Chapter Eighteen
Bent low, Alex quickly climbed from the riverboat onto the King’s bridge. She stayed close behind Rory as they hugged the palace’s inner wall. Turret’s loomed overhead bearing the king’s colors. They came to a break in the wall.
“Wait,” David hissed behind her. She and Rory stopped, hunkering down against the wall.
“Wasn’t that the gate?” David whispered as he pointed to the map Alec had drawn. Paul and Nick sidled up behind them.
“I think it was,” Nick whispered.
Rory grabbed the map and shook his head. “’Tis the second gate. We must circle around first. “Then we’ll have a straight shot into the abbey grounds.”
David nodded and rolled up the parchment, then motioned for Rory to go. Alex stayed right behind Rory as they continued around the wall.
At the next gate, Rory turned and looked at her. “Remember,” he whispered, “this is the most vulnerable stretch. The abbey’s infirmary is to the left. Alec said the monks who remain there are loyal to Edward, but seldom leave. Move quickly.”
She nodded and turned to David. “This is it,” she said.
Rory raced through the gate. She followed right behind.
Her eyes darted to the left. Torch fire lit the glass windows in the infirmary.
She pushed harder, following the narrow path, which cut through the abbey’s cemetery.
Up ahead, she could see the circular design of the Chapter House.
Rory led them away from the garden entrance, knowing that was where Richard and his cronies had made their hole, and instead followed the cemetery to the dormitory.
Alec had assured them that at that late hour the rest of the monks would be in the palace’s great hall well into their cups.
Alex held her breath as Rory slowly pushed the door open.
Inside was dark. She dared not breathe as she silently crossed the floor, expecting the hand of a holy man to snake out and grab her arm at any moment.
Then she froze. A soft snore rattled from the far corner of the dark room.
Rory seized her hand, and David grabbed her arm from behind.
They stood rooted to the floor for several moments.
Her heart pounded, almost drowning out the sound of the sleeping monk.
Then Rory eased forward. She followed behind, waiting to hear Rory’s fingertips graze the far wall.
A soft tap sent a surge of relief through her.
She heard his careful exploration of the wall and knew when he had found the door by the quiet click of the handle.
He eased it open. She held her breath as candlelight from the cloister invaded the dormitory.
She glanced back at the monk now clearly visible in his narrow bed.
Her heart pounded in her ears as she followed Rory into the hallway with David, Paul, and Nick at her heels.
They circled halfway around the cloister, and just as Alec promised, there was the sacristy, beside which was the only entrance to the crypt beneath the Chapter House.
Resisting the urge to race forward, she kept pace behind Rory.
Their practiced steps made no din as they crossed to the door.
Rory opened it and darted inside. Torch fire lit the dark stairwell.
She descended behind Rory. Glancing back, she saw David and Paul right behind her.
But Nick stayed at the top of the stairs to guard the entrance.
They circled around three times. Then Rory stopped and turned.
He motioned for her to turn. She felt him check that her sword was secure.
Then he cupped her cheeks and kissed her hard on the lips before he started back down the stairs.
Her heart raced. This was it. Three more turns and they would reach the drop into the crypt where royal treasure and Richard Ash awaited.
RICHARD ASH’S CHEST tightened as he once again scanned his strangely opulent surroundings.
The crypt beneath the abbey floor had been transformed from a dark, empty stone chamber to a glittering treasure house that surpassed even his wildest dreams. For nearly a week he had spent night and day beneath the Chapter House, and still he marveled at the glorious sight.
The stone arched ceilings and carved faces of tortured saints might have appeared sinister, but as he gazed upon the glittering jewels, chests of coin, rolls of rich velvet, he felt like weeping.
The only way down to the crypt was a long, winding stairwell next to the sacristy, but the stairs did not reach the floor.
They ended abruptly, making a drop off nearly the length of two men from the last stair to the crypt floor.
He wrapped the cloak he wore tighter around his shoulders against the creeping chill, which signaled night had fallen.
Still, the cold could not penetrate his newly acquired thick velvet robe.
He swept the purple fabric with an elegant flourish, admiring the rich color.
Commoners were forbidden to wear purple.
For his crime, he could be sent to the stocks for weeks.
He stroked the soft ermine fur, which lined the edges of the cloak and closed his eyes against the intense pleasure, moaning aloud, his fingertips tingling.
His eyes flew open as the experience overwhelmed his senses.
He took his hand away from the fur to catch his breath, but then his eyes caught sight of the rings lining his fingers, making his heart pound harder.
Each ring held a stone the size of a plump blackberry.
He straightened out his arm, admiring how the jewels glinted in the torchlight.
For the first time in his life, he smiled at his small, thin fingers with pride.
They looked stronger—the hands of a man who answered to no one.
His smile curled into a sneer. If only his father could see him.
His father had never believed in him. When the larger boys walloped him in the streets for sport, he’d return home bruised and bloodied, only to have his father beat him as punishment for his weakness.
His father, his teacher, his priest and everyone else for that matter, never believed he would accomplish anything, but Richard soon learned to work their contempt to his advantage.
It was easy to surprise those who expected nothing from him.
This was how he rose to power right under his father’s nose, stealing his best customers right out from under him.
Because his father never truly saw Richard, he never saw him coming—for who would have expected a weakling, a disappointment, to become a wealthy merchant.
In no time, his father was penniless and begging Richard for help.
“Anything,” his father had pleaded. “I will take anything ye give me.”
And Richard had complied by giving his father an extra helping of misery.
His mother, who was naught but a drunk, had taken to humping the neighbor.
Richard led his father to the very room in which they were fornicating.
Keeping his eyes trained on his father’s face, he threw the door open and watched.
Confusion pinched his father’s features.
Then surprise widened his eyes, followed by a rage that shook his jowls, but his father had been too broken to act on his fury. An instant later, his face crumpled.
A chuckle bubbled up Richard’s throat as it always did when he remembered his father’s utter humiliation.
Witnessing his father’s pain had always been Richard’s greatest victory; however, that sweet memory was quickly moving to a close second behind the present moment—Himself, standing in purple velvet, surrounded by more riches than he ever dreamed existed.
If only the lads on Westcheap Street could see him now.
And he had earned it all—down to the last penny.
King Edward had abused his power in Flanders and ruined everything for Richard.
It had been so easy to prey on the Flemish who were naturally more trusting than the English.
Instead of interpreting his small stature as a weakness, he was met with goodwill and pity.
Once again, he was able to surprise people, making them so easy to cheat.
A few sweet words from him, and suddenly they were emptying their coffers, buying what they did not need.
But all that came to an end after King Edward beguiled them all.
Richard clenched his hands into tight fists when he remembered how swiftly the Flemish king had exacted his revenge.
Overnight, Richard found himself stripped of his wealth and belongings, sailing home to England, a failure.
But he never doubted that he would once again rise to the top.
And at long last, he had done just that.
He proudly surveyed the king’s treasure.
Nay, it was his treasure.
He closed his eyes and lost himself in his newfound favorite pastime.
He imagined all the wonderful things he would do with his riches.
He could not only have his pick of the best whores, but he could also make them his slaves.
As soon as the heist was finished, he would cheat the men working with him.
They were all so stupid, they would never know they hadn’t gotten their fair share.