A Queen's Spy by - (black authors fiction .TXT) 📖

>Richard ignored the sword, his words were loud enough for everyone in the hall to hear. “Altogether then.”

“Pick it up,” the constable growled.

Richard did not move to obey but stood motionless, his eyes locked with those of the constable’s.

“Edmund, persuade him to take it up,” the constable spoke to one of his own men, an ugly sneer on his face.

Edmund moved his hand to draw the steel from the scabbard and the men around him dropped back immediately, their backs against the stone walls.

“Either pick it up, or die where you stand,” the constable stated bluntly.

Richard did not reply, but crouching slowly, his eyes never leaving the armed man who was levelling a blade towards him, he reached for and found the hilt on the floor.

“Jesus no!” Jack said under his breath.

Catherine hearing Jack’s words said quietly, “That man will be no match for Richard.”

“I don’t think that this will be a fair fight,” Jack hissed as he fastened a hand around her arm and drew her close to him, “what the hell are you doing here?”

If Catherine replied Jack didn’t hear her. A moment later steel clashed with steel and the first sparks flew from the conflict. Every one of the men in the hall retreated as far as they could giving the combatants the maximum amount of space.

Edmund’s first thrust was easily deflected up when Richard raised the blade quickly from the floor, engaging with his attacker. For several minutes, he parried the blows aimed at his body. Edmund’s swordplay was simple, but Richard remained on the defensive, easily evading the steel of his blade.

“Go on, Edmund, you have him,” one of the men yelled encouragingly.

Edmund though didn’t press his attack, and a moment later stepped backwards to join the ring of observers as another man entered to challenge Richard. It was another of the constable’s men, the look on his face told of his eagerness to test himself against the captive. Richard’s movements remained as conservative as possible, not forcing an attack onto the newcomer, his blade acting only to deflect the strokes aimed towards his body. The minutes passed and another man, his sword drawn stepped forward. It was Alan. A ripple of quiet comment surged around the hall.

The constable’s man chose his moment carefully, stepping back into the ring of observers and letting Alan advance on his commander.

Jack’s hand closed involuntarily tighter on Catherine’s arm. He knew what they meant to do, wear his brother down and then kill him. Casting his eyes around the room he realised that there was more to this, humiliation; utter and complete humiliation was their game. However, Alan’s challenge was even more than that, if he won, then it was assertion of his right of leadership. His appearance had created division amongst the men. There were those who would readily side with him given the choice. Jack prayed that Richard wouldn’t let Alan’s blade break through his defence.

“You’ve had this coming for a long time,” Alan hefted the hilt in his hand.

Richard did not reply, his breathing was now coming a little faster, and the linen on the back of his shirt was beginning to cling to his dampened skin. Jack knew that in a fair fight Alan was no match for Richard, but this was no fair fight.

Alan’s heavy attacking strokes were aimed to drive Richard back. The hall was small and the round raised hearth surround protruded into the hall from the fireplace. Another two paces backwards and Richard would be on it. Jack wanted to shout a warning. One more pace and he would trip over it.

Releasing Catherine’s arm Jack ripped his sword from the scabbard.

“What are you doing?” Catherine tried to grab his sleeve, but the material was wrenched from her grasp.

Jack entered the ring next to Alan. “My turn now,” was all Jack said. Alan, his face furious having sensed victory, was forced to lower his blade and step back.

Richard stood waiting for Jack’s first move, his breath ragged now from the exertion. Jack laughed, “I have waited a long time for this.” His blade engaged lightly, his swordplay meant to provoke, not injure, and he continued to verbally goad his brother.

“Have you nothing to say?” Another blow.

“Do you want to ask me for mercy as you have made me beg to you on so many occasions?” Steel scraped together, the attack was one easily parried by Richard.

“Come on, you bastard, talk to me.” Jack stood ready for his brother’s attack, but made none of his own. The tirade of verbal abuse and limited action was allowing Richard time to regain his strength. The charade continued until Gavin, one of Richard’s men, stepped up behind Jack.

Richard locked his sword into the hilt of Jack’s and dragged him close. Both feigned the struggle. “Thanks,” Richard’s head was close to Jack’s for a moment, then suddenly he let Jack go, kicking him in the stomach. Jack fell backwards obligingly, landing heavily against Gavin, sending Richard’s newest opponent sprawling to the floor.

Jack's actions had the unfortunate ramification that now no one in the hall remained loyal to the Master, and John, another of Richard’s men, stepped in taking Gavin’s place. Jack knew in a moment that the game he played with the Master was a fatal one, there was malice in the sword strokes he sent in Richard’s direction.

Jack had stepped back and taken his place again in front of Catherine.

“Your knife,” Catherine hissed in his ear, tugging on his arm. “Give it to me.”

Jack turned and looked at her.

