Crowner's Dilemma - Part Seventeen

[ismenin]

Hello there! A bright, sunny Sabbath. Cold, but I do not mind that. It's the dull, drab, damp, and dingy I can't stand. And it is nice to see the flowers blooming. Spring!

So here, on this lovely Spring afternoon, is this week's offering. I hope you enjoy it - if that's the right word for what lies herein. :D




Betaed and generally sorted by the lovely ladysunrope. Thanks, Lady!! :D


Part 17


Richard was standing behind the desk, his eyes glinting with rage, his hands clutching a short, but serviceable lead-weighted leather club. He was not looking at Dom; his eyes were fixed on some inner vision as he slapped the club into his hand, breathing heavily.

Dom, seeing this, doubted that he would leave the room alive.

Richard came around the desk and sat on it, leaving Dom standing in front of him, for Dom had not bowed, nor had he acknowledged the king in any way. He did not see why he should bow to a man who was intent on - if not actually killing him - of inflicting severe damage upon his person. Only the thought of Elijah, upstairs, weak and sick, made Dom stand his ground. He would not run; he would not leave his love here, alone, with this ravening wolf.

"Have you had him - have you had Lij, who is my dearest love? Have you?" Richard barked, slapping his hand harder still with the club. "Tell me, now. Have you lain with him?"

There was silence.

"Damn your eyes - you will answer me!" Richard rose from the desk, towering over Dom, yet not touching him. He leaned over until their faces were so close Dom could see the golden motes shimmering in the blue of Richard's eyes.

"You will tell me, you worm, or I shall beat it out of you. Have you lain with him? Has your common body defiled that of my love?"

Dom struggled to remain silent, but could not. The urge to speak was too strong.

"Defiled him? There is nothing on this earth that could defile Elijah! Except the filthy minds of evil men, and their desire to take him to themselves, no matter the cost to him. He is himself, his own man!"

Dom was not sure what he was saying, so great was his anger at the man raging before him. A hard blow struck him on the shoulder, then another two on his chest and head. He reeled slightly, but still stood his ground.

"It is not in my power to defile Elijah. He does nothing at another man's bidding, unless it pleases him."

Richard growled again. It was like standing before a lion. He was well-named the lion-hearted, but not for the right reasons.

"He will come to me at my bidding, willing or no!" Richard shouted, raining hard blows upon Dom's unresisting form. It was death to raise a hand against one's anointed king. If he was to die, let it be in defence of his love.

"So," Dom gasped, as the club struck him across the side of the head, cutting open his flesh so that the blood ran down his neck. "you think he...will come...to you...if you rid...yourself of...me, do you...coward?" Dom fell to his knees, unable now, to remain upright under the hail of blows landing on his body.

"He will...not. That...I...promise..."

Richard bellowed with rage, and struck Dom in the face. "He is mine! He will come to me when I call him. I am his king, and master of all!" He threw the club to the floor, and leapt at Dom, reaching, once more for his throat. But Dom's skin was slippery with blood, and Richard could get no purchase there. He struck his prisoner - for such Dom was, unable to defend himself - with his bare fists, and although Dom tried to shield himself with his own hands, it was a fruitless effort.

Blow after blow rained down upon him until Dom, curled up now in a desperate attempt to find protection, knew Richard would not stop. Yet to Dom’s amazement, after some moments of sheer hell where the pain seemed to take over his whole body, the king did cease his fury and Dom was left gasping for air and wondering how he would ever move again.

He could barely lift his head, his sight blurred, images dancing in front of him but then, for an instant it cleared. The king had not finished – he merely paused. Richard was transported with rage beyond the realms of reason, and drew the knife from his belt. Dom swiftly consigned his soul into God's keeping and his heart to Elijah, as Richard walked towards him.

The king raised his hand to strike but the knife did not complete its journey. Richard was thrust backwards by a powerful blow to the chest, which saw him reel against the desk and fall to the ground, stunned.

Vincent, his foot on Richard's chest, said nothing, for a moment, the fierce anger blazing in his eyes a mute testimony to his own rage.

"So, I have witnessed twice today how a Christian king behaves towards a man unable to defend himself. I often wondered how it would be. Stay down, Plantagenet, or I will strike you down myself!"

Richard subsided. He was no physical match for Vincent, even though they were of a size, and he knew it. He dragged himself up, and leaned against the desk leg, panting, and glared furiously at Dom.

"Get you out of Beauvallet! You will come to it no more! I banish you from this, and from all places..."

