The Fifth Knight(69)

“To look at him, you would think he was an angel,” said Theodosia. “Eyes as blue as the summer sky, but a heart that belongs to Satan.”

“One of them, Hugh de Morville of Knaresborough, is dead.” Palmer helped himself to a cut of soft cheese rich with best cream.

“As is de Tracy,” said Theodosia. “We believe Fitzurse has joined him, and the fourth one, a great, scar-faced brute called Richard le Bret.” Her eyes met Palmer’s. “Do we not?”

Palmer knew her well enough that she suspected his doubt. “We’ve been on our own for days, haven’t we?” He washed his cheese down with the last of his ale. “Now, Mother Abbess, can you show Theodosia the letter, please?”

♦ ♦ ♦

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Sister Agatha hobbled to the gatehouse in response to the loud knocks.

Her painful hips would allow a certain speed and no more.

Another series of knocks, harder this time.

She sucked a piece of meat from her three remaining teeth and chewed it fast in annoyance. It were that busy today, she’d hardly had time to settle, let alone enjoy her lunch.

First the broad young man who needed a shave, with his companion. A woman of God, but with no habit? What was the world coming to?

The knocks were more a pounding now. Did some folk have no manners?

“I said, I’m coming.” Agatha entered the gatehouse and undid the shutter. She slid it across.

A pair of the bluest eyes she’d ever seen met hers.

“My apologies, good Sister.” A male voice, the tones of a cultured man.

“What is your business, sir?”

“I have an injured companion. A bad dog bite. I entreat you to provide him with your excellent ministrations.”

Agatha sniffed at such fancy talk. “You mean you want the infirmary?”

“If you please, Sister.”

Second time today she’d have to open this big door. With a wince of shoulders that were stiffer than her legs, Agatha turned the key and opened up the door to the strangers.





CHAPTER 17

Palmer stood by Mother Ursula’s desk with Theodosia as the Abbess bent to the small wooden chest under the window. She undid the shiny brass clasp that held it shut, then reached in and took out a tightly rolled piece of manuscript.

Palmer’s flesh prickled. It indeed bore the seal of Canterbury.

“There you are, my child.” She laid it on Theodosia’s outstretched palms.

Theodosia opened it out and scanned it, eyes moving along the many lines of shapes, swirls, and forms. “Oh, Brother Edward.” It came out as a near sob. “What do you think?” She turned to Palmer.

“I don’t know what it says,” he said. “I can’t read.”

The two women exchanged glances.

“I’ve used my wits for fighting, not letters. Just read it to me.”

“Do you want me to leave?” asked the Abbess.

“Please stay,” said Theodosia. “My mother was in your exemplary protection for many years. It is from Brother Edward Grim,” said Theodosia. “A good, holy monk, Mother. He was Thomas’s aide for as long as I can remember. He was injured trying to protect the Archbishop from the knights’ attack.”

The tall monk, with his surprising valor for an unarmed man of the cloth. Palmer had noticed it on that night. The night he’d been with the murderers, serving Fitzurse. What a wrong choice he’d made.

Theodosia looked to the jumbled squiggles again.

In a steady voice, with not a stop or a stutter, she made them speak.

“My dear Amélie,





I hope and trust with all of my faith that this message finds you safe and well. I came across your location in Archbishop Becket’s private papers. It was my sorry task to have to go through them, for, Amélie, terrible events have taken place.





Our beloved Thomas Becket is dead, murdered defending you and your secret. I, useless creature, could not defend him in turn, and my failure will be on my soul forever. Grief weighs heavy on my heart, as it does on all who served him here. My only consolation at this time is that he will now be seated in his rightful place in heaven with Almighty God.





His life was taken by a group of five knights, led by one named Sir Reginald Fitzurse. Fitzurse and his men are in pursuit of you, and want to do you the greatest of harm.





I have worse to tell, though I know it will break your heart if it is not broken already to hear of Thomas. They have taken your beloved Laeticia, and I fear for her to the depths of my soul.





I sail to France on the feast of Saint Theodosius, whose name I praise and pray for his special intervention, from the port of Southampton. I go to bear witness in an audience with King Henry, to tell of the terrible crimes that have been committed.