Radcliffe was confused, anguished. He looked to Christopher and beseeched him. “My lord, my father served John and Henry. I cannot betray that legacy. I do not want to be involved in saving the lady; I simply came to tell you so someone else could.”
Christopher could see that the man was unable to think beyond his oath. He could not see the good and the bad of the situation and truly believed that in coming to tell Rhys, he had done all he could to assist the lady. “Radcliffe,” he said quietly. “Help Rhys and I will accept your oath. You will become an honored knight within my corp. You are too honorable to serve men such as Clifford and the king. Serve with those who want to see a true and great England. If our plans hold true, you will serve the Queen herself. Will you do this?”
Edward was torn; that was clear. He thought about Lady Elizabeau and how kind she had been to him. She had been kinder to him than anyone ever had. She did not mock him or make sport of him, or distain him like most others. He realized that she was the only friend he’d ever had, a pitiful circumstance considering she was caged and had no choice but to speak to him as her jailor. But he had warmed to her nonetheless and she to him. He adored her in a way that a brother would adore a sister and nothing more. There was no romance to it; for the way Edward had been his entire life, there never could be.
He knew he could not let his only friend die. The man she loved was asking for his help to save her. He knew that he must, above all else for his duty was that of a knight and he had taken an oath to protect the weak and helpless long before he had taken an oath to the king.
“Very well,” he murmured in resignation. “I will do it.”
Christopher nodded to Lawrence, standing beside him, who immediately went on the run for de Wolfe. Edward de Wolfe hadn’t come out with the rest of them because he had been ordered to remain in the hall and protect the occupants of the keep. As Lawrence mounted the steps to the keep two at a time, Christopher turned back to Rhys.
“We move the army out after you leave, with or without de Braose’s five hundred men,” he said. “We will tear through this weather and lay such a siege to Ludlow that God himself will be fearful.”
Rhys nodded. “If nothing else, it will shift their focus from the execution, hopefully delay it entirely. At least until I can get to her.”
“We will do our best to create such a distraction.”
There was nothing more to say; the wheels of something big and critical were in motion. With a lingering glance at Edward, still sitting on the ground, Christopher turned with his men and made his way back to the keep. Rod stood up, brushed the snow off himself, and extended a hand to Radcliffe. Edward looked at the hand, confused, before realizing it was meant to help him up. Hesitantly, he took Rod’s hand and the man yanked him to his feet.
With a lingering look at the strange new knight, Rod followed the rest of the men into the keep, leaving Rhys and Edward standing alone. Rhys seemed lost in thought, still dazed from the information. But the longer he stood there, the more focused and determined he seemed to become.
“How is she?” he finally asked.
Edward was startled by the sound of his voice when it had been so silent between them. He scrambled for a quick reply. “She… she is well, my lord. She is comfortable and well.”
“She has not been harmed at all?”
“Nay,” Edward shook his head. “She has been treated with respect. Even when she tried to escape.”
Rhys looked at him, then. “She has tried to escape?”
“Four times.”
That brought a smile to Rhys’ lips and he shook his head faintly. “I would have expected nothing less. She is a strong, cunning woman.”
“My lord,” Edward took a step towards him timidly. “There is something the lady made me promise to tell you should she not survive.”
Rhys smile vanished, his expression taut with the horror of that thought. His nostrils were flaring. “She will survive,” he rumbled. “But what is it?”
Edward didn’t get too close; he didn’t want the seemingly edgy man to snap at the news he was about to deliver. “She says to tell you that her love for you has grown by the day and her joy in the child she carries has made her entire life worth living. She will die a happy and fulfilled woman because of your love.”
Perhaps no one thought it was possible for Rhys to get any paler, but he was indeed. He grew positively ashen and he stared at Edward until the knight became uncomfortable with the brilliant blue eyes boring into him.
“She… she is with child?” he finally managed to stammer.
Edward nodded. “She kept it hidden well. I only just learned of it. It has made her rather sick to her stomach but in general she is healthy enough.”
Rhys tried to stay on his feet. But with his current mental state and the weight of the news, he ended up on his knees. Concerned, Edward bent over him.
“Are you all right, my lord?” he asked.
Rhys shook his head. Then he nodded. He reclaimed his feet slowly. “My Dear God,” he breathed. “Is it true? Is it really true?”
“It is,” Edward said, watching him closely. “Am I to understand that you did not know?”
He shook his head and almost lost his balance again. “I did not know,” he whispered. “My God….”
“Then I do not have to tell you how important this is,” Edward insisted quietly. “Not only will she lose her life, but the life of the child. They do not know she is pregnant although I doubt it would make any difference.”
Rhys was struggling to compose himself, struggling to keep a thousand horrific thoughts from his mind. “Nay, it would not,” he breathed. “It would make no difference at all.”
Edward watched the man as, with shaking hands, he wiped a gloved hand over his face. He studied him closely, far more intuitively than most men would have. But then again, Edward was not like most men.
“The lady and I spent many hours speaking, simply because there was nothing else to do for either of us during her captivity,” he said softly. “I know that she is to marry a prince.”
Rhys looked at him. “She told you that?”
