Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Before I could taste the wine, De Tourrard burst through the door dressed in full battle armor, his handsome face grim, and his body reeking of oil, smoke, and tar. I tipped my head back to drink but he snatched the goblet from my hands.
“You should be serving me, wench, rather than partaking of the wine in my absence.”
“No…” I protested, but he drained the goblet then held it out.
“Refill it.”
With trembling hands, I poured more wine into the goblet.
“That bastard whoreson Henry will not yield,” he cursed.
I said nothing and watched him drink again.
He sat, motioning to me to serve him. I cut pieces of dried meat and cheese and startled as he closed his hand around my wrist. He caressed my hand with his thumb before he spoke, his soft voice almost disguising the soullessness within him.
“I hear you killed my child.”
His grip tightened and his thumbnail scored my flesh.
“Wulfric…”
“It matters not. You will give me another. Now.”
He gripped the back of my neck with his free hand and forced his mouth over mine.
He was stronger than I but my hatred of him was too powerful and I was able to break free.
The tray crashed to the floor. De Tourrard clutched the table with one hand, and his throat with the other, his face purple with rage.
His eyes bulged red, and he mouthed curses, sending spittle and pieces of meat and bread flying from his mouth.
“You—witch! Wh-what have you done?”
He lurched forward, tipped the table over, then fell onto it with a splintering crash.
I jumped back to avoid his flailing hands.
He tried to grasp the hem of my gown, but I stood still, knowing that he would never reach me again.
He crawled on his belly toward me, his body jerking and spasming in a macabre dance.
An airless scream hissed out of his lips, and his face contorted as the poison overcame him. His head lolled back and he drew one last, rattling breath before he slumped forward and lay static except for his hands and feet which twitched slightly.
I stepped forward and touched one of his hands with my toe. His fingers flexed and curled into a claw, then he grew still.
“I have only done to you that which I would do to myself,” I said quietly. But I did not expect a response.
De Tourrard was dead.
Lady, adulteress, peasant, whore. Now I was also a murderess.
I left the solar, closing the door for the last time before making my way to Maman’s room. I heard footsteps and Elspeth intercepted me.
“They’ve broken through the bailey, my lady. Come and look!”
I followed her outside to the ramparts and a scream caught in my throat.
The outer wall had been breached and men were fighting in the bailey, with other swarming through the fissure in the wall.
The sounds of steel on steel echoed around the courtyard.
Beyond the bailey the village of Shoreton burned.
Plumes of smoke billowed up from every cottage.
De Tourrard had turned the villagers out from the safety of Shoreton’s walls, and the king’s men had burned their homes. I did not know which man I loathed the most. In their battle for power, they cared not who was destroyed in their path.
The smoke swirled around three huge wooden devices which stood like giant sentinels among the burning buildings: trebuchets—enormous siege engines—machines that could break down a castle’s defenses.
The walls never stood a chance. Men worked tirelessly on the machines, and a sharp cry rang out before the trebuchet’s arm swung up in a fluid movement and let loose its burden.
“Lady!”
I ignored Elspeth’s scream. Rooted to the spot I watched, transfixed, as the stone hurtled through the air.
It soared in a smooth arc toward me until it dipped down in its trajectory to strike the center of the wall.
The ground shuddered under my feet, followed by the screams of men killed or injured by falling masonry.
The fighting in the courtyard continued, and I recognized one figure. Though clad in armor and wearing a helmet, Papa wore a tabard bearing the Shoreton coat of arms which also flashed in the sunlight on his shield as he wielded it in defense against the man he fought.
His opponent was taller, more muscular, and the better fighter. But a man with nothing left to lose fights as if the devil’s hounds snap at his heels. Papa parried a blow and struck a glancing blow on the other man’s arm. I let out a cry and Papa’s opponent lifted his head toward me.
Papa swung his sword at the man’s legs, just missing his target. The two men continued to fight, as if engaged in a dance, each attack met by a counterattack.