Before he could say more, Vincent put his hand over the king's mouth, and hissed in his ear. "Banish Dom Mortain from the kingdom, Dick, and you banish Lij with him. And in exiling him, you will also banish me, for I will go with my brother. And I promise you, Rome will not stand by and watch you do either thing with impunity. You may believe it!"

Richard came to his senses. He breathed deeply, controlling his anger. "Leave this place, Mortain! Go where you will, but leave now. I will not see your face again. You may keep your post, and your property, and your lands - but Elijah you shall not have, if I die for it. Go!"

But Dom was unable to respond. He lay, as one dead on the floor, the blood running from his wounds. Vincent, after casting a glance of distaste and disappointment at his cousin, gently picked Dom up, and stalked from the room.

He found John and Umar hurrying across the Hall. He wasted no time. "We have to get him away before Richard recovers his senses enough to order him killed."

John glanced at Umar. "Will you go with him, friend? Take him to safety? I have not your physical strength, as once I had. I cannot hold him."

Umar nodded. "I will, John. Never fear for your friend. He is light enough for me to handle."

Vincent put Dom carefully in the Saracen's arms. "Take him to the abbey. He will be safest there. I will send Astin to guide you. Even Richard will not try to harm Dom on consecrated ground. He fears God's wrath, even if he tries not to show it, and the presence of Aunt Gertruda - sick or well - is a powerful deterrent."

Within minutes Umar was mounted, bearing a now unconscious Dom resting against his broad chest, as he and Astin rode out of Beauvallet, into the afternoon sun.

***

Dom came to himself and attempted to lift his head, but the feat was beyond him. He could see little of his surroundings, for everything was blurred, but he had a sense of whiteness, and peace, and soft voices. Wherever he was, he was out of Richard's way, and that, for the moment, was all that mattered.

A face loomed over him. Dom knew it, but could not place the man. "Drink this. I must return to the castle, but I shall come tomorrow. Or perhaps...John will come. You are safe here...sleep."

Dom believed the voice - and the drink, although it stung his cut lips, was pleasant. He slept.

***

Vincent saw Dom taken safely over the drawbridge before he marched back into Elijah's office to confront Richard.
He found the king seated at the desk, his head resting on his arms. But Vincent was not inclined to show Richard any mercy, for he had shown none to a defenceless Dom. Nor to St Aubin.

"So, Richard," he said, coldly. "You have beaten, and badly injured two men in one day. St Aubin is unconscious, in the infirmary, and Mortain has just been carried out of the castle. He too, was unconscious. I hope you are proud of yourself."

Richard raised his head, and it was seen that he was weeping. But Vincent knew that the tears were for himself, and not for the hurt men, so he did not move to comfort his cousin, but merely poured him a goblet of wine and put it on the desk.

"He will understand why I had to do it, Vince...will he not? Lij, I mean."

Vincent uttered a mirthless bark of laughter. "I doubt it, man. You have seen Lij in a temper? Well, this latest fetch of yours will provoke a storm the like of which we have never seen. You should be afraid, Plantagenet."

Richard lowered his head, again. "I cannot tell him," he groaned.

Vincent stared at him, disbelief etched on his handsome face, cold now, with fury. "You think I will be the one to do so? Think again, Dick! Think again! It is by your action Mortain was injured, and sent away. I will not be the one to tell Lij, nor will anyone else, here, for I will forbid it to be done. And here, in Beauvallet, men are more in awe of me exercising God's power over them, than they are of you and all your fighting guard. But this you must know and yet you still let your temper guide you."

The king nodded as he raised his head and drank. "A madness seized me, Vince. I will not allow it to take hold of me again."

Vincent went to the door, and opened it, then closed it again. "Ah, Dick, Dick - you have been saying this since you were twelve years old - much good did it do you, even then. And I am sure you said it after you first attacked Mortain. How old were you when you killed your first man out of temper alone?"

Richard blinked, and drank again. "Fourteen," he said, quietly.

"Shall I send your esquire to you?" Vincent asked. Richard shook his head. "No. I will take some fresh air to clear my head. How is St Aubin?"

Vincent frowned. "Poorly. He did not deserve that...kicking, Richard. How was he to know that John lied to him, and that you were still alive? He has a document at the inn, I understand, from your brother, that would have proved his innocence. Why did you not send for it?"

Richard brushed the air with his hand, as if to ward off something, and Vincent left then, closing the door softly behind himself, for he knew that Richard had beaten St Aubin because he felt the need to hurt someone, as a man feels a hunger in his belly.

He went to the chapel to pray for an hour, and then decided to see how Elijah fared. As he crossed the Hall, he met Astin, who had just returned with Umar, and told him that no-one was to breathe a word to Elijah, or anyone else, concerning the king, and what he had done to Dom.

