The Scourge (Kindle Serial) (14 page)

Tristan’s
fingers pause and tremble just above the surface of the scalding oil. In
another moment I will hear his screams as he maims himself. As he maims himself
for me.

I
am responsible for this. I brought him here.

There
is nothing that I wouldn’t do for Elizabeth. No pain I wouldn’t suffer. I would
die a thousand fiery deaths to see her face again…but Tristan shouldn’t burn
with me.

I
shout before I even decide to shout. “Stop!”

My
scream rings out across the room and startles Lord Robert. I shove Tristan from
the cauldron and he sprawls to the filthy thresh. Sir Christopher slams me with
the shaft of his spear. I whirl on him as he winds up for another blow, and I grab
the weapon. We struggle for control and he makes the mistake of bracing his
legs wide. I kick him in the groin with all of my strength. Sir Charles locks one
arm around my neck as Christopher falls. I have time to snap the spear over my
knee before Sir Frederick joins the fray. He pounds my cheek with a blow so
powerful that I see Elizabeth in her wedding dress. It takes three heartbeats for
my vision to return. My cheek feels like broken glass, but it was worth the
pain. It was worth it because I saw Elizabeth again, and because Sir
Christopher writhes on the ground, hands buried in his crotch.

My
knees have no strength, so Sir Charles holds me up as Sir Frederick pulls back
his fist for another blow. I hold up my arm. “Wait…wait.”

Lord
Robert stays Frederick’s hand. “Do you wish to go first then, Sir Edward?”

In
these times of madness only madness will save us.

I
regain my feet and shrug off Sir Charles’s arms. “If that’s what your men
want.”

“It
is what
I
want, Sir Edward.”

I
turn to the half-circle throng of his men behind us. “Do you want to see me
burn my arm?”

They
don’t seem sure how to respond, so I scream it. “
Who wants to see me burn my
arm
?”

The
men look to Sir Robert and cheer, but not loudly.

“I
will put my arm in that cauldron. I will give myself a burn and fetch that
spoon. Perhaps you would like to see me stub my toe as well. Would you like
that?” I smile wryly. “Should I stub my toe as well?”

Lord
Robert crosses his arms. “Sir Edward, stop stalling or I will lose my
patience.”

“I
only thought your men would like some
real
entertainment. Not some
peasant half-measures.”

I
step to the cauldron and strip my sleeve. The scent of seared chicken sickens
my stomach. I stare into the filthy oil and wonder what my flesh will smell
like when it burns. A layer of brown froth rests against the pot edges.

“This
is not entertainment, Sir Edward. This is God’s justice.”

“Amen,”
Morgan says.

Tristan
shoots Morgan an angry glance.

“Of
course it is.” I take a breath and raise my hand over the cauldron. The heat
from the scalding oil warms my palm. “And it will be over in a few quick
moments.”

I
peer at Lord Robert and see the indecision in his shifting lips. “Very well,”
he says. “I will humor you, Sir Edward. What did you have in mind?”

I
draw my hand back. “It seems to me that it is a simple thing to fetch that
spoon. My arm will burn. I may lose the use of it, but I am a knight, I will
get the spoon whether I am guilty or innocent.”

“I
am listening.”

If
Lord Robert wants to see me dance, I will dance for him. By God, I will dance
for him.

“The
Lord can’t judge us as he would judge peasants. If you want Him to judge us,
then you must allow a proper test. You must allow us…” I turn to the men
assembled around us and bellow, “
A trial by combat
!”

The
cheers resound across the hall.

“I thought it was a
good idea, Ed.” Tristan speaks to me over the logs of the arena. He is on the
outside. His ankles are tied with rope to those of Sir Morgan. They have about
a foot of slack between them. Sir Charles and another knight stand guard over
them.

I
thought it was a good idea too. In retrospect, I realize it was a terrible
idea.

