The Lord of Ireland (The Fifth Knight Series Book 3) (22 page)

The solemn-faced assembly at the camp murmured that
the
y did.

Gerald, standing close by and looking near collapse, nodded too.

John continued. ‘This is what happens to people who betray me. This man did. He failed to stop a spy leaving this camp. Yes, the meek and mild Sister Theodosia. He could not even stop a nun.’

Low rumbles of laughter and a few grins rewarded his witty words.

‘I know. Incredible as it may seem.’ John shared a smiling nod. ‘Of course, you, all of you, as a band of loyal fighting men, brought me the heads of Irishmen. A swift end, losing a head.’ He dropped his smile. ‘No such mercy for traitors to me. You understand?’

Again a murmur of acquiescence, serious this time. From this large group of trained, armed men. Yet he held power over them with only his words. His presence.

‘Like your one-time lord, the Lord of Meath. Hugh de Lacy.’ John walked up the line of focused faces, every one of the hard eyes beneath nose-plated helmets on him. ‘A lord made by King Henry. Well, I have unmade him.’ Turned, walked back. ‘For he swore an oath to me to protect this place. An oath which he broke in a heartbeat. From now on, you serve me, the Lord of Ireland. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, my lord.’ The answer came loud, definite.

‘Good.’ John nodded to the wriggling groom. ‘Put him back up.’ He directed his order at a couple of men at the end of the row.

One acted at once, the other hung back for a
half-step
.

John clicked his fingers at two others. ‘Put that man up too.’

‘My lord.’ The shirker’s words came iced in shock.

But no one hesitated this time.

The half-dead groom was dangling again in a moment, legs feebler as he kicked, but he continued to strain for any breath.

‘My lord!’ The other one fought hard against those who would bind him. ‘Please. I am loyal to you.’

John walked on again, ignoring him. ‘I hope I am making my point with clarity.’

‘Mercy, I beg you, my lord!’

The man’s arms were secure, the noose being prepared.

‘Now our task is to find that spy.’ John paused, watched with pleasure as the man was hoisted next to the groom, legs thrashing like a newborn foal’s.

John went on. ‘The spy who caused me so many, many losses on this campaign. But no more.’ John raised a fist. ‘No more. We will find this woman who would dare to don a habit to do her evil work. By the time I am finished with her, she will welcome death. Anyone who hides her, shelters her in any way, will end their days on the end of your blades. They will learn that guile is no match for an honest
sword. We start the hunt for her at first light.

A steady chant for him rose up. ‘The Lord of Ireland! The Lord of Ireland!’

He basked in their acclaim. Wonderful. So many voices raised to praise him, even as he saw looks slide towards the dying jerks of the men on the gibbet.

Wonderful. But, strangely, not as wonderful as the fear in every man’s eyes.

And even that would be a shadow compared to what he would see in those belonging to the Sister Theodosia when he got his hands on her.

Palmer straightened up. He didn’t dream; he definitely lived.
Theodosia
was here. Here, along with one of de Lacy’s messengers. How, he didn’t know, didn’t care. She was here. Back with him. But looking as if she faced a wolf pack.

‘Benedict, stop.’ Theodosia flung herself from her horse and ran to him as the young man hung back, still mounted. ‘Do not use that mace. Please. No.’ She grabbed for his arm.

‘What’s wrong?’ His heart quailed. ‘Are you hurt?’

She shook her head. ‘No.’

Relief surged through him.

‘It is worse than that.’

‘God’s eyes.’ De Lacy got to his hands and knees, coughing hard. ‘You’re in league with a nun now, Palmer?’

‘Shut up, you.’ Palmer tried to raise the mace.

‘No!’ Theodosia pulled it down with a cry. ‘We need his help. We truly do.’

‘Whatever you’re playing at, sister’ – de Lacy wheezed to his feet – ‘I thank you.’

‘I told you to shut up.’ Palmer took a quick look up, down the road. No riders. Yet. ‘Theodosia, de Lacy isn’t alone. We need to get out of here. You can tell me what’s wrong as we ride.’

The bushes rustled.

Palmer wheeled round with the mace.

Eimear stepped out, breathless from running, her tunic torn and muddy, but with de Lacy’s dropped broadsword in hand.

A puce-faced, bloody-lipped Simonson staggered out
after her.

‘Sister,’ said Eimear. ‘Oh, thank every saint you got away.’ She looked at de Lacy. ‘Husband.’

De Lacy scowled. ‘Palmer, if I had my mace right now.’

‘You don’t, and I told—’ began Palmer as Eimear spoke ove
r him.

‘Hugh, there is much you should—’

‘Stop it!’ Theodosia’s scream cut through it all. ‘Stop it, all of you! None of you know the truth.’

Palmer looked at her, at her eyes wide in horror.

‘Listen,’ she said. ‘Just listen.’

‘And I swear to you, that every word I have spoken is the truth. John wants the throne of Ireland for himself and will use the lives of children to get it.’ Theodosia’s own words brought fresh terror to her heart.

‘You have no need to swear on anything.’ Benedict’s mud-plastered jaw set. ‘I believe every word.’

‘As do I.’ Eimear tested the broadsword. ‘That I had the little turd of Satan before me right now.’

‘That I had my men of Meath.’ De Lacy spat hard.

Guilt panged through Theodosia. ‘I am to blame that you do not, my lord.’

‘You thought it best,’ came Benedict’s deep murmur to Eimear’s nod. ‘Faith, look what you discovered as a result.’