"Let him be stronger before he has to face that ordeal," he ordered as he climbed the stairs. "He will need all the strength that is available to him."

"That he will!" murmured Umar, as he followed Vincent to Elijah's chamber.

***

Three days had passed before Elijah was able to sit up a little, and drink some beef broth prepared for him by Astin.

"There, my lord," said the steward, comfortably, standing ready to grab the mazer should it slip, "that'll put hairs on your chest!"

Elijah managed a smile, and as there was no-one else present, whispered, "where is Dom? I wish to see him, if you would fetch him to me."

Astin was ready with his answer. "He has ridden out in the sunshine. He was looking pale, what with being cooped up here, worriting over you, begging your pardon, my lord. A ride in the fresh air will do him good."

Elijah handed back the empty cup, and leaned wearily back on his pillows. "It will - but I would be better for seeing him. See if you can contrive it, when he returns, when the king is not by, even if it is only for a moment."

Astin bowed to hide the distress he felt. "I will see what I can do..." he said, softly, as Umar entered the room.

"His lordship has drunk the broth," Astin said, attempting to indicate with his eyes that something was amiss. "When Sheriff Mortain comes back from his ride, his lordship wishes to see him."

Umar smiled at Elijah. "When he returns, I promise that you shall see him," said the physician, with perfect truth, and with that, Elijah was content. Soon he fell into a deep slumber.

"Did you put your medicine in that broth, sir? It seems he sleeps much of late."

Umar shook his head. "No, my friend, I did not. But I will give him some later. He becomes restless at night. This fever - he has had it before, you should know - tends to make men sleep. It is better that he does so, for the present. I will sit with him. Go you and see what the king may need. He is in the Hall."

Astin turned to leave, muttering, "I know what I'd like to give him, that's for sure, and that's a hefty toe up his arse."

Umar smiled. "How do you know I will not tell the king you said that?"

Astin glanced back, and a rare smile lit up his features. "I did not specify whose arse I meant, sir, and I also know, because you care for my lord, there, do you not?" He was still smiling as he left.

Umar nodded at the closed door. "That is very true, good man - I do care for him, and I take leave to say that I care for Richard not a single jot."

***

Later that evening, John Barebone went to the king, who was sitting with a few of his men by the fireplace in the Hall. It could not be put off any longer, and Vincent would not help. John had searched for him, and found him sitting in the infirmary beside a very weak St Aubin, and the archbishop would not be moved to aid the king.

"He created the problem, Father John, let him extricate himself, if he can. I will go to Lij after Richard has confessed to him. Likely he will have need of me, then," Vincent had said, and John agreed. Elijah would need somebody during the aftermath of Richard's revelations.

***

John bowed low before the king. Richard's face was pale, and his brow furrowed with thought, but it could not be put off. He had to ask. "Beau Sire, his lordship is distressed. He is, er...asking for his friend, Dom, and is disturbed that he does not come. He knows something is amiss, your Grace. His lordship has asked for you to come to him. He fears...he fears..."

John stopped dead at the look Richard gave him. "What does he fear, man - tell me!" Richard barked, gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles showed white beneath his sunburnt skin.

"He fears you are keeping his friend from him, Beau Sire. Will you come to him?"

Richard sighed deeply. The moment had come, and there was no escaping it now.

***

It was worse than any of them had feared.

"You dared to do what, Richard? You have banished my dearest friend from my home without my permission? How dare you do this? It is not for you to say who shall remain at Beauvallet, and who shall go. This is...my home...my castle...my fortress, and Dom is myfriend. I demand you go personally and bring him back from wherever it is that you have sent him! Now!"

Elijah was sitting up in bed flanked by half a dozen pillows. If before he had been pale, now he was the colour of ashes. Astin, waiting outside the door, could hear the fury in his master's voice through four solid inches of English oak, and ran for Vincent. Only once before had he seen Elijah lose complete control of his temper. He did not wish to witness it again, not if he could help it.

"Why are you sitting there, Dick? Why do you not move? I have asked you to bring Dom to me." Elijah's voice had an edge like a knife, with something else lurking behind the tone that made the hairs stand up on the back of Richard's neck.

Richard bowed his head. "It is not within my power, Lij. He lies at the Abbey, and is...sick."

"Sick?" Elijah's voice trembled, as Vincent and Umar hurriedly entered the room. "Tell me, John," Elijah managed, turning to the apothecary-priest standing by the bed-head, "does Dom have the fever? Has he taken it from me? Tell me!"