“Just do it,” she prodded him hard in the back with a finger to make her point. A second later, a hilt appeared in his right hand behind his back. Catherine took the weapon.

John had stepped back and Gavin had made a second entry into the ring. The effort of fending off the continuous blows was starting to tell on Richard, his hair was stuck to his forehead and the shirt clung to his body with sweat, his chest heaving with exertion, knuckles white on the hilt of the sword. It was obvious to Jack that very soon someone was going to break through his guard.

Catherine moved to stand in front of Jack, he had no idea what she was thinking, but if it might buy his brother some time then so be it.

Richard stumbled, dropping to a knee. Gavin’s eye’s widened in delight and he moved in with the clear intention of making the kill. He had both hands on the hilt of the blade that raced through the air towards Richard’s neck with as much strength as he had. Richard spun to block the blade but failed to deflect the sword, its speed not fully deadened it made it through his defence and sliced into his left shoulder.

There was a cheer from some of the men in the room. Gavin backed from Richard for a moment, preparing to deliver the last, killing blow. Richard, his blade lowered in his right hand, was bent forward breathing raggedly, his other hand resting on his thigh taking his weight.

Jack swallowed hard as he watched, helpless, as Richard began to lose the last of his strength, blood running from the wound. Richard looked up and met Gavin’s eyes as he prepared to attack, staggering backwards as if off balance.

“Finish him,” Jack hissed to himself under his breath, recognising the tactic.

Gavin’s eyes widened in delight as he saw his opening. He raised his sword high, hoping to bring it down on his victim so hard that it would bury itself up to the hilt in bone and flesh. Jack watched, his body rigid, hoping Richard could still take full advantage of the opportunity he had been given. He did. Dropping to his right knee he avoided the blow and his sword entered between the ribs of his surprised opponent who hung on the sword for an age before Richard sharply pulled it back. The dying man collapsed to the floor in a pond of spreading blood.

Richard stepped back from the body, the man’s death had bought him a few moments. New entrants were not so willing now. David stepped aside to allow one of the constable’s men to enter again, and then Catherine made her move. As she pushed past Jack she hissed, “St Marie’s.”

“No,” Catherine shouted, the knife in her hand. “Turn and face me, Richard, give me that satisfaction.”

There was a murmur of voices accompanied by grins, and some shallow laughter. “This will be humiliation indeed,” David said, pulling the constable’s man back from the fight.

“She has more than enough reason to want revenge,” Alan called from where he stood on the sidelines.

Richard watched her approach, his hands on his knees, his breath filling his lungs in harsh gasps. The blood staining the sword blade was Gavin’s, but that dripping from his left arm to the floor was his own.

“Ah, Catherine, there is some justice in this, I suppose,” Richard said smiling, his eyes meeting hers.

Jack heard his words. Jesus! Jack thought, he still thinks she is going to try and kill him.

Suddenly the danger she was in dawned on him. Richard did not see her as his rescuer but as a final foe. Jack was about to step forward but in that moment Catherine swung the dagger at his brother’s head. Richard grabbed her arm twisting it cruelly. Catherine howled in pain and dropped the knife.

For a moment their heads were together. “Take me hostage.” Richard heard the gasped words.

Richard took the opportunity offered.

Retrieving the knife from the floor, he spun Catherine round, pulling the blade to her throat. “Back away. I think the odds have just changed,” Richard’s voice was hoarse.

Two men moved forward.

“No!” yelled Jack, spreading his arms wide to stop them. “He’s got de Bernay’s daughter.” There was a murmur and they duly fell back and allowed Richard to make his way to the door in the corner of the hall.

“For God's sake man, stop him!” Robert pressed forward a hand grasping the constable's arm.

Richard, now only four paces from the door tightened his hold on Catherine, the knife angled menacingly at her neck, the threat clear. “Stay where you are.”

Without orders the men in the hall didn't move; they glanced between Jack and Ayscough, but none moved to intervene.

Reaching behind him he pulled it open and dragged Catherine through it, slamming it immediately shut and dropping the bar in place.

“Come on, that’ll not hold them.” The pair fled down the steps from the hall and spilled into the yard.

“Here,” yelled a voice hauling a saddled horse towards them. “I’m way ahead of you, Catherine,” grinned Dan.

“Look after her,” Richard was in the saddle in a moment and pressed the horse towards the opened gate. Catherine’s feet barely touched the ground as Dan dragged her from the yard before both the constable’s and the Master’s men found them.

 

†

 

Jack was first at the barred door, ineffectually beating it and cursing like the soldier he was. “He’ll go north to the port! I know the bastard too well.” Jack continued to be in the way as the men tried to use a table to batter through the door.

The ruse of sending the pursuers to the port quickly failed. The riders questioned those at the roadside. No horse had been seen speeding that way and the group