But it was clear who the victor would be. Papa slashed wildly at his opponent, his mind focused on attack and ignoring his defenses. He lifted his shield arm too high, exposing his body. His opponent saw the mistake and drove his sword forward, burying it into Papa’s chest.
Papa dropped his sword, crumpled to his knees, and fell back.
The other man was clearly injured. He dropped his shield arm to his side where it hung awkwardly, and he staggered forward.
He looked back toward the village before turning to face the castle wall.
Lifting his head he raised his sword in salute.
I shuddered, sensing his eyes upon me. Would I be his next victim?
Elspeth tugged at my sleeve once more, but I ignored her, compelled as I was, to watch the man who stared up at me.
Then his voice rang out among the sounds of screaming and fighting.
“Get thee back!”
I had no time to wonder at his meaning. Elspeth pulled at my arm again.
“Lady, please!” she cried.
I looked up and screamed. Another giant stone flew toward me. I leaped back as it struck the battlements, disintegrating the wall where I had been standing just moments before. Elspeth helped me to my feet.
“Shoreton is lost,” I said. “We are dead.”
“What can we do, lady?”
“Follow me.”
I led her to Maman’s room, where I’d sent her only that morning. I had another phial of the poison and intended to use it. De Tourrard’s death had been an unpleasant sight, but it would be a far better fate than whatever the king had in store for me.
We reached Maman’s room and footsteps followed us—too heavy and too many to be servants. We didn’t have much time. I pulled the door open, ignoring the searing pain in my arm and lifted the lid of the chest where I’d hidden the phial.
“Elspeth, this will give me the release of a quick death. I cannot say what they will do to you but they will show me no mercy. I’ll leave some for you to give you a choice.”
A deep male voice spoke behind me.
“Neither of you has a choice. You are now the property of the king. Take them!”
A pair of strong arms took hold of me, and I dropped the phial which rolled across the floor. A second man took hold of Elspeth.
“No!” I cried, but my captor held me firm.
My body still ached from de Tourrard’s beating, and each time I struggled the man tightened his hold.
Their leader picked up the phial.
“Woman, what is this?”
“A tonic,” I replied quickly before Elspeth could speak.
“I think not,” he replied. “Garret!”
The man holding Elspeth twisted her arm behind her back, and she howled in pain.
“Please, stop! It has naught to do with her,” I pleaded, but he continued and Elspeth’s screams only grew louder.
“All right!” I cried. “It’s poison.”
“I thought as much.”
He dropped the phial on the floor and smashed it with his boot, grinding it into the stones.
“Garret, Edric—take them away. The rest of you, search the building. I want every traitor found.”
“Where are you taking us?” I asked.
“To London,” he said, his voice grim, “where you will be tried for treason and executed.”
After a long, slow journey from Shoreton I found myself alone in a cell in the Tower of London on the eve of my execution.
At Shoreton they’d separated me from Elspeth, and I had not seen her since.
I had been bound and secured to a small cart along with a handful of Papa’s and de Tourrard’s men, including Guy.
Most of the men had been killed either during de Tourrard’s campaign in France or during the siege at Shoreton.
Those too injured to be moved were left to rot.
The reality of war was such that no matter which side came out on top, the outcome was always the same.
Those unfortunate to be on the losing side were tortured and subjected to agonizing deaths.
There was neither good nor evil—only pain and suffering.
There would always be someone eager to seize the king’s position from him; the balance of power would continue to shift back and forth.
Today’s victor would be tomorrow’s defeated and the cycle would continue. I did not wish to live in such a world.
Save a few hateful remarks from Guy, silenced by a cuff from Garret, I had largely been ignored until we arrived at London.
But as we passed through the streets, crowds began to form, issuing jeers that grew louder the closer we drew to our destination.
We were traitors headed for a public trial and execution.
With Papa and de Tourrard dead, I was the only family member alive for them to direct their hatred toward.
A stone had flown past me, narrowly missing my head as the onlookers hurled catcalls and insults in my direction.