by Jayden Woods
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It should have been a good plan. It should have worked smoothly. Audrey thought she had foreseen everything.
But she had not foreseen the possibility that Sir Geoffrey would escort her group to the quarry that day instead of Sir Ralph.
She did not know why the switch happened. Was Ralph sick? Must he tend to something more important? Or did Geoffrey somehow know what Audrey’s group planned to do? Surely not. They had revealed nothing, given no sign. They provided every indication that the loss of Gimm’s ear taught them total submission. Geoffrey couldn’t possibly suspect that Audrey and the boys would try to escape today.
And yet there seemed no better explanation. Geoffrey rarely committed to such dull tasks as this one. Ralph didn’t mind them because traveling to and from the quarry with some of the laborers gave him a chance to socialize. Geoffrey had no such excuse.
Perhaps bad luck alone caused her plight; she certainly had enough of that in her life. But as the group left the castle and made its way through the fields with Geoffrey, two horses, and a wagon, she decided it did not matter. One way or another Geoffrey would be the man they must attack in order to escape today. Whatever the risk, they would do their best to overcome him. Now that Audrey had made up her mind to escape, she felt as if nothing in the world could stop her.
Nonetheless, she trembled almost the entire journey to the gorge where they would confront him. She took little comfort in the soft yellow sunshine, the tart spring breeze, or the fields of budding flowers. She could not even enjoy the opportunity to walk through fresh grass without carrying a burden in her arms. She could focus on nothing but Geoffrey, who walked silently beside his horse and wagon, staring stoically ahead.
Her efforts did at least yield some reward: by watching Geoffrey constantly, she noticed that he did not seem particularly alert today. His eyes sagged a little, and a few times he yawned. Could it be a ploy of some sort? Or was he actually as exhausted as he looked? Audrey remembered hearing that his wife had born a baby and wondered if the knight agreed to a dull trip to the quarry just so he could get away from his family duties. Unlike Sir Ralph, he did not bring a squire to accompany him. Unlike Ralph, Geoffrey actually deserved to get beaten and tied up on the side of the road. And in his current condition, he paid less attention to the slaves than Ralph would have. Perhaps this switch would work to their benefit.
She dared not give in to the temptation of hope until the moment Geoffrey held out his arm and told them all to “Stop.”
It was the first word he had spoken all day. Everyone stopped immediately, their breaths suspended in their throats.
Geoffrey pointed to a tree nearby. “We’ll rest over there.” He led the horses off the path and towards the tree.
Audrey’s hopefulness struggled with a bout of fear. This was most certainly strange. Normally Ralph did not rest until they reached the quarry itself. No one felt particularly tired. To rest now, while they could still enjoy the coolness of morning, seemed altogether wasteful. Was it a trap of some sort? A method of testing them?
She watched in disbelief as Geoffrey tethered the horse to a branch, sat against the tree trunk, and promptly fell asleep.
Audrey moved to a safe distance with Rodgar and stared at the knight from afar.
“God is with us today,” said Rodgar. “This is our chance to escape.”
“I don’t like it.” Audrey scowled fiercely in Geoffrey’s direction, just in case the knight watched them through cracked lids. “We should stick to the plan. I chose the gorge for a reason. No one would see us. Out here on the road …”
“We’ve seen only one other person this last mile! And we’re close to the woods, where we hoped to go anyway. Don’t be a fool again, Audrey. We are going to escape. And we are going to do it now.”
“Rodgar—” She reached out to catch his sleeve, but he wrenched free of her grip.
He was already beckoning to the other boys, pointing to the satchel of food on the horse’s saddle, and gathering what items he could. She didn’t know what to do. She felt dizzy. She wanted to escape just as fiercely as any of them. But this seemed all wrong.
Her stomach flipped when she saw Rodgar pick up a large stick from the grass and approach Geoffrey with it. Rodgar wound the stick back and aimed for Geoffrey’s head. She wanted to yell out at him, but that would only awaken Geoffrey. So she ran towards them.
She didn’t really have a plan. She didn’t know what she would do. She supposed it depended on how quickly she got there. If she reached them soon enough maybe she would stop Rodgar from delivering the blow. If she arrived too late for that, then maybe she would help him fight Geoffrey, for she strongly doubted that a blow to the head with a small tree branch would knock the man out.
But she arrived too late for either of those things. In his hastiness, Rodgar must have been too loud, or perhaps his foot nudged Geoffrey’s leg, or maybe—as Audrey had feared—the knight had never really been asleep at all. Whatever the reason, Geoffrey awoke.
He kicked Rodgar in the leg, then stood up and grabbed both his arms.
While the two of them struggled, Audrey dashed around them and flattened herself against the back of the tree. She knew that Rodgar would not defeat the fearsome knight. As she waited, she glimpsed the rest of her companions standing idly by and watching in a state of petrified terror.
She looked around the tree far enough to see Geoffrey holding Rodgar in a deadlock, a knife to his captive’s throat.
“Run if you wish,” said Geoffrey to the others. Even through the strain of the knight’s voice, Audrey detected a low thrum of pleasure. “I will not pursue you. I give you all your freedom, but at a price: the price of Rodgar’s life.”
Audrey’s heart sank. She wanted to believe it was a bluff, but somehow she knew that it was not. Geoffrey knew Rodgar’s name. He had been ready to make this offer. And he really did not care if they all ran away—not if he got Rodgar as a result. So was Rodgar all he wanted? Or did he get his thrill from playing this game and watching how the poor slaves reacted? Did he enjoy forcing them to weigh their freedom against the murder of their friend? Audrey didn’t know what Geoffrey wanted most, and she didn’t want to. All she knew was that this was a game to Geoffrey. And she refused to play by his rules.