Sir
Christopher was the one who spoke against us, so I had hoped to fight him. I know
that I can send that fool to his death. But it was not to be. I used Lord
Robert’s men to get what I wanted and in return, Lord Robert used them to get
what he wanted. He let them choose my opponent, and their choice was not Sir
Christopher.

I
watch Sir Frederick walk from the great hall in full armor. Two similarly
armored knights walk at his sides holding halberds. A man with a thick, gray beard
opens the door to the arena. Frederick and his men stop just outside.

And
they prepare themselves to release Lord Robert’s champion.

The
giant brown bear weaves its head and paces the length of the fifteen-foot pen.
Its growl is like a war galley running aground. The great beast vomits, then
huffs and continues to pace. Sir Frederick reaches carefully toward the cage
and releases the metal pin that secures the door. The bear rises on two legs
and pounds at the gate. The three knights stop the swinging door with their
shoulders so that it lines up with the entrance to the arena. They groan at the
impact. The sound of the gate crashing against their armor resounds across the
castle grounds.

The
two knights at Frederick’s side hold their halberds through the gaps to prevent
the bear from muscling the door further. There is only one place for the animal
to go, and I am there already. With no armor.

Tristan
leans in close. “You should have chosen a spear, Ed. Or a longsword. You’ll
never have time to swing that weapon.”

I
look at the hulking maul in my hand. A great hammer — the largest they had in
the armory. Tristan may be right. It is an unwieldy thing.

I
spare a glance at Lord Robert, up on his platform, and he smiles at me. I know
he believes that my plan has backfired. That I will be savaged by this bear.
And perhaps he is right. Perhaps this man’s insanity will end my journey to
Elizabeth. Madness is the true plague now. I wonder how many mad tyrants rule
in England now. How many lunatic kings sit in dung-pits and throw men to their
deaths.

The
bear lumbers toward me, its bulk swaying from side to side. I have been told
that some bears can weigh seven or eight times as much as a man. If that is
true, then this one is ten times my weight, for I have never seen its equal.

A
thick chain drags from the animal’s collar, perhaps fifteen feet long. Sir
Frederick takes the loose end and coils it three times around the iron stake
that juts from the center of the arena. The other two knights guard him with halberd
as he latches the chain with a large, rusty lock. They scurry from the arena,
and I am left alone with Lord Robert’s madness.

The
bear looks at me. Its fur is spiky and matted. Countless gray patches and streaks
in the hide testify to the animal’s many wounds. I wonder how many battles this
poor creature has seen. More than me, I think. I look into its eyes and I see
no danger there. It is as tired of fighting as I am.

The
great beast shakes its head from side to side, then vomits again. It paws at
its muzzle, then looks skyward and roars. To call that sound a roar is too mild.
It is a cry to shatter the heavens. Some of the spectators cover their ears and
look to one another. I am certain that everyone in the entirety of the valley
must hear it. But in the middle of the roar something changes. The deep tones —
tones that I feel in my teeth — rise and rise until they become a jagged shriek.
My breath quickens at the sound. This creature fought an infected bear. Tasted
its blood.

I
pray, but what I ask cannot be granted, because the change has occurred already.
When next I stare into the animal’s eyes, I see nothing but darkness.

The
watching crowd erupts into cheers. Lord Robert claps and laughs on his
platform.

“God’s
blood!” Tristan shouts.

“Don’t
let it bite you, Edward!” Morgan calls. I give him a look that I hope conveys
my opinion of his advice.

The
maul in my hand grows heavier with every heartbeat. It is a slow, clumsy
weapon. Perhaps I should have chosen a spear. I hope Tristan is wrong. If only
so he won’t be so smug when we meet in whatever afterlife awaits us.

I
glance at the bear and ask God to allow me time for one good swing. If I can land
the clumsy hammer in the perfect spot, one good swing is all it will take.

The
bear howls, black eyes wrinkling closed, cavernous jaws straining. This time
the sound is pure plague. Its claws gouge the dirt. The nightmare eyes lock onto
mine. It growls. A rattling chain of a growl. The muscles of its shoulders
tense, and I brace myself.

