars. “I am sorry that I allowed you be caught up in this.”
Her eyes glared from her swollen face but she did not speak.
“You seem to believe very strongly in your importance, Richard,” William said. “But I would have taken her anyway, even if you had not been swyving her.”
William looked across to Little John.
“Now, my lord?” Little John asked, grinning.
“Indeed,” William said, glancing to me. “Bring in our latest guest. We would not wish him to miss this.”
There was a commotion in the hallway outside the room, coming from behind my cage. Raised voices, stomping feet.
The Archbishop of York strode in. Huge, angry, dressed in his colourful finery as a lord, not an archbishop. His massive belly snug under a blue coat.
Already he was roaring at William to release Eva.
“You fiend,” the archbishop shouted. “You black-hearted monster. How dare you do this to me? To me? You summon me as if I am your servant. My men have been seized at the gate and taken away by your damned brutes. How dare you—” He froze. “Eva? Is that my Eva? What is happening here? Good God Almighty, you release her you little shit.
“Ah, Hugh,” William clapped his hands together. “I am so glad you could join
us.”
“You fool,” the archbishop said. “You do not know what you have done. Release my girl, right now. And then we shall speak.”
“But of course,” William said.
He cut Eva’s throat.
William was so quick that even I barely saw it. He drew his dagger and slashed through one of the veins on her neck, beside her windpipe.
Eva clapped her bound hands to her neck. Blood welled through her fingers. Her knees buckled but William held her up, grinning at me.
I yelled and rattled the bars. “I will gut you,” I shouted. “I will murder every one of your brothers. I will burn Eden to the ground. You will burn in the eternal fires of Hell.”
Archbishop Hugh, himself one of William’s spawn, moved almost as quickly as William had. But Little John was there to stop him, charging from beside the altar to intercept. John was even taller, even wider than the archbishop was and he grappled the older man until more of William’s men could pin him in place. They held the big lord back while he roared and strained to free himself, his eyes bulging and veins standing out on his temples.
Eva stared at me in accusation. Her eyes filled with rage, sadness, and terror, her mouth working as she fought for breath, fought for life.
“Now,” William shouted over us. “Richard, perhaps you would be willing to honour this woman with the gift of your blood? We can cut you open again, or you can volunteer your blood freely?”
“Give me a knife,” I said, not caring that he was forcing my compliance and that I was giving it to him.
One of William’s men was waiting by my cage with a short, slim dagger. Two more of the men, one on either side, pushed their spears through my bars and held them near to my throat.
I sliced the knife through my wrist. It was sharp as a razor and, in my own keenness, I cut too deep.
Blood gushed out in a spurt. I had shed so much blood already in my life but the sight of it made me nauseated. I held my wrist to the channels beneath me. The blood pulsed, pulsed and covered my hand and filled the stone.
“What a good brother you are,” William announced. “I very much hope your blood works on this woman. If it does not then I will have no use for you. Perhaps I will keep you for myself, simply to drink from you. Perhaps I will feed you to the pigs.”
“It will work,” I said to Eva. “Drink from me and live.” More of my blood pumped from my wound.
Her knees buckled and she fell. Already her shirt was soaked, glistening and slick from neck to knee. William allowed her to drop to her knees and held her there with the fingers of one hand twisted through her hair.
“No,” Eva whispered. William had cut one vein but not her windpipe but I saw, rather than heard her speak the words. “No, please.”
“You will die if you do not,” I said.
“Eva,” the archbishop said, fear and compassion in his voice. “My dear. You will drink and you will become one of us. It is not so bad. Trust me, my dear, it is better than a mortal life.”
William’s men still held the lord, spears and daggers at the ready. Little John standing at his side.
“Actually,” William said, as lightly as if he were discussion the weather. “I have never made a woman before. I am far from certain that she will survive the giving of the gift. Woman is the reason it was taken from mankind in the first instance. We shall discover God’s will in her death or her rebirth.”
“She will survive,” her father said, eyes fixed on her blood as it soaked her shirt.
“Indeed, you will, my dear girl,” William said, clapping her on her shoulder. “Listen to your dear old father. Your life with us will not be so bad. You will never carry a child but from what I hear that would not suit a warrior such as yourself. Did you know, Hugh, that she killed three of Little John’s men when they took her and the Lady Marian from Tutbury Priory? Three. This woman.”
“And she cut Alf’s stones off,” John said, grinning.
“Indeed she did,” William said, smiling down at her. “Their first night as our guests, a couple of the acolytes could not control themselves and let themselves into the ladies’ quarters. Your magnificent daughter, Hugh, she took Alf’s knife and castrated him. John had to drain the screaming fool to shut him up. Ah, what a brother you will make, girl. Someone get a pail and collect this precious stuff before it has all leaked from her.”
While he spoke, I squeezed the blood from my wrist. It filled the channels and flowed down to the bowl.