No-one spoke, for Vincent had commanded that they say nothing.

Richard raised his head. "It was...I could not help myself...I..."

Elijah grabbed his cousin's hand in a grip so tight, it bruised. "If you have killed him, Dick, I will slay you, myself. I swear it! By God's sacred bones, I will!"

Richard did not reply, and even when Elijah pulled himself out of bed and stood before him, pale and swaying, the king could not look him in the face.

“Tell me, Dick. Tell me he lives.” Elijah’s voice was not loud but so filled with menace that those in the room feared Richard would object. Yet he did not, but meekly bowed his head and mumbled,

“I can only pray that he does…”

With a cry, Elijah struck Richard hard about the head, and face, but the king did not hurt him, apart from grasping his hands, and nor did anyone else move to help.

Elijah easily tore himself away from Richard's grip. Nothing could hold him, now. "Tell me what you have done with him, for I swear if you do not, I will leave this island and never set foot in your kingdom again. You will never hear my voice, or see my face in this world, and I promise you, that if I outlive you, not one prayer will I make for your soul, for you will be as damned to me in the next life as you will be dead to me in this."

All present knew that this was possible. Elijah was not a vindictive man, but if anyone he trusted turned against him, he would never forgive the betrayal. He was in a towering fury, and they knew, because they had before seen it - seen that this Elijah - incandescent with rage, his skin the colour of burning ashes, his eyes like glowing blue flame - could accomplish every threat he made. They all knew too, that Richard could not bear such a permanent exile from Elijah’s life.

"Richard! Tell me what you have done!"

The warning in Elijah's voice was low, but the king heeded it.

"He is in the abbey infirmary, Lij. I lost my temper, and I beat him. I know not his condition…but he barely breathed…I could not st…"

Elijah let out a sound halfway between a moan and a scream, and lashed out once more. He seemed not to know where he was, or what he was doing. Vincent came up behind him, and gripped his brother's arms tightly. "Lij!" he murmured in his ear, but he was not heeded. Elijah was trembling so hard it was a miracle he was still standing.

"Umar, can you aid him?" Vincent pleaded, his eyes dark with concern. "I fear for his reason if he cannot be quieted. I...we...have seen him like this before, and..." He could not go on.

Those present stared in pity at the duke, pinned within his brother's caring grasp. His eyes were rolling in his head, and all the sense they could determine from the welter of his manic screaming was "Dom! Dom! Amis!"

Umar strode forward and took Elijah from his brother. He fought the physician like a man possessed, until Umar took the duke's head in his strong hands, and brought Elijah's gaze to meet with his own. "Soft you, now, Lij. Soft. Sleep!" and without another word, Elijah fell into enfolding arms, and Umar put him gently to bed.

Richard, who had never before seen such a thing, was dumbstruck. "What is it that you did to him? He is not...dead?"

Umar bowed. "No, my Lord. He sleeps, that is all."

"All? All? I would give half my kingdom to learn that trick, man!"

It was John who spoke, his voice quiet but firm. "It is no trick, sire, but a form of ancient healing. And it would take considerably more than half a kingdom to prise its secret from Umar al Rashid's grasp."

Umar's voice was faintly touched with humour, although the expression on his face was grim. "That is so. Men have tried torturing me to obtain it. But I laughed in their faces, and fell asleep under the pressure of their red-hot irons."

Then he motioned towards the door. "I will have John alone to stay with me. Elijah will need us. Tell Hanno and Giles to give out the potions to the sick in the infirmary, as we have directed."

***

The two cousins found themselves standing together outside the chamber door. Richard turned to the archbishop. "Let us find some wine, Vince, before we both fall in a faint."

Vincent nodded. He was by no means reconciled with his cousin, but there was no point in showing how furious he was with him - not at that moment. That would be something to think on later, he decided, as they walked down the stairs together.

For Vincent was very worried indeed. The last time he had seen Elijah like this, they had feared for his reason. He hoped Umar had been able to stop him before his mind turned in on itself. He was afraid - very afraid - that one day it would happen, and his brother's mind would snap under the weight of it.

Only time would tell. He would send - as he had every day - Umar or John, to see how Dom did, and to bring him back when he was sufficiently recovered. For he knew Elijah would need to see his lover with his own eyes, before he would believe he was not dead.

Whether Richard liked it or not, Dom would come. Vincent had no mind to lose his only brother upon Richard's jealous whim. Dom's voice would bring Elijah back to himself, if anything could...if Dom recovered.

He left his cousin fretting over a mazer of wine, in the Hall, and went to the chapel, and prayed to every god who might be listening, that it would be so.