The
animal leaps.

I
roll to my right and the bear’s great bulk hammers the logs of the arena. They
are stout logs, buried deep in the soil, but they pitch backward six inches
from the impact.

Plague
makes the creature clumsy. It is my only advantage.

The
bear backs from the wall with a grunt and tracks me. I sprint away from the perimeter
and turn to face the beast at the center of the arena. It barrels toward me,
paws curling like fists as it runs.

When
it is close enough for me to smell the rank odor of feces and vomit, the bear stands
on two legs and howls. Four yellowed fangs glimmer among the rows of smaller,
jagged teeth. . It lurches forward and swipes in my direction with hooked claws.
Four-inch claws. They are like daggers whistling through the air. I leap to the
left. The animal lurches toward me on two legs, then drops to all fours and
tries to circle around to my back. I spin to face it, holding the maul out.
Keeping the heavy hammerhead between the creature and me.

Something
hits me on the shoulder. A rotten cabbage. An onion bounces past me from
behind. Lord Robert’s men are pelting me with rotting vegetables. I don’t
recall that in the rules of a trial by combat.

Something
round and hard whistles past the bear’s head and skips along the dirt floor of
the arena. The animal doesn’t notice. Its black eyes see only me. It snarls and
takes a slow step forward. I jab at its mouth with the maul and am rewarded by
a howl of pain.

The
bear turns back toward the perimeter wall and I realize that it was not the
maul that caused the injury. A stone lies by its rump. Tristan and Morgan wave
to me from behind the palisade. Tristan holds another stone. The bear turns its
head in their direction and I see my chance.

I
raise the heavy hammer high as another stone whistles through the air. The
stone strikes the animal’s head. The creature roars and bounds toward Tristan
before I can finish my swing. A coil of chain that has looped around my foot tightens
and yanks me forward. I crash onto my back and the hammer thuds to the earth as
the bear drags me toward the wall.

A
rock in the soil gouges my spine as I skim along the arena floor and I howl in
pain. The bear reaches the end of its slack and strains against the chain, reaching
toward Tristan and Morgan. The chain clamps against my ankle with the full
weight of the afflicted creature and I scream once more. Lord Robert’s men
cheer at my cries. A vegetable of some sort splatters beside me. I claw at the
chain but it is too tight. Tears of agony squeeze from my eyes as I pry at the metal,
but I might as well try to pry open a castle gate. The metal links grind
against the bones of my ankle.

I
grit my teeth, determined to hide my pain from the cheering crowd. And when I
can’t bear it any longer the pressure suddenly eases. The bear turns back
toward me, sniffing at what I can only assume is the blood from the wound on my
back. I untangle myself and scramble on all fours back toward the center of the
ring. Back toward the maul.

The
bear rumbles after me. I feel its claws raking at my legs, shredding the
leather of one of my boots. I turn onto my back and kick with a mighty spasm of
fear, bashing the creature in the snout. The animal rears and howls. I clamber
to my feet and hobble toward the maul. The bear follows, stomping on two legs.

I
grab the maul and turn so quickly that I fall to one knee as the animal’s
shadow darkens my world. I brace for the coming barrage. But the bear stumbles
over its chain and drops to all fours.

Once
again I see my chance.

The
animal’s head is low as it rakes at the links. I rise to my feet and raise my
weapon high into the air. God allows me the time for one good swing and I land the
clumsy hammer in the perfect spot.

The
sound of metal on metal reverberates in the arena as the rusty lock shatters.
The stake rips almost completely out of the ground.

The
perfect spot.

Tristan
suggested a spear, but the maul was what I needed. The shock of the blow numbs
my arms but I don’t hesitate. I drop the hammer and run. If the bear wasn’t
afflicted I would have no chance. But plague slows the animal. It lumbers
behind me, huffing and grunting.