In Honor Bound (23 page)

"This way, my lord," one of them shouted, seeking to turn him back, but Tom fought their protective hold.

"The king! You must save the king!"

He saw Stephen shouting orders to his men, but could not hear what he was saying, then he watched in horror as three of them dragged Robert from his horse and the one called Cafton cut his throat. Blood spurted on the murderer, on the shrieking women who stood witness to the savage act, on the usurper himself. Stephen's fair hair was bright with it, and he tried to scrub it from his face while backing his skittish mount towards the city gate.

"No!" Tom screamed, frantically struggling with the ropes that still bound his wrists. The man guarding his back was killed by one of Stephen's men who was killed in turn by another of the townsmen, a tall blond man who quickly took charge of the situation.

"Come, it's too late, my lord!" he said as he filled the place at Tom's back.

They had to pull Tom off his feet and drag him away from the melee. His last sight of his father was of his blood soaked corpse being slung over a horse as the Alensbrook men defended Stephen's escape.

The men of Breebonne took Tom to a peasant hut and sat him down before the fire. Kneeling before him, the tall man gently removed Tom's bonds. "You'll be safe, my lord. They'll not look for you here, if they've a mind to come back for you."

Someone thrust a cup of bitter ale into Tom's numb hands, and he held tightly to it, trembling.

"Stephen has fled," one of the men said, "and his soldiers too!"

"Yes," another answered, "but he shall be back and with more men. Breebonne will pay for this."

A murmur of agreement and fear went through the men and what they were saying sank finally into Tom's mind. Because of their efforts, he had been rescued from Stephen's hands and certain death. He could not let them suffer the sure-to-come revenge.

He drained his cup at a gulp and set it wearily on the rough table. "Do not fear.
Afton
does not forget her friends. My brother Prince Philip will see you do not suffer for your loyalty."

"How can
Afton
protect us if she cannot keep her own safe?"

Before Tom could answer, a woman's voice came from the back of the room. "Peace, for shame! To badger the young prince so now!"

It was the woman who had wept for him earlier in the street. She pushed her way through the men and came to stand near Tom. "Go outside and do your plotting and worrying," she scolded. "There's nothing more can be done here. Let the prince have some rest now."

"Come, lads," the tall man agreed, bowing briefly to Tom. "We must see to our own safety."

Tom looked up at him, too spent to stand. "Send to my brother. He will not let you go unrewarded." He was finding it difficult now to concentrate on what he was saying.

The peasants filed silently out of the room, and, as he watched them go, Tom was assailed by exhaustion. He rubbed his eyes and the woman put a motherly arm around him and pushed the hair from his forehead. Unable to stay brave in the face of her pity, he leaned against her and put his arms tightly around her thick waist, letting the tears flood from him.

"Oh, poor, poor boy," she clucked sympathetically as she sat next to him, hugging him closely, comforting him as she had her own children.

"My father, my father," he sobbed again and again, feeling the familiar pain in his chest, as if his heart were being squeezed by a strong hand.

She held him there for a long time, consoling and comforting, until he had calmed, then she gently took his arms from around her and laid his head down in her lap. "Shh," she soothed, stroking his sweat-matted hair, and taking a handkerchief from her sleeve, she tenderly wiped his face. He was soon asleep.

***

When her husband came in, he saw her there, her face still stained from her own weeping. He looked at Tom intently for a moment and then bent over and kissed the woman's cheek. She wiped her eyes again and smiled a little.

"Miserable business, this," he said gruffly, "murderin' a king."

She put a finger to her lips then eased Tom's head off her lap and stood up, smoothing her rumpled skirt.

"Poor poppet," she whispered. "It breaks my very heart."

"The king himself and many a good man else killed today, and there's no telling how many when Stephen returns."

"Maybe we should have him away tonight," she said, darting a glance in Tom's direction.

"No, do not worry tonight. Stephen will make straight for Winton, for his army there. He could never come back here before tomorrow night very late, but rest assured he'll be back sooner than we could wish."

***

The next morning, a ragged, bloodied soldier rode to Chrisdale.

"Where is my lord of Caladen?" he panted as he dismounted.

"What are you doing here?" Dunois demanded.

The soldier gasped for breath. "My lord of Caladen," he asked again, "where is he?"

Dunois grabbed him by the shoulders. "Speak, dog!" he commanded, raising his hand to the man, but the motion of his arm was stopped short by a strong grip on his wrist.

"Let him go," Philip ordered, his soft voice steely, and the soldier slid to his knees in relief.

"You must hear me, my lord."

"Palmer? By heavens, Palmer! Where is Tom? Tell me, man!"

"My lord, the king–" Palmer blurted, then he ducked his head and began again more carefully. "My lord, His Majesty, your royal father, is dead. He was killed this morning at Breebonne."

Philip felt the blood rush out of his face.

"Killed?" Dunois snapped, seizing Palmer by the front of his jerkin, but Philip pushed him away.

