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“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” said William, leaning against a dripping marble statue.
Robert Tynsdale sat on a moss-covered funerary monument. “I wasn’t sure if I could get here.”
From the little churchyard in the village of Escomb, William could see the lights of the army camps and the watchfires up on the walls. Daylight was almost gone, and a sullen, misty drizzle was falling, but still hundreds of men and carts and horses filled the roads and the farm lanes.
“Is the Immani woman coming, too?” asked William, glancing around at the ivy-covered church and the little houses across the street.
“I think she’s around somewhere. But she may be working on something else at the moment.” Robert rubbed his hands together. “Is there anything new?”
“Yes. First of all, Duke Lukas is coming with his reinforcements. We’ve had messengers from him.”
Robert muttered profanity. “How far away is he now?”
“He’s in Keneshire. He thinks he can be here in two weeks. Maybe less than that if the weather improves.”
“Two weeks.” Robert let out a long breath and rubbed his forehead.
“He’s got four more regiments of Annenstruker volunteers and a couple thousand mercenaries under the command of Sir Halvor Ingridsson. Do you know who that is?”
“One of Duke Lukas’s natural sons, isn’t he? Half-Krigadamite, yes?”
“Yes. He keeps the faith of his mother’s people, and he doesn’t bother with Ivich niceties like mercy.”
“Just what we need.” Robert sat back, letting the rain wash over his face for a second. “Fine, then. Anything else?”
William moved closer and lowered his voice. “The king has twice rejected Duchess Flora’s offer to block the river with chains and a flotilla of Keneshire boats.”
In the gathering dark, William could see Robert’s initial scowl of confusion. Then Robert’s eyebrows shot up as he realized the significance of that information.
“Wait...are you saying that no one is watching the river?”
“Not like they should be. We have supply barges going up and down, but the king doesn’t think it’s worth his time to develop a proper river navy. And if he did, he doesn’t trust Duchess Flora to make it.”
Robert let out another long sigh. “Well, I won’t lie. That would be marvelous news if we had any reinforcements we could bring in by river. But between you and me, we don’t.”
From a nearby street, they heard the rumble of carts and horses, and the shouts of the drovers and cavalrymen. It was time for Robert to go. Before he left, they shook hands, and Robert said, “I don’t know how many more times we’ll be able to meet like this. So, just in case, goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” said William. “Don’t let that big fancy sword of yours get rusty.”
He watched Robert cross the road beyond the church, slipping down into a ditch and then vanishing into the darkness and the rain. William found himself unexpectedly sad to think he might not see Tynsdale again. Was this what it would feel like someday when little Robby grew up and went off to squire for somebody else?
“No, I’m being stupid,” he thought. And morbid, too. Perhaps it came from hanging out in a cemetery for an hour.
On leaving the churchyard, he stopped in at the nearest commissary tent for a leisurely supper of cold chicken, bread, and cheese. Then he headed for his own sleeping tent. Off to his left, he saw the king’s headquarters, but he didn’t want to go there. Someone would give him a message to carry or ask him to go scouting into the dense lanes of the southern part of the city again. He didn’t think he could do that. Something about this methodical, grinding form of warfare offended him deeply. It felt like watching a man get beaten to death, when a simple stiletto in the heart would have been so much quicker and neater.
Ducking quickly inside his own tent, he groped for the safety lamp. He wanted to sleep, but he thought he might be able to write Gwen and Robby a letter before he retired.
“Hello, William.”
He turned slowly, every nerve tingling, hand on the hilt of his knife. In the corner of the tent he could only make out a dark, looming shape. The voice was unmistakable, though.
“Your majesty.” He bowed. “To what do I owe this honor?”
The cover came off a safety lamp, and in the sudden flaring light, William saw the king lean down to light a cigar off the flame. Broderick was dressed in simple hunting clothes, but William noted he had a shirt of mail under his tunic.
“Care for a smoke?”
“No, thank you, your majesty.”
“Yes, you never indulge the way you should. We’ve known each other a very long time, haven’t we?”
“Indeed, sir.”
There was nothing outwardly threatening in the king’s posture or voice. But William’s sense of danger—finely honed from hundreds of hazardous missions—practically screamed that he should run.
The king blew a smoke ring and smiled fondly up at it. “Almost twenty years, in fact, isn’t it? I remember the jousts up at Wealdan Castle. You were a teenager, new at court, and you beat Volker Rath and Lawrence Swithin in a single day. You fought like you enjoyed it, William. And you weren’t embarrassed to enjoy it. That’s the main thing I remember about that day. You fought like me.”
“Er...thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome. That is why I had to come directly here, instead of letting Rath handle this. For the sake of our long friendship, William, perhaps you can tell me why you were meeting with my brother tonight.”
For a moment, William couldn’t even breathe. He looked frantically around, his eyes landing on the gray weave of the tent, the light of the lantern, the folded blankets on his cot. Slowly, he gained control of himself, and he looked the king in the eye.
“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
“Sir Robert Tynsdale, my half-brother. You met with him in the graveyard of the Church of the Blessed Amse. He was nosing around our positions all afternoon. We could have captured him, but Rath had the idea to let him get through the lines so we could see who his contact was. That way we could finally catch the mole. I gave you that job. I told you to catch the mole.” Broderick sat back, puffing on the cigar. “How is that coming, by the way?”
William clenched his fists and forced himself to keep looking Broderick in the eye. “I have a few leads, sir.”
“You’re the mole, William. You’re the one passing information to the Sigors. I honestly don’t know why I never saw it before. But now it’s clear: you’re the traitor.”