Edward nodded. “It was something I already knew. Yet she spoke of it so sadly and I never understood why until she confided in me about the child. The prince will not want her now.”
Rhys studied the man with the soft manner; there was something in his words, his tone that reminded him of a woman. There was gentleness there. But he didn’t give it a second thought; his thoughts were full enough of Elizabeau and the child she carried. Their child.
Of course, he understood fully the implications of a pregnancy. He was no fool, not even in his current mind set. He knew that all eyes would look to him and condemn him, including de Lohr. He and Elizabeau had discussed this very scenario not long ago and all of the horrors related to it. He would not relive it in his mind again, because no matter how well he understood the repercussions of such a thing, it did nothing to erase the naked joy he felt at the news. He felt as if he had been suddenly reborn.
Turning on his heel, he marched towards the keep with Radcliffe behind him trying to keep up. Edward alternately stared at his surroundings and at the knight before him; du Bois was a colossal knight that looked like a barbarian with his untamed black hair and dark beard, but he had the most brilliant blue eyes that Edward had ever seen. And he could see, quite clearly, that the man was absolutely dedicated to the lady. He could just see it in his expression, his manners; everything about him. Edward was secretly glad; he would have killed the man had he been anything other than utterly devoted to her. Any resistance in agreeing to rescue her would have resulted in death.
Radcliffe felt much better about the situation as he followed Rhys into the keep. Perhaps now there was truly some hope.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was quiet towards the late afternoon around Lioncross. With Christopher at his wife’s side and their children with them, most of the earl’s men were taking a brief moment of r
espite before the battle looming in the very future.
In the meanwhile, de Braose’s five hundred men had arrived before noon and were situated in the enormous bailey. Rhys had left with Radcliffe a few hours before, riding hard for Ludlow Castle with a beautiful missive scribed by de Wolfe. Conrad and his men, being strangers in a strange land, had segregated themselves away from the English and congregated in the solar to make their own preparations for the coming battle.
While his men rolled a pair of die and gambled in a game of chance, Conrad sat near the lancet window that overlooked the bailey and so many English troops, contemplating his future. He had made his offer to du Bois and de Lohr but had not received the response he was looking for. He was deeply concerned that his offer would be refused and he would be forced to marry Lady Elizabeau. The earl and du Bois seemed more focused on their duty than anything else, a quality that Conrad admired but one that he found frustratingly unbending. As the days passed, the more he wanted to marry Carys and return to Saxony to live out his life of wealth and privilege. He did not want to marry a woman he had never seen, one who would give him the throne of England. He didn’t care about the throne. He only cared for Carys.
Conrad was gazing from the window with his increasingly morose thoughts when he caught sight of one of de Lohr’s knights riding from the stables. He recognized him as he rode towards the gates, only donning his helm as he passed through the great portcullis. Then he watched the man dig his spurs into his charger and thunder off into the snowy twilight. The knight seemed to be in a terrible hurry.
Conrad turned to his faithful men, men who had followed him a thousand miles and faced a thousand perils on his behalf. They were closer than his family and the more they spent time in this foreign land, the more closely they all bonded with each other. They were, in essence, their own little sovereignty in this violent English land.
“Where do you suppose de Lohr’s knight is going?” he asked in his Germanic tongue, to anyone who would listen. “We ride to free the princess tomorrow. Do you suppose he has gone to scout Ludlow?”
One of his generals, the short man with the bushy mustache named Eeric, answered his question.
“We were not aware of any such plans,” he replied. “The earl has made sure to inform you of every step he takes.”
Conrad frowned. “But he sends a man to scout and does not inform me? I do not think I like it.”
Eeric put down the tankard of ale in his hand and stood up. “What would you have me do, my lord? Shall I confront de Lohr with this offense?”
Conrad scratched at his scalp, his temper cooling after a moment. Now they were simply going through the motion of things, the rescue of a woman he did not want to marry but whom Rhys du Bois wanted very much. It wasn’t the fact that de Lohr sent out a scout and did not tell him; it was the principal of the situation. The earl should inform him of every step in his process to retrieve the princess. He didn’t want to find himself somehow betrayed.
“I do not wish to be uninformed of anything the earl is up to,” he said after a moment. “Surely the man will not mind if I send out a scout to follow his scout.”
Eeric fought off a grin as he hissed at the nearest man, the tall and blond general who commanded the escort party. At home they called him Geist, or Ghost, because he was tall, pale and wispy. He was also Conrad’s cousin and privy to everything the prince was. After a few brief words, the blond general understood what was expected of him and slipped from the solar. Conrad and Eeric watched him as he exited the keep and headed for the stables.
So did David, sitting in the great hall. He just happened to be passing by a window that had a nice view of the northern half of the bailey which opened into the stable yard and saw clearly when one of the prince’s men slipped into the stables. Curiosity made David motion to Edward de Wolfe, who went to join him at the window.
David pointed to the entry to the stable yard. “I just saw one of Conrad’s men enter the stables,” he said casually. “What do you suppose that is all about?”