Eva slumped forward. William allowed her to fall flat onto her face but his men whipped the blood bucket away before she knocked it over. Her head cracked into the stone floor and she lay still, dazed, weak. Dying.
William’s men lifted her body and stretched her out upon the table. She was drenched with blood. They bound her to the top at knee, hip and across her chest.
Little John filled the wooden cup with my blood and passed it William, who lifted it over his head.
“Dear God of Eden,” William began, his voice filling the crowded space, the echoes coming close, one upon the other. “The God of the Green. The God of the oak and the vine. The God of the rivers and the earth.”
“Just get on with it,” the archbishop said. “Spare us your sacrilegious, unholy nonsense.”
William’s men hissed at the archbishop’s contempt for their practices though they were absurd and confused and bordering on pagan. Nothing at all like the holy word of God.
Little John lifted Eva’s head and William poured the cup of my blood into her mouth. She coughed and writhed and I was sure she was drowning but William had judged the timing correctly. Eva gulped down most of the first cup and the second.
“Now we wait,” William announced. “It is in the hands of the God of the Green.”
“If she dies,” the archbishop said. “I will have you killed.” The big lord turned to me. “And you will die too, you thoughtless great oaf.”
“I tried to keep her safe,” I said, objecting out of reflex though I knew I had failed miserably.
“I was keeping her safe,” the man said. “I was keeping her safe by sending her with you. Do you not understand?”
I did not.
“You have been useful to me,” William said, tilting his head to one side as he regarded the archbishop.
“Useful?” the archbishop shook with emotion. “We have helped each other. It has been a fruitful alliance.”
“I have given you gifts,” William said, studying Hugh. “I have weakened your enemies.”
“And I have given you this place,” the archbishop said, gesturing at the room around us. “I have allowed you to take Sherwood for your own. You would be scurrying around in the gutter if it were not for me.”
“Is that how it is?” William said, pursing his lips. “And here I thought I had welcomed you into our brotherhood when I gave you eternal life? Instead, you have worked against me at every turn. You hold one hand out to me while the other you hold behind your back, holding a dagger.”
“Every bargain that we made,” Hugh said. “I have fulfilled.”
“Is that so?” William said. “Why, then, have you worked so hard to keep my brother Richard away from me?”
The archbishop glanced at me in my cage. “Yes. Very well, I sent him away to the Weald instead of sending him to his death, to you. Do you hear me, Richard? I tried to save you from your brother. When you defied me, I even had you bloody well locked up in that castle to keep you from blundering in here.”
“But why?” I asked. “Why would you try to save me?”
Hugh’s face twisted. “How can you ask me that? Have I not loved you like a son for these many years? Have I not defended you against your enemies? Why, he asks me. You ungrateful swine.”
“But why not tell me?” I asked, astonished. “You could have warned me that this was a trap.”
“I tried,” he said. “God knows, I tried. I could do no more. If I told you how I was in league with this man, you would have turned on me. You two h
ave this mad desire to slay the other. I sought only to keep you apart. And to keep my wonderful daughter from this monster. He heard about her, somehow, asked me about her. I knew I had to send her far from Sherwood. I had a mad hope that the two of you would run away together for good.”
I shook my head, disbelieving what I heard. “But why then did you send that man Little John to be my steward in my absence?”
“I sent no one, you fool,” Hugh said. “If I wanted to take your lands I would have done so. No, I meant to leave Ashbury in the hands of your faithful steward but this black-hearted monster sent his blood-guzzling slaves here to wait for your return. It was that man there, not I. No, not I. They call you the Bloody Knight. They should have called you the bloody fool.”
I felt winded, as though I had been thrown from a horse. I clutched the bars, my muscles straining as I attempted to prise them apart. The man was right. I was a fool.
William laughed at us. “Your concern for my brother is very touching. Truly, I am almost overcome with your fatherly assistance. Nevertheless, Hugh, you betrayed your word. Where was your love for me, Hugh? Me, who made you into a son of Adam. I became your father. You should have been faithful to me. And you will suffer for your betrayal, oath breaker.”
“And you also lied to me,” Hugh bellowed.
“Never,” William said, feigning that he was offended. “My word is iron.”
“A lie of omission, then. You never told me that once you turned me into an immortal, I would father no more children,” the archbishop shouted.
William threw his head back and laughed. “How many bastards did you have already? I thought you would be grateful. You could shoot your seed into as many girls as you like, until the end of days, and never be troubled by another unwanted child or its needy mother.”
“I love my children,” Archbishop Hugh said. “I wanted centuries to father a thousand of them.”
William laughed in his face. “My dear Hugh. How can this gift be otherwise? Richard and I were given the gift of eternal life but God took our seed from us. It is the same with everyone that I make. Of course, he takes it away. The only way we can make children now is by making more men like us. You, Hugh, you ask too much of God. And, more to the point, you ask too much of me. You have served your purpose. And now you will die.”