Outside, lightning flashed, and a low peal of thunder rang through the camp. The rain beat harder against the sides of the tent. William reached for the hilt of his knife, then let his hand fall to his side. The king was only eight feet away. It looked so easy, so simple. But for all his faults, Broderick was not a stupid man. There must be guards outside. And Broderick was one of the best swordsmen in the country.
“Good,” said the king, smiling. “I see you understand your position here. I’m not going to insult you with threats of torture and pain. You know what I can do to you. So, my first question is, what did you tell Robert? What information have you given the Sigors?”
Had one of Rath’s men been spying on him and Robert? Had someone overheard their conversation? Possibly. But then why did Broderick need to ask about it now? William decided to take a chance.
“I told him that Duke Lukas is two weeks away. I told him how many men Lukas is bringing.”
The king tapped the ash of the cigar. “And was that all?”
“I told him Sir Halvor Ingridsson is leading the reinforcements under Duke Lukas.”
For nearly half a minute, the king stared at William. Then he looked away and shrugged, apparently satisfied. “I don’t know what they will be able to do with that information, but it’s neither here nor there. The important thing is that you betrayed me.”
“Yes, sir.”
He hadn’t revealed that he had told Robert about the river being unguarded. William didn’t know what difference that would make for the Sigors—probably none at all. But it gave him a tiny measure of satisfaction to be able to conceal the full truth from Broderick.
“You know me too well,” said the king, “to imagine that I will let you live now. However, you have a choice as to how you meet your end. I think I owe you that much, at least.”
“A choice, sir?”
“Yes. Your first option is a public trial. That would be very embarrassing to me, of course. It looks bad if one of the king’s closest associates betrays him. It calls into question his judgment and good sense. People will wonder, ‘If he couldn’t see that William Aitken was a spy for the enemy, what other mistakes is he making?’”
There was another burst of lightning and another roll of thunder. The king took a long drag on his cigar and blew another smoke ring.
“And then there’s the problem of your family,” Broderick continued. “If you’re a traitor, then your lands and titles are forfeit to the crown immediately. Your wife’s name is Gwendolen, isn’t it? And your son’s name is...Robby? Did I remember that correctly?”
It was all William could do to force out the word, “Yes.”
“Rath asked around, but no one knows where your family lives.” Broderick grinned. “I suspect you arranged that, didn’t you? Well, be that as it may, you can’t imagine that I’m incapable of finding them, wherever they’re hidden.”
William gripped the hilt of his knife and snapped, “Don’t touch them.”
“I have no intention of harming them,” said the smiling king. “Which brings us to your other choice. You can die a hero, and your titles and estates will pass to your son. In fact, I will add another estate or two, to make it fair.”
“Oh.” William felt suddenly numb with understanding. “You want me to take care of this myself.”
“Exactly.” The king drew a knife from his belt and tossed it on William’s bed. “It saves me a lot of trouble. There’s no trial. I don’t have to let Rath know he was right—because you know he would be insufferable about it. I don’t have to admit I was deceived. Your son will become the second Baron Aitken. I will make him my page and, in due time, my squire. Your family name will be honored and respected. All of us will remember you fondly as the hero you were.”
“Ah.” William stepped over to the bed, sat down, and picked up the knife. “I see.”
“I will put out the story that Robert Tynsdale tried to kill me, and you heroically sacrificed yourself to save my life.”
“That will be a good story, sir.”
“Yes, I thought you would like that.” The king stood and walked to the tent flap. “I will take a brief walk, William. Shall we say...twenty minutes?” He bowed. “Goodbye.”
Then Broderick swept from the tent, and William was left alone on his bunk with the naked, gleaming knife.
In some ways, he had known this was coming ever since Broderick had ordered him to kill little Edwin Sigor back at Wealdan Castle almost three years ago. It was like he had become a man divided in two. One side of himself—the public side—had remained the king’s loyal servant. But the other side had helped the Immani and the Sigors, and had trusted those people with the safety of his family. Those two sides had walked separate paths. But now the two roads had converged again at the end.
At the end. He tested the blade with his thumb. It was quite sharp, made of excellent quality Turetanian steel. King Broderick only ever had the best.
“It’s only a moment,” he said to himself, turning the knife in his hands. He had done this to so many other men. It would be no different now. He knew how to make it quick and painless.
He pointed the tip of the blade to the left of his breastbone, between two ribs. All he had to do was slide it in there, or fall forward, and it would be done.
His eyes fell on his writing set, and he thought about sending Gwen one last letter. But there was no time. The king was waiting. William steadied himself and put the point of the blade against his chest.
To his right, there came a soft popping sound, like the bursting of a bubble, and a rustle of fabric. A sudden shadow loomed over William. He almost dropped the knife, but he caught the handle and spun it in his hand as he looked around.
Intira the Immani spy stood at his side, dripping wet from the rain. She wiped the water from her face, then looked at the knife in his hands.
“I’m going to guess your cover is blown,” she said.
“Yes. How did you—”
“I’ve been following you. I saw they were watching Robert, so I decided I had better keep an eye on you after your meeting in the churchyard. But never mind that. What happened?”
Quickly, he told her the deal the king was willing to make for the protection of William’s family.
“That’s lovely, but you can’t trust him, can you? And if you’re worried about your wife and son, we can put them somewhere that Broderick can never find.”
He turned the knife again in his hands. “I...I don’t know.”
“You don’t actually want to die, do you?” She reached into her false arm and turned and twisted a few gears and jewels. Then she held out her real hand. “Come on.”
He looked at the knife, then at Intira. Outside the tent, he could hear soldiers talking in low voices, and he knew the king was out there, waiting like a vulture.
William took Intira’s hand and said, “Let’s go. I’m ready.”