Cup in hand, de Wolfe watched the vacant scene outside for a few moments. Nothing moved as he stood there and watched, creating disinterest in David’s question. “Perhaps he was going to check on his horse,” he replied, about to turn away. “Come along; we’ve a fine game of chess going. Max Cornwallis is about to crush his opponent.”
The lure of Max crushing anyone was too good to pass up; the man was more brawn than brains and anytime he was winning was cause for celebration. Just as David turned from the window, Conrad’s knight thundered out of the stable yard and towards the front gate. This time, Edward caught the motion as well and his nonchalant attitude grew serious.
“Now, where in the hell would he be going?” he asked David.
David shook his head. “I suppose we could ask the prince.”
“If he wanted you to know, he would have told you.”
David cocked an eyebrow with a faint nod of the head. “Good point,” he said, then looked at Edward. “Perhaps he should be followed.”
“Indeed,” Edward looked around the room. “Where is Lawrence?”
David looked as well but neither one of them spied the white-haired knight in the smoky warmth of the great hall. “Perhaps he has retired already.”
“Perhaps. I’ll send someone to find him.”
“No time,” David said. “Conrad’s man will be long gone. You’d better go yourself.”
“Me?” Edward repeated. “You go, David. Your horse is faster than mine. And I’ve got this bad back that….”
David rolled his eyes and held up a hand; Edward wasn’t one to dirty his hands unless absolutely necessary. He was an excellent knight but it was well known that he preferred more gentlemanly pursuits and riding out into a snowy night was not among them.
“Very well,” he snapped softly. “I’ll go. But you’d better tell Chris what is going on. He’ll need to know if Conrad is planning something, shall we say, underhanded.”
Edward could only shake his head. “I’ve no idea what that would be. Unless he’s planning on doing something foolish.”
David set his cup down, glancing at the sky beyond the window. “If he is, I’ll be sure to find out.”
*
“I met up with him on the road,” Radcliffe said. “Just as I was entering de Braose lands, he came across my path.”
The solar of Ludlow was an enormous thing with a hearth that stretched halfway to the ceiling. Smoke curled out and hovered in the air just above their heads. Lewis sat at de Lacy’s iron table, inspecting the vellum that had recently been presented to him. He eyed the man who had presented it from across the table.
He was a big brute, which didn’t surprise him. And he had enormous hands. In fact, Lewis was rather intimidated by the French swordsman that the king had sent, as a courtesy, to complete Lady Elizabeau’s execution. The vellum, neatly written, had explained it all. But Lewis wasn’t a naturally trusting soul.
“And he is from the king?”
“That is what he tells me his missive says.”
Lewis’ gaze moved between Edward and Rhys. “Strange that Lady Elizabeau’s death warrant did not mention sending a French swordsman.”
“Not strange considering this kindness is allowed mostly to royalty,” Edward replied. “This is a special honor. Moreover, he says he just came from France. Rouen, to be exact.”
Lewis lifted his eyebrows. “Rouen?” he repeated with awe. “Isn’t that where Arthur was…?”
“Exactly. He had a job to do there.”
“Is he the one who…?”
“That is what I was told.”
Lewis looked at the enormous swordsman through new eyes, understanding the implication. So it is true what they have said about Arthur, he thought to himself. “I see,” he muttered, rubbing his chin as his gaze returned to Edward. “How did he know that you were from Ludlow?”
Edward shook his head. “He did not,” he said. “We passed each other on the r
oad and he asked me if he was taking the correct route to Ludlow. When I asked his business and he explained it, I thought it best to return with him.”
“Then I am to understand you did not make it to Clifford Castle?”
“I did not. I thought this more important.”
Lewis sighed faintly with displeasure but said nothing as he refocused on the vellum. It was yellowed and cracked, but the ink was fresh for the most part. To his eye, it looked legitimate. But when he took the missive that had been delivered a few days before bearing Lady Elizabeau’s death warrant and compared the signatures, both Edward and Rhys held their breath. It was the moment of truth, a critical point in time that could determine the course of the future for all of them.
It was a painful wait as Lewis inspected both signatures. After several seconds of delay, he suddenly tossed the death warrant aside.
“Very well,” Lewis said as he re-rolled the vellum. “It seems to be in order. What did you say your name was again?”
“Mon nom est Armand de Foix, mon seigneur,” Rhys said in perfect French. “Je suis venu compléter le roi ordre.”
Lewis held up a hand. “In English, please. My French is not very good. My Welsh is better. Do you speak Welsh?”
“Areithia cymraeg namyn Areithia Saesneg atat,” Rhys said in Welsh; I do speak Welsh but I will speak English. Then he said in perfect English: “I said that I am Armand de Foix and I am here to carry out the king’s execution order.”
Lewis’ gaze lingered on him a moment. “Your Welsh is perfect.”
“I work in many countries where it is necessary to know the language. Otherwise, the wrong head might be lopped off.”
The red-haired knight snorted and set the vellum aside on the desk; both Edward and Rhys watched it fall to the side, almost weak with relief that the man hadn’t challenged or questioned it. He had, in fact, been mildly disinterested in it, which was a surprise. Perhaps it was because he was simply glad he did not have to do the honors; the king had sent someone skilled in such tasks.
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