The Fifth Knight(115)

“I’ve been filling the fool up with poisoned wine all night. He’ll be in a sleep he’ll never wake up from.”

Shock threatened to rob her of sense. “You….monster.”

“Only doing my duty,” said Edward. “A lesson you never could learn, you hussy. Now, where is my manuscript?”

♦ ♦ ♦

Palmer leaned over the stern of the ship and vomited his belly empty. Again, he retched. And again. And again.

“Too much wine, sir knight?” Captain Donne’s question wasn’t overloaded with sympathy.

Palmer shook his head as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “A lot of wine, yes. But it’s the ocean under my feet. It gets in my head and sends my ears spinning till I’m sick. Always has done.” He bent over to retch into the ocean again, then gave the captain a rueful grin. “Always will do, I suppose.”

Donne considered him for a moment. “Well, hurling your guts up has done you some good. You were pale as a ghost when you came up here.”

“Come to think of it, I do feel better,” said Palmer. “I only wish there was an easier way of settling my stomach.” He grimaced. “That fish I had for supper didn’t taste half as good on the way up as it did on the way down.”

“Shame it got wasted,” said Donne. “I had to stretch it far enough as it was. Talk about the loaves and the fishes. Maybe the monk worked another miracle.”

Palmer looked over the side to where the gentle deep-sea swell moved beneath them. He might be sick again. He hoped not. “How do you mean?” he asked, scarcely listening.

“I only had provisions for two passengers. Not four.”

Churning guts forgotten, Palmer focused his full attention on Donne. “Two?”

“Aye,” said Donne. “Edward and his usual companion, I take ’em back and forward every now and then, between here and France. They pay well, no trouble, keep themselves to themselves. Wish all folk were like that.”

“Who’s his companion?”

“Posh bloke, a knight.” Donne pulled a sheet in. “Blue eyes, his name’ll come to me in a — ”

“Fitzurse?”

“That’s the one. Instead of him, I get you and two nuns.” The captain rolled his eyes. “At least I’ve been paid well. Oi! Where are you going so quick?”

Palmer paused at the top of the aft ladder. “I need to find Edward. Fast. Where’s his cabin?”

♦ ♦ ♦

Theodosia backed away from Edward until she hit the deck rail.

“I asked you once,” he said. “Where is my manuscript?”

“You shall have it when you promise, nay, swear, that you’ll not harm my mother.” A feeble threat, but all she had.

“Your fates are not in my hands, Sister,” he said. “Eleanor herself ordered you both gone. How could I go against her?”

“By being a man of compassion. A man of God.”

“A man of God? I’ve worn this cursed cassock for over two decades, the better to win Becket’s trust. He kept his counsel well, I’ll give him that. I never understood why he was so protective of you, of Amélie. It was only a few months ago that he finally slipped up, made a mistake. I found reference to you and your mother in an old letter from the King. Becket left it among some other papers he’d been reading as part of his ongoing feud.” Edward smiled at the recollection. “As soon as I told my queen what I had found, you were as good as dead. She dispatched Sir Reginald Fitzurse to do his worst. ”

Theodosia drew her chin up. “But he did not end well, did he?”

Edward was on her in an instant, grabbing a handful of her dress. “Do you think you can get the better of me, like you did with him?” His breath was hot on her cheek as he switched his hold to her neck. “When I met him at the quays, sent him to the hostel, I thought I was rid of you for good.”

She tried to choke out a plea.

“But you carried on like that dullard Palmer. Now I have to do it.”

“Then you’ll never find your manuscript.” She rasped her words.

“Of course I will. It’s poking out of your pocket. And even if I lost it, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. I’d just write another one. Not the best use of my time, but not the worst.” His grip tightened. “I’ll have plenty of time, once Eleanor gets rid of Henry and makes me her new Archbishop of Canterbury. A far better one than Thomas Becket.”

“Let her go, Edward.”

The monk wheeled round and gasped in surprise. But he didn’t loosen his grip.

Theodosia looked up.

Benedict stood atop the pile of wooden planks that formed the deck cargo.