Geoffrey looked around uncertainly. “Where is the girl?” he asked.
She reacted not a moment too soon. She reached out from behind the tree and grabbed the pommel of his sword. She pulled, and as he turned, she wrenched the blade free of its scabbard.
She wasn’t thinking clearly. Geoffrey could have easily killed Rodgar while Audrey struggled to steal the sword, and he still could now that she stood wielding the heavy weapon. But he did not, and perhaps she had sensed this, too. To slit Rodgar’s throat while one of his friends tried to rescue him would have ruined the game for Geoffrey. So he stayed his blade, clutching Rodgar close while staring at Audrey in a state of pure bewilderment.
Audrey knew nothing about sword-fighting. She wasn’t much taller than the blade itself. She probably looked like an idiot holding the thing before her. But she also spent most of her days carrying rocks. Her muscles were strong, her stance steady, and her voice much more fearless than she felt as she snarled, “Just go ahead and try.”
Geoffrey blinked a few times. His golden eyes looked her up and down. Then he did the most dreadful thing of all. He smiled.
“I’ve changed my mind,” said the knight. He lowered his knife and relaxed his guard on Rodgar. “I’ll take you.”
Geoffrey shoved Rodgar away, but as Rodgar stumbled forward, he cried out in pain. A streak of blood flitted through the air. Rodgar staggered away, clutching his bloody arm to his chest. He stared in awe at his wound just as she did. Geoffrey had slashed Rodgar’s wrist while releasing him.
Audrey’s heart flapped inside her chest. She had really gotten herself in trouble now. What could she expect to do against this madman? Even if she wielded a sword and he j
ust a dagger, she probably could not best him. And even if she did, what would she do to him? Stab him? Kill him? She had told her friends they could not afford to kill anyone, and she had meant it. Then again, this was Geoffrey …
“Everyone, get out of here!” she cried. “Let me deal with this bastard.”
She must have been convincing enough for some of them, who wanted nothing more than to get away from Geoffrey. She glimpsed some of the boys running off, and of this she was glad. But she also noticed Rodgar standing nearby, either debilitated by his wound or unwilling to abandon her, and of this she was also glad. She did not think all the courage she possessed would be enough to help her face Sir Geoffrey alone.
The knight’s amber eyes blazed as he looked at her. A few times, his gaze flicked from his bloody knife and back to her again. This only seemed to make him more excited. “What’s your name?” he asked her.
“Go to hell,” she replied.
He moved towards her.
Her jab of the sword was awkward. She did not know what to do with it. But she knew she could stab him if she pushed hard enough, so push she did. He moved out of the way.
Geoffrey looked around to check on the state of her companions. Except for Rodgar, whose wrist bled profusely, the boys were escaping. His smug expression faltered. Perhaps he had not expected her companions to actually flee. If he’d had any sort of plan, it was crumbling before his eyes. “Call your friends back here,” he growled, “or I will hunt each of them down myself.”
“I don’t think so,” she snapped back at him. “I think you don’t know what the hell you’re doing. I think you knew we might try to flee today, but you thought you could restrain us all on your own. Now you realize we’re too strong for you; we’re willing to pay whatever price we must to get away from you and Richard’s fucking castle. And you don’t know what to do about it.”
Geoffrey moved closer, clenching his knife until his knuckles turned white. “I know what I will do,” he said. A sneer pulled at his lips. “It involves splitting your flesh with this blade.”
He made his move then, but it was not what she expected.
His dagger flashed; she shifted her stance in a desperate attempt to block. But the knife did not fly towards her. Instead, Geoffrey plunged it into Rodgar’s neck.
Audrey must have screamed then. Looking back later, she couldn’t really say. She knew that the horizon seemed to tilt and the whole world turned black. Geoffrey’s silhouette cast a shadow on the sun, his little sneer the only glint in the darkness. He shoved the knife deeper into Rodgar’s throat. Rodgar died before her, his blood staining the sky in spurts, his lifeless body collapsing to the earth in a heap. She did not realize until that moment how greatly he had inspired her to escape in the first place. She did not think anything of the awkward kiss they had shared until a stream of blood poured over his lips.
The light faded from his eyes, and he became nothing more than an empty corpse, staring up at her with an expression of eternal surprise.
She dropped the sword. She nearly collapsed next to him. She had been foolish to do any of this. She never should have agreed to escape from Richard’s castle. She never should have tried to put forth her own plan. She was a stupid slave, and always would be. She could not stand up to the Normans. And she certainly couldn’t stand up to Geoffrey.
“There there, ma jouet.” She felt his hands on her, cold and gripping. She felt his breath on her tears, sharp and icy. “Your death will not be so swift.”
She felt the wet blade tickling her skin. She heard a deep roar in her ears. And at last she reacted.
She tasted metallic blood on her tongue before she realized she had his forearm in her teeth, squeezing with all her might. She heard the clang of his knife as he dropped it—listened to him cry out with pain. As he fell, she reached down and picked up a stone from the earth. It was large, but she could lift it high and fling it hard—hard enough that once it collided with Geoffrey’s skull, he collapsed to the ground in a stupor.
Then she turned around and ran.
As she fled, she felt the grass lash her legs and the wind comb her hair. The shadows of the forest crept towards her, wrapping round her body like a demon’s embrace. She didn’t care what dark future awaited her anymore. Her anger filled her up and made her limbs thrum with energy. Geoffrey and all his Norman companions would pay for what they had done to her and her friends. And no matter how much they paid, it would not be enough. For if a slave’s labor could not be paid for in coin, then she would recollect her dues in blood.
**
9
Last Tales of Mercia 9:
SIGURD THE GLEEMAN
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