Serpent in the Thorns

Lancaster drew back his hand and struck Jack across the face. Crispin gasped when Jack tumbled backward. But the boy recovered and brought his hand to his reddened cheek. “I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer, m’lord. Master Crispin is in danger of his life. He was trying to save the king, not kill him.”

Lancaster stepped forward and struck him again.

Crispin grabbed the sill. What was he to do? What could he do?

Jack rose to his knees again, only more unsteadily. “You can beat me within an inch of me life, but I won’t stop beggin’. My master’s missing. He might be dead.”

Lancaster glared down his nose at Jack and eased his palm back and forth over the pommel of his sword. “Does he still think the culprit is Miles Aleyn?”

“Aye, m’lord.”

“Does he say why?”

Jack licked his bruised lips. “He does.”

“Why, then?”

“He bid me say nought and nought I will say.”

Lancaster drew back his hand and delivered another blow that echoed throughout the chamber. Jack’s whimpers reached Crispin, and he curled his hands into fists.

“I will not say. My master bid me be silent and I will not say!”

Crispin pushed so hard the window shattered and he rolled into the room. He snapped to his feet and faced Lancaster. Somehow Crispin’s dagger was in his hand. “Strike him again and liege lord or no I swear I will drive this knife into you.”

Lancaster’s face whitened with shock. He lowered his hand and postured. “You’re a fool.”

“Am I?” He looked at Jack staggering to his feet and gathered him against his good side. “Then I am a fool. But I’m a fool with the most steadfast servant in all England. Shall I tell you what Jack in his faithfulness would not? Miles Aleyn was the last conspirator in the plot to overthrow Richard. It was he who lied and tangled England’s youthful knights into that deadly conspiracy. Only he and I walked away from it. He by the honor of those he cajoled, and me by your good grace.”

Crispin and Lancaster engaged eye contact and held fast to it like two wrestlers loath to release the other. A long moment passed. Finally, Crispin lowered his eyes to look at Jack. “Are you well, Jack?”

Jack snuffled, wiping the blood from his nose with his sleeve. “Well enough, Master.”

“Go get yourself some wine.” He pushed Jack toward the flagon. Jack hesitated and looked toward Lancaster. “I said get yourself some wine. My Lord of Gaunt will not object.”

Lancaster directed a sneer at Jack. “No. Why should I? I have lost all control of my own household. What’s a little wine for a servant boy?”

They watched as Jack poured wine into a goblet, took it in both trembling hands, and tipped it to his bruised mouth. The wine dribbled down his chin.

Crispin staggered and took a breath. Tumbling through the window and facing off with Lancaster was taking its toll. He cradled his arm.

“What’s happened to you now?” asked Gaunt, gesturing to the sling.

“I was shot with an arrow.”

“Oh Master!”

“I am well, Jack. For the moment. I would merely like to know why someone is trying to kill me. I would like to know why they are using your arrows.”

Lancaster studied Crispin’s arm a long time. The packing at his shoulder began to stain with red. Lancaster clutched his sword pommel, fingers whitening. “Seven years ago, Miles Aleyn stole my arrows before he went into exile to France.”

Crispin never expected Lancaster to speak, especially in that sighing, resigned tone. “I did not know he was exiled,” said Crispin. “It was never spoken of at court, or rumored outside it.”

“Very few knew. Even the king did not know. Which was why he appointed Miles as his Captain of the Archers.” He snorted contemptuously. “If I had known that his Majesty had chosen Miles, then I certainly would have said something. Alas, it was too late by the time I heard the news.” He stared at Jack still sucking down wine from his bowl. “I believe Miles told those willing to listen that he was going to France to join the king’s army, which was partially true.”

“Why was Miles exiled to France and why steal your arrows?”

“His exile included every comfort. But, of course, it was to get him out of the way.”

“Why?”

Lancaster strode to the sideboard. He gave a sideways glance to Jack and poured wine into another goblet. He knocked the cup back and drank the wine in long, rolling swallows. When he lowered the cup, he ran his hand under his dark mustache to wipe it free of wine droplets. “Because seven years ago I hired Miles to begin the conspiracy against the king.”

24

CRISPIN STAGGERED BACKWARD. AN iron fist grabbed hold of his heart and squeezed. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

Lancaster hired Miles? Then that would mean all his life was a lie. Everything he’d known and believed—all lies.

“I never meant for you to become involved,” said Lancaster hastily.

Jack was at Crispin’s side. “You’re pale, Master. Sit down. Let me help you.”

Hands led Crispin to a chair. Crispin sat while his lord stood, a breach he never would have engaged in were he in his right mind. But he knew he’d never be in his right mind again.

Lancaster continued. He pressed his hands to his back and straightened. He was tall, taller than Crispin. He looked regal, majestic; far more so than Richard ever looked. “I needed to root out my enemies. In those early days, there were far too many. Conspiracies abounded. Many of them plotted my death, but there were also those who sought to discredit me against Richard. Those especially I could not afford. And so I devised my own plot. It was to flush out those rascals who would make trouble in the years ahead. And yet . . . I never knew how many young bloods were willing to put their prince away in favor of me.” He took a drink and lowered the goblet to his breast. He looked at Crispin and his eyes softened. “And I never suspected you would be foolhardy enough to join with them.”

Crispin’s eyes were hot. He blinked hard. “How could I not? I would have followed you into Hell if you’d asked.”

“Yes, I know.”

Crispin panted. His mind couldn’t catch up. Light-headed, he prayed he would swoon to spare him from this moment. He heard the fire spit and crackle over the logs, smelled the toasty oak burn. But he felt the warmth of the room as something distant, something just beyond his reach. He languished in a cold bubble while the rest of the world gloried in golden light. Was he asleep? If so, he lived in a nightmare.

It took a few moments for the sensations to dissipate and his mind to clear before he could absorb all the facts. Lancaster said his plot flushed out his enemies as well as his friends. “The plot worked too well,” Crispin said, voice hoarse. “You almost decided to go ahead with it.”

“Not enough of the right men supported it. I had to let it collapse.”

“And me with it.”

“When I found out you were involved, it was too late.”

Crispin took in a long breath. “Why didn’t you let me die?”