"Leave us!" he thundered, and with a dogged nod of his head, Dunois obeyed.

"I am sorry, my lord," Palmer said, "to give you such news so bluntly, but Lord Tom, being also captive to the usurper–"

"Oh, not Tom, too. He hasn't murdered Tom."

"No, no, my lord," Palmer assured him, "he was there, but rescued by the men of Breebonne."

Philip exhaled painfully. "Thank God."

"He was rescued, but, being alone and unprotected, he is easy prey for Ellenshaw if he should come once more against Breebonne for revenge. I beg you, bring your power to help them as soon as you are able."

"But Tom is safe you say?"

"He is, my lord, for now."

"How is it that you were separated from him?"

"We were at Grant. Ellenshaw's men destroyed our army there and Lord Tom and I tried to escape. I was wounded and left for dead, not of consequence enough to be made sure of, I expect. I thought Lord Tom had got clean away, and I went to Breebonne to take shelter. There I saw what happened, but I could not get to him before the people there spirited him off. I thought it best to let you hear of it as quickly as I might."

Philip pulled the exhausted man to his feet. "Go to the captain of my guard and tell him to be ready at his first speed to march to Breebonne. Quick!"

Philip returned to his chamber and had his servants ready him for a swift departure. Dunois was quick to come to him. "My condolences on your gracious father's death, Your Majesty," he said smoothly.

Philip's mind was too full of Palmer's news for him to take the chamberlain's full meaning. "I thank you, my lord," he said automatically, pulling tight the strap on his boot.

Every moment he struggled to keep his expression calm and controlled. The gentlemen of his chamber, Rafe and the rest, were watching him closely. He could see on their faces the uncertainty and fear they felt at the death of a king, but Dunois yet seemed unruffled.

"I hope Your Majesty will remember those who served your father well and will take them also into your grace and favor," he said more pointedly.

"There's no time for this now, my lord," Philip told him, scooping up his gloves. "Stay here until I send for you. I shall need you in Winton once it is ours again."

Philip walked quickly out to the square and then stopped short. There, waiting for him, were all of his nobles, his soldiers, and the people of the town. Seeing him, they knelt and his eyes met theirs steadily. He would not allow them to see his reeling emotions.

Eastbrook stood, stepped forward, and knelt again at Philip's feet. "May I be the first, my lord, to swear my allegiance and pledge my sword to Your Majesty."

There was that word again, the one that put such fear into Philip's heart.
Majesty.
It was used only for kings, and he could no longer ignore it. He nodded, shaken.

"Do not grieve, lad," his old teacher said, standing and taking his arm, then he released it quickly, as if he felt he had presumed too much, been too familiar with this new king. "Your father's murder shall be avenged, Your Majesty. Never doubt it."

Philip nodded again, glad to let them think grief and not fear was the cause of his pallor. The others followed Eastbrook's example, kneeling to him and swearing their loyalty, but he hardly saw them, barely heard them as they did. He was thinking of the rest of the nobility, the rest of the people. Would they, too, swear? Or would they, fearing his youth and inexperience, turn to Stephen for their king? Surely they would, if ever they saw into the tumult of emotion behind his stiff expression.

God,
he thought, nodding automatically as they filed past him,
You have put more upon me than I can bear. I cannot withstand what You have given me to do.

You can, boy. You can.

It sent a shiver through him to remember his father's words, but then he realized that he had withstood all that had been laid upon him because he had no choice but to withstand it. Now he was charged with the care of a country, not just an army, a country divided and in unrest. He did not feel equal to the task, yet the nobility, it seemed, trusted him with their lives and their fortunes.

Following like sheep,
he thought. Perhaps they could smell the slaughterhouse ahead but saw no way out but through it.

They were in duty bound to follow him, as he was bound to lead, but he could see in their eyes their despair and their fear. He must not show them his or they would truly be lost to him. He could not afford to lose them now, not if he were to keep his crown and his head.

He had long been aware that, once his father died, he would have to fight to stay alive. Stephen would never allow him to resign the throne in peace, and even if he would, Philip could never leave his people to struggle under Stephen's cruel reign. That was part of the weight of his charge. He must fight on.

***

Under close watch of the men who had rescued him, Tom knelt before the altar of the little church in Breebonne, praying earnestly for Elizabeth and Philip and Rosalynde, for his protectors, and for the dear woman who had comforted him.

"God, I do not even know her name, but You do. Bless her and her good husband." He prayed for his men and for peace to come soon, even at this blackest hour. "God, my father is dead," he whispered, as if the Omniscient One did not already know.

He felt his grief come down hard on him then. Unable to force the vision of his father's murder from his mind, he heard again the din of the crowd and the soldiers and felt the claustrophobic crush of the townspeople. Again he felt his breath come with difficulty and the blood beat jerkily in his veins. Again he saw the terror in his father's eyes and the sudden thick gush of crimson from his throat, and from his mouth.