Emerald Prince (57 page)

One of Marshal’s captains burst into the great hall, his manner harried as he hurried to his superior’s side. He whispered to Marshal and de Grey who leaned in close. Hushed words were bandied about, and the men looked alarmed.

Alianor suspected the captain brought news of the gathering throngs, the growing crowds demanding their Emerald Prince. They continued to travel here from every corner of the island, all sworn to uphold the legend with their faith, with their lives if need be.

“Would you risk war with the Irish, Your Majesty? Over the life of one man?” Alianor’s question made the huddled group of men turn their attention back to her.

“England is already strapped because of your war with France, Sire. You lost your French territories and have accomplished little in your many attempts to get them back. What will your English lords think if you must tax them even further to fight the Irish as well? Not to mention the loss of Irish revenue.”

The King reddened. “What do you know of politics?” he raged at her.

She raised her chin and would have sworn a smile touched The Marshal’s lips before he returned to his stoic manner. “As much as I know about chess, I wager.”

Reminded of his former humiliation, the King sputtered, “You are but a woman and know nothing of war. The Irish kings have sworn their allegiance to us, and even the O’Connor sided with us against de Lacy.”

“Why not?” Alianor shrugged. “The Irish are practical. If you kill de Lacy, it’s one less invader they will have to deal with. But O’Connor has pledged Connacht’s aid to save his son. Be warned, Sire, the common men will fight for Ireland. Their hearts long for freedom from the English and their own bickering
rí tuathe
.”

The Marshal and de Grey looked interested, so she continued. “If you let Caomhánach go, war can be avoided. You will appear a forgiving and merciful King. Or, you can fight and risk losing everything, including your throne.”

King John stared at her, appalled. It was clear few had ever spoken to him so. No women, certainly. It galled him, and his jerky movements made his fury clear as he shook a fist at her.

“Never,” he cried. “You shall be thrown in the pit of despair with your Irish lover, Lady de Lacy. We shall delight in your deaths and dance upon your graves. Ireland and her sons shall burn for your perfidy.”

De Grey whispered in the King’s ear as guards entered to take Alianor away. Both William Marshal and Niall stepped to block them, prepared to defend her.

“Wait,” Bishop de Grey ordered, stilling the King’s men with a raised hand.

The King looked furious, but the bishop leaned close to his liege and spoke in quiet, measured tones. In the end, the King nodded, though grudgingly. He pouted like a spoiled child denied a treat.

The justiciar continued. “I suggest Caomhánach be given the Test of Truth. Thus he has opportunity to prove his innocence in the charges brought against him.”

Alianor had heard of the archaic practice, though it had been many years since the last Test of Truth was held in a royal court. She listened, curious.

“If the King agrees, we shall administer this challenge in front of the people of Ireland. If Caomhánach is innocent, he shall be granted life and freedom. If he is guilty, he shall die by the poison of his own taking.”

Alianor knew how it went. Two cups of wine, one poisoned, the other not. A person had one chance at life, another at death — a quick death from fatal wolfsbane. She did not like the odds, but realized de Grey was offering the only chance she had to save Liam.

“Innocence cannot be determined by mere chance. I could do better throwing dice for his life,” she said.

The King shoved his justiciar aside and approached Alianor. He quivered head to toe with rage. “Aye, the simpletons here will delight in a ritual as ancient and foolish as their legend. We shall abide by this trial, Lady de Lacy, but only if
you
are the one to test the challenge in the Irishman’s stead.”

He wanted her dead. He wanted her death so much he was willing to gamble Liam’s freedom to achieve it. “I agree,” she whispered, but seeing the triumphant light in the King’s eyes, their depths glowing with anticipation of her failure, she added one caveat.

“I have but one condition.” She gestured to the Bishop of Norwich. “Bishop de Grey must prepare the wine. I believe you would poison them both.”

King John scowled, but nodded. “But if you fail, the Irishman still dies, as planned.”