De Lacy too waved her protest away. ‘You sought to protect my wife from John.’ He blew a sharp whistle to the still-mounted Nagle. ‘You’re with me, lad? If not, turn around and go and serve the Lord John in his slaughter of children. My mace in the back of your head will help you on your way.’

Benedict nodded, smacking the heavy weapon against his other, open palm.

‘I’m with you, my lord,’ replied Nagle. ‘As always.’

De Lacy nodded. ‘Then go and find the only band I have and bring them to me. They won’t have got far.’

‘Wait,’ said Eimear to the messenger. She looked at her husband. ‘You have no band.’ She jerked a thumb at Simonson. ‘Only this one here. They all fled when they saw me coming towards them with a sword and him with blood all over his face.’

‘Terrified, they were,’ nodded the heavy-set young man, his words indistinct through his cut lip.

Benedict and de Lacy swore as one man.

But Theodosia could imagine how the untrained, nervous men would have viewed the armed, mud-visaged Eimear.

‘Nagle,’ said de Lacy. ‘Take Simonson and go and see if you can track any of them down.’ He scowled. ‘You might find one hidden under a bush somewhere.’

‘Yes, my lord.’ Nagle heaved Simonson up behind him and they set off in a clatter of hooves.

‘And find your animal, Simonson,’ called Palmer. ‘We need it!’

‘I will! I swear!’

They were gone. De Lacy shook his head. ‘Our odds against John’s castle at Tibberaghny aren’t even slim. They’re non-existent. Palmer, you built a fine mottte and bailey, curse you. My best troops are guarding it. John has my most efficient messengers with which to summon the Irish kings. The lure of my land will bring them running to him.’

‘The offer of land never tempted you to make an immoral alliance, husband?’ Eimear fixed him with a steely gaze.

Benedict cut off de Lacy’s tetchy reply. ‘Then we’ll act as messengers. Go to warn the kings.’

‘Or warn them as they approach Tibberaghny.’ Theodosia already knew from the look on de Lacy’s face that both suggestions were futile.

‘There are six of us. And one is Simonson.’ De Lacy snorted. ‘We have three horses between us; four if by some miracle that boy finds his. We won’t be able to intercept every king, every chieftain that might be making his way to Tibberaghny.’

‘And, Theodosia,’ said Benedict, ‘we cannot risk you falling into John’s hands.’

Eimear’s mouth turned down in a grim arc. ‘He will be out for your blood, Theodosia.’

‘He can have it.’ Her reply came steady. ‘Any mother would do as I have done.’

‘As any father would. Of course they would.’ Benedict’s dark eyes lit with sudden hope. ‘So that is who we have to tell.’

De Lacy scowled afresh. ‘Palmer, that’s what we’ve just said we can’t do. We can’t find a way to warn all the kings.’

‘No.’ Benedict shook his head. ‘Not the kings. At least, not us. The Irish will tell them themselves. Through Eimear.’

Eimear mirrored Theodosia’s bewilderment as de Lacy answered in disdain.

‘Palmer, Eimear is one woman. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head when you fell off that horse?’

‘Everything else. But not that. Yes, Eimear is one woman. I’m not suggesting she travel alone. We head with her for the nearest village. Eimear can tell them that the Lord John is out for the blood of Irish children. That they should leave, hide, do anything they can to protect their own from him, spreading the word to as many as they can as they go.’

‘It will be very slow, Palmer.’ Eimear’s voice held doubt. ‘Too slow. People may not believe this news, not second- or third-hand. As Hugh says, there’s only one of me.’

Benedict stepped over and grasping one of her wrists, raised it. ‘Yes, but you have ten digits. So many rings on each. A gold ring to each of their fastest men, so they have your authority.’ Benedict released Eimear. ‘Your word will spread and spread.’

‘A way to stop this.’ Theodosia looked at him with deep, grateful pride.

De Lacy nodded. ‘A good plan.’ Then he was on Eimear in an eye-blink, his broadsword out of her hand as he moved it between Benedict and Theodosia. ‘But you’ll not use my wife for whatever scheme you are planning. Not until you tell me the whole truth.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Benedict had the mace.

‘Your slip, sister.’ De Lacy pointed the broadsword right at her. ‘Since when has a nun known the heart of a mother?’

Theodosia took a step back. Her foolish words.

‘The whole truth. Now. Or we’re gone. You can carry on with your own lies.’

She exchanged a glance with Benedict.

He gave an unhappy shrug but nodded. ‘We have to tell them, Theodosia.’

She hated to do it, yet she had no other choice. ‘You have a devotion to Saint Thomas Becket, my lord?’

‘I do.’

‘Then I swear on his life that I speak the whole truth.’
Theodosia
took a deep breath. ‘A life that Benedict and I saw taken before our very eyes. My account will not take long.’

Hugh de Lacy, Lord of Meath, never expected to see a wife of his squatting before a stream to clean the dirt of fighting from her face and clothes like a foot soldier. ‘Make sure you get as clean as
possible
: even I hardly recognised you.’ Next to her on the bank, he filled his leather water bottle. ‘There is a lot riding on this plan of Palmer’s.’

‘I don’t need you to tell me that.’ She scrubbed hard at her cheeks.

He ignored her sharp retort, looking instead to where Palmer and the woman they claimed to be his wife, the daughter of King Henry himself, sat on an old tree stump. Theodosia cleaned his face with water-soaked linen, absorbed in a quiet conversation with him.