Serpent in the Thorns

Lancaster’s stern glare softened and finally looked away. “I . . . couldn’t. I couldn’t.”

Crispin mustered his strength and rose. He stood unsteadily and straightened his shoulders. His entire body ached; the hole in his shoulder, his sore limbs. But mostly his heart. A blackened tear rent it ragged and wide. “You bastard,” he whispered, feeling on the one hand he had uttered blasphemy, and on the other righteous indignation. “I thought it was Miles. All these years I hated him. All these years when I thought it was him . . . it was you.”

“And now you hate me.”

Crispin’s lips peeled back. “What do you think?”

“I suppose I can’t blame you.”

Crispin stared at the broken window and beyond it to the rain-glittered garden. Spears marched by, some milled near the broken glass, and heads appeared at the sill. Lancaster took swift strides to stand before the casement, blocking the rest of the room. He leaned out the window and pointed. “I heard a noise that way. Go investigate.”

None of the men dared question the duke of Lancaster, and they withdrew. Lancaster pulled the drapes across the window, casting the room into velvet shadows. He turned back to Crispin.

Crispin stared at the floor. Was it only a few short moments ago he was immersed in an intimate encounter with Livith? To be back there now, to forget this horrifying truth and drown himself in the pleasures of a sensuous woman! There didn’t seem to be any point in pressing on, in capturing Miles. Who cared about the murder of a Frenchman? Or the king, for that matter, if Richard’s staunchest supporter was equally guilty? What a fool he’d been! It should have been obvious. If Crispin had only opened his eyes he would have known. Lancaster was a ruthless statesman. He conquered. He devoured. He took. Crispin should have known it. But in all his naivete, all his trust, he hadn’t.

“Tell me the truth,” rasped Crispin, not looking at Lancaster. “Are you trying to kill the king? Are you behind this new plot?”

Lancaster never moved. He stood in that regal manner of his, the manner that brought men to his service, made them pledge oaths to him, ride to war with him, die for him. There was a solemn set of his mouth. “No” was all he said.

Crispin edged his glance up and looked at the face of his mentor. Lancaster didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. He stated his position simply. He denied his involvement. Crispin wanted to believe him, but was it the truth? Crispin was beyond being able to distinguish truth from lies.

As if Lancaster could read these thoughts, he stepped closer and said more quietly, “Crispin, I had nothing whatsoever to do with this new evil. And I have been involved in many plots. I am not afraid to admit to you my complicity in those. But in this, I am innocent.”

“Innocent,” Crispin echoed.

Lancaster nodded. They both sensed the poor use of the word, considering the context.

“Master,” urged Jack. He glanced back at Lancaster, who stood in silhouette against the large hearth. Jack’s face was purple with bruises. “Master Crispin, we must go. You were right. There’s no place left for us here. We must leave London.” His voice was dull and full of weary maturity.

“What difference does it make?” Crispin whispered. “When Miles kills the king, I will still be blamed. Nowhere will be safe.”

“We can go to France, maybe. You’re always talking about France. Maybe we’d be welcome there.”

“The English king’s assassin? Oh yes. They’ll welcome me with open arms.”

Jack looked to the duke. “M’lord. Tell him. Tell him he must go. Tell him to forget Miles and the Frenchman. Leave it to the sheriff.”

“I should have confessed seven years ago,” said Crispin dully. “I would have been dead by now. Unconsecrated, and my soul wandering in Purgatory, but surely it would be a better Purgatory than this.”

Lancaster snorted. “Surrendering, are you?”

Crispin raised his face. He didn’t know what he looked like, but his expression startled Lancaster enough to take a step back. “Don’t I have every right to?”

“Of course. You have earned the right. But I expected that after so long, you would know how to survive, how to circumvent your enemies.”

Crispin struggled to push himself from the chair. Jack tried to help, but Crispin swung his good arm and Jack got out of its way. Crispin rose and squared with Lancaster. “Until this moment I thought I knew who my enemies were.”

“I am not your enemy.”

“Oh no? That’s right. You were my savior. Of course, I would not have needed a savior if your henchman had not deceived me into committing this most unforgivable act of treason!”

“You do not realize your situation.”

“Oh, but I do.”

“No, you don’t.” Lancaster raised his royal head. It was only by an accident of birth that he was not king now. Richard. The resemblance was slight between the faces of uncle and nephew, but there was no mistaking what color of blood pulsed through Lancaster’s veins.

“No one has ever committed high treason in this realm and lived,” he told Crispin. “You were spared for a purpose.”

“Who do you think you are? Do you play at prophet now?”

“I am the one who pleaded for you. Richard had no cause to accede to my pleas. It was his choice and he knew it. His counselors advised him otherwise, to take your life. But he chose not to. I don’t know why.”

“I do not care. I know well the life I have lived since. And I tell you, I would rather be dead!”

“Well then, why not let the guards take you? Walk out into that corridor now and shout it to the heavens. You’ll be dead soon enough.”

“M’lord!” Jack lunged forward, his fingers outstretched as if trying to capture the duke’s last words. “Please don’t tell him that. Tell him you will champion him.”

“Crispin, tell your servant to be still or he will find a sword in his gut.”

“The both of you! Be silent!” Crispin raised his hands to his ears. The wounded shoulder, however, would not allow him to raise that arm so high. He grabbed the hurt shoulder instead and trudged across the room to a shadowed corner where the chessboard sat. He remembered playing many a game with the duke on that very board. He wiped the sweat from his upper lip. “Can’t you both be silent,” he whispered, “and let me think?”

Lancaster’s confession had been demoralizing and terrifying. He stared at the chessboard and felt his sore shoulder heave with each heavy breath he took.

The chess pieces gleamed in the sallow light, their proud knights mocking. He swept his arm over it and cast the pieces to the floor. One of the knights broke in half, forever separated from his stallion.

A decision needed to be made. And yet it seemed already made for him. “Jack.” Crispin said it so quietly, even he wasn’t certain he uttered it. He stared down at the broken knight.

The boy edged forward. Crispin heard his shoes scrape against the wooden floor behind him. “Master.”

“If I stay to do what I feel is my duty—to stop this assassin from killing the king—then I will be captured. It will be the end of me. My Lord of Gaunt here will no longer have a voice in the matter.”

Jack frowned. Crispin noticed the beginning of a ginger whisker. No, he was far too young. Perhaps it was only another freckle on the burl of his chin. The boy’s voice was unsteady, but his words were strong and did not falter. “I would just as soon see you free, sir, but I know it is not your way. And if you die this time, then it is for a noble cause. Not one of treason, though all the world may still think it. I will know. And all your friends will know. Anyone who knows you well will know.” He said the last looking directly at Gaunt. The duke’s mouth did not move. His lips formed a thin, tight line. But Crispin thought he detected the merest trembling of his chin.

Crispin smiled briefly. “Then, for your sake and the sake of my friends, I must do my best.” He straightened and cradled his bad arm. He pulled his cloak about him and lifted his head, though he did not look at Gaunt. “I will take my leave of you now, your grace. I will trouble you no more. Indeed, I think there is very little either of us has left to say to the other.”

“Crispin—”

Crispin bowed deeply. “I take my leave. With or without your permission.” He headed toward the door and leaned heavily against Jack when the boy offered his arm. It wasn’t until they stood outside Lancaster’s apartments