Alianor licked the dryness from her lips. “Agreed.”

“T
HIS IS INSANITY,”
N
IALL
exploded.

They stood alone in a tower room where they would wait out the last hours before dawn. His eyes were filled with anger and hurt, and Alianor wanted to comfort him, but didn’t know how. Her own heart hammered in her chest with fear, but it eased as she walked over and stroked his arm in a comforting manner.

“I cannot bear to stand back —” Niall began.

Alianor knew what he was about to say and interrupted. “Niall, you cannot stop Destiny.”

He shook his head. “Liam will ne’er forgive me for letting you come here.” Alianor heard the pure pain in his voice. He closed his eyes and a tear squeezed out beneath one eyelid.

Annoyance surged forth, lending her strength. “Liam? Liam does not have any say in what I do. Men! You all assume too much. I have my own mind, and make my own decisions.”

He opened his eyes and blinked in confusion at her outburst.

“If I should choose wrong and die, it is no one’s fault but my own,” she added.

“There are other ways, colleen.”

“War, I suppose?” She folded her arms, frustrated with the whole male gender. “Do you think it better to send hundreds, maybe thousands of men to their death for the sake of one? It’s madness. I hoped the bluff would sway the King, but truly I do not wish to see any more death.”

“Battle is an honorable way to die.”

“Yes, men think so, don’t they?” Alianor sighed, trying to control her anger. Niall was not her enemy, she reminded herself. “Well, you will always have the option of war, should I choose the wrong chalice.”

Niall grimaced. “Why did you agree, colleen? ’Tis plain the King wants you dead. The hate spills from him like a foul fissure sprung from the earth.”

“The feeling is mutual, I assure you.”

Niall reached out and brushed his finger over Alianor’s cheek, wiping the single tear escaping her own eye. She sniffed and pulled away, filled with apprehension but searching for courage.

“If Lackland’s all-consuming hatred of me makes him willing to gamble a chance for Liam to live, I am willing to gamble the chance I might not.”

“You will not fail, colleen. Have faith.”

The thought made Alianor want to run away, hide from the terror lurking beyond her sanity. As if sensing her fear, from across the room Turrean lifted her head to look at her. Alianor’s eyes were drawn to the dog’s soft, golden ones. A gradual peace stilled her trembling, and somehow she found strength again.

She squared her shoulders and raised her head high. “I don’t plan on failing, Niall. But,” she hesitated, trying to control her wavering voice, “i-if I do, you must not. Eire and her Emerald Prince depend on you.”

Chapter Thirty-nine

A
FEW HOURS BEFORE
dawn, Liam was taken from his cell and, to his surprise, allowed to wash in cold water, and he even managed to shave by the light of a candle. Provided with clean clothing, he at least would die with dignity intact, rather than ridden with vermin and filth.

As he hobbled out into the dimness of morning, even the overcast day was too much for his eyes. They had grown used to the darkness he had lived in the past days and revolted against the change. He stumbled blindly, prodded forward by the King’s guards.

When his eyes adjusted to the light, Liam’s breath caught at the sight. Thousands packed in close, a virtual sea of bodies, all gathered for his execution. The crowd hushed when he came into sight upon the scaffold, surrounded by the King’s men. He studied the crowd, hoping in vain to catch sight of Alianor.

Soon Liam stopped looking for his silver flame, deciding it was best not to see her hopelessness, her pain. It would be all he could do to die like a proud Irishman, walking calmly to his end. To see Alianor’s anguish would be too much to bear.

The King appeared on the makeshift stage, distracting him. Anger again seethed in Liam. This royal villain had attacked Alianor, harried her like an insane hound for years. Something in him broke.

“Lackland,” he snarled, lunging like a madman at the English monarch, itching to feel his fingers wrap tightly around that pudgy throat. Chains clattered, and the guards struck out at him with their pikestaffs. His knees buckled from the blows, and the crowd roared with indignant fervor.

