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Authors: Roberto Calas
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through the village and attack the French flanks.” I crush the grape between the two mugs.
Sir John smiles. “And you will have twice as many men as I do?”
I nod.
He sits back and folds his hands in front of him. “This is the point in our discussion where you tell me where you will get these men.”
“They’re not King Richard’s men,” I say. “I can say nothing more.”
“And why not?”
I can’t tell him because I don’t think he would allow it. These young knights are full of biases and animosity. I need the French gone, and I don’t want Sir John to have the option of saying no.
“I can’t tell you because I am sworn to secrecy.” I would lie to the pope himself if it meant getting to Elizabeth sooner. “The soldiers fighting with me will have no livery nor will they discuss who they serve. That’s my condition.”
A flush rises in Sir John’s face. “And how do you know they will follow you?”
“Because they love battle. And their master owes me a favor.”
Sir John studies the map in silence.
Sir Gerald sweeps his hand across the table, knocking the mugs to the floor. “You ask us to attack a thousand men on your word that you will ride in with an army to save us. You won’t tell us whose men they are, or how experienced they are, or why you are so sure that they will follow you into battle. Do you think we’re mad?”
“Yes,” Tristan says. He shrugs off the glares. “Well, I do anyway.”
“If you want to defeat the French,” I say, “you will have to trust me.”
“This is lunacy!” Sir Gerald looks to Sir John. “You’re not going to listen to this, are you?”
Sir John studies me. I can see the indecision in his brows, in his fidgeting hands. “I need a signal. If you can’t get these men, I need you to give me a signal.”
“If you don’t see or hear me at the French flanks as they approach you, retreat back to the castle.”
“Bollocks!” Sir Gerald says. “Their horsemen will run us down.”
Ishrug. “Some of you. Just run faster than the rest of your army and you’ll befine.”
“Is this a great jest to you, Sir Edward?” Sir Gerald comes dangerously close to me. Sir Tristan steps between us, and Morgan takes position at his side. Sir Gerald is a full head taller than Tristan and, if possible, a dollop more insane. But Gerald sees something in Tristan’s eyes that makes the tall knight back away.
“There is nothing funny in this at all,” I say. “My wife waits for me in St. Edmund’s Bury and I am here, wasting time. Giving you advice. But maybe you don’t want my advice.” I motion to Tristan and Morgan. “Let’s go. We’ll sleep at the Eastwood priory tonight.”
We make to leave the room, but Sir John finally speaks. “I will accept your advice — and your aid. But if you fail me, I will hunt you down. All three of you. I will torture you for days before — ”
“Yes, yes.” I wave my hand at him. “You’re not the first man to threaten me, Sir John, and you’re certainly not the most creative.”
Sir John’s jaw flexes. His eyes burn into me as he speaks. “You want creativity? What do you think of this? If you do not show up on that battlefield with the men you have promised, Sir Edward, I will ride to St. Edmund’s Bury and kill your wife.”
The blood pounds in my head. I no longer see Sir John. I see a red silhouette. I can hear blood rushing in my head, like waves raging against a cliff. I feel Morgan and Tristan grabbing my arms and realize that I am moving toward Sir John. Realize that the new sword is unsheathed and in my hand. There are other shapes. And I know there must be other sounds, but all I hear is raging of blood. All I see is the red silhouette backing away from me, tripping over a chair. More arms take hold of me and pull me back. I hear screaming. The foulest curses, the most terrifying threats I have ever heard. It takes a moment to realize that they are coming from me. Men drag me away, pull
Sir John smiles. “And you will have twice as many men as I do?”
I nod.
He sits back and folds his hands in front of him. “This is the point in our discussion where you tell me where you will get these men.”
“They’re not King Richard’s men,” I say. “I can say nothing more.”
“And why not?”
I can’t tell him because I don’t think he would allow it. These young knights are full of biases and animosity. I need the French gone, and I don’t want Sir John to have the option of saying no.
“I can’t tell you because I am sworn to secrecy.” I would lie to the pope himself if it meant getting to Elizabeth sooner. “The soldiers fighting with me will have no livery nor will they discuss who they serve. That’s my condition.”
A flush rises in Sir John’s face. “And how do you know they will follow you?”
“Because they love battle. And their master owes me a favor.”
Sir John studies the map in silence.
Sir Gerald sweeps his hand across the table, knocking the mugs to the floor. “You ask us to attack a thousand men on your word that you will ride in with an army to save us. You won’t tell us whose men they are, or how experienced they are, or why you are so sure that they will follow you into battle. Do you think we’re mad?”
“Yes,” Tristan says. He shrugs off the glares. “Well, I do anyway.”
“If you want to defeat the French,” I say, “you will have to trust me.”
“This is lunacy!” Sir Gerald looks to Sir John. “You’re not going to listen to this, are you?”
Sir John studies me. I can see the indecision in his brows, in his fidgeting hands. “I need a signal. If you can’t get these men, I need you to give me a signal.”
“If you don’t see or hear me at the French flanks as they approach you, retreat back to the castle.”
“Bollocks!” Sir Gerald says. “Their horsemen will run us down.”
Ishrug. “Some of you. Just run faster than the rest of your army and you’ll befine.”
“Is this a great jest to you, Sir Edward?” Sir Gerald comes dangerously close to me. Sir Tristan steps between us, and Morgan takes position at his side. Sir Gerald is a full head taller than Tristan and, if possible, a dollop more insane. But Gerald sees something in Tristan’s eyes that makes the tall knight back away.
“There is nothing funny in this at all,” I say. “My wife waits for me in St. Edmund’s Bury and I am here, wasting time. Giving you advice. But maybe you don’t want my advice.” I motion to Tristan and Morgan. “Let’s go. We’ll sleep at the Eastwood priory tonight.”
We make to leave the room, but Sir John finally speaks. “I will accept your advice — and your aid. But if you fail me, I will hunt you down. All three of you. I will torture you for days before — ”
“Yes, yes.” I wave my hand at him. “You’re not the first man to threaten me, Sir John, and you’re certainly not the most creative.”
Sir John’s jaw flexes. His eyes burn into me as he speaks. “You want creativity? What do you think of this? If you do not show up on that battlefield with the men you have promised, Sir Edward, I will ride to St. Edmund’s Bury and kill your wife.”
The blood pounds in my head. I no longer see Sir John. I see a red silhouette. I can hear blood rushing in my head, like waves raging against a cliff. I feel Morgan and Tristan grabbing my arms and realize that I am moving toward Sir John. Realize that the new sword is unsheathed and in my hand. There are other shapes. And I know there must be other sounds, but all I hear is raging of blood. All I see is the red silhouette backing away from me, tripping over a chair. More arms take hold of me and pull me back. I hear screaming. The foulest curses, the most terrifying threats I have ever heard. It takes a moment to realize that they are coming from me. Men drag me away, pull
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