With a raised eyebrow, the King regarded Liam, remaining safely out of his range. Finally he raised his hand and the people quieted. “Liam Caomhánach stands accused of crimes against England and Ireland.”

A disgruntled murmur rippled over the crowd, then quieted again, waiting for him to continue. “However, apparently this man holds status in the eyes of Irishmen. In order to be just and fair, we have decided to allow Caomhánach’s innocence, or guilt, to be determined by the Test of Truth.”

Another explosion of excitement sounded from the surprised onlookers and Liam watched, like a spectator at the melee playing out before him. He, too, knew it had been many years since this challenge had been issued and accepted.

The odds were fairer than King John liked. Since he had taken the Crown, he alone determined a defendant’s guilt or innocence — the latter rarely found in his judgment. In his opinion, there was no need for ancient rituals or superstitions. He alone was judge, jury and executioner.

This announcement divided the people and they shouted in chorus; some were pleased while some objected.

Suspicious, Liam considered Lackland’s abrupt change of heart — it was inconsistent with his character and he knew something wasn’t right. When he saw Alianor climb the stairs on the scaffold and walk out to stand beside the King, true fear prickled the hairs at the nape of his neck. Niall followed behind her, but he would not meet Liam’s questioning gaze. His heart sank.

When the crowd calmed again, the King continued, visibly preening as he showed mock benevolence. “Despite Lady de Lacy’s many acts of sedition, we have granted her this opportunity to take the challenge of truth in Caomhánach’s stead. By doing so, the challenge shall also determine her own innocence or guilt for the crimes for which she stands accused.”

“Nay,” Liam shouted, drawing Alianor’s gaze to him. He did not want to believe his ears, but her sober look told him he had not heard wrong. For some reason, she had agreed to this insane test. He knew the King never played fair, and she did as well.

“I shall take the challenge myself.” Liam struggled against the men who held him. “You cannot deny me. ’Tis my right, not hers!”

Liam continued to struggle, despite being chained and overpowered by the guards. His determination to stop her tortured Alianor, and she looked away. She stepped forward, ready to get the trial done and over with, before he hurt himself.

A smug smile twisted King John’s lips when she faced him. She saw the pure cockiness in his gaze, a certainty she would not succeed. Fear pricked her skin all over, like a deluge of ice–hardened rain, trampling her courage with doubt.

Bishop de Grey stepped in front of her and Alianor forced herself to turn away from the King’s confident sneer — his gloating difficult to bear. Without a doubt, she knew he had somehow rigged the trial so she would fail. Instead, she looked directly at de Grey. What she read in his eyes seemed a different story. The honesty and compassion touched her and eased the painful pounding of her heart.

The justiciar turned his back to pour the wine into the two silver goblets — one contained the poison, a sufficient amount to kill. She swallowed her fear and glanced at Liam. Exhausted from his wild struggles, he had stilled, despair frozen on his face.

Alianor smiled at Liam, and mouthed the words, “I love you.”

“Niall,” Liam cried, “stop her.”

Alianor felt relief when William Marshal grabbed Niall’s arm to keep him from reacting to Liam’s desperate outcry and doing something foolish. She looked at Liam one last time. Goodbye, my love, her heart whispered. She knew he heard it.

His head dipped and a ragged sob tore from him. They both knew the King would win this day. Alianor stood prepared to die as de Grey turned and proffered two identical goblets. He placed them both upon a table set on the scaffold.

It seemed the entire world silenced, held its breath. She stared at the two chalices, each filled to the brim with dark red wine. The crowd burst into chaos, everyone shouting which choice she should make.

The unruly onlookers were drawn into the game of chance she played, albeit a deadly one with great consequences. The noise became a furious clamor, and she fought the urge to scream and run. Instead, Alianor pushed the taunting cries from her mind, willing her soul strong, her thoughts calm, and her decision clear.