“If you do not do as the king commands, then you will die,” Reginald threatened.
The archbishop stood his ground, refusing to obey Reginald’s command to come forth and allow himself to be taken to the king.
Richard’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. So be it.
As one, the three knights lurched forward. William’s hand grasped hold of the archbishop’s white garments, attempting to drag him from the altar.
Reginald also grabbed the Archbishop’s arm, pulling him, trying to force him from the altar.
The archbishop seized hold of one of the pillars, holding tight. He fought back, shoving Reginald away from him. “Don’t touch me, FitzUrse! You owe me fealty and obedience, you who foolishly follow your accomplices.”
Reginald stumbled, but quickly righted himself. He raised his sword. “I don’t owe fealty or obedience to you who are in opposition to the fealty I owe my lord king.”
One of the monks threw himself protectively before Becket.
William pulled at Becket’s robes, trying to free him from the pillar which he clung to.
Cries and murmurings came from the monks at the rear of the cathedral where Sir Hugh was holding them back.
Richard grabbed the monk who was protecting Becket and twisted his arms, trying to disengage him from the archbishop.
As chaos ensued, Becket inclined his head. “I commend my cause and that of the Church to God, to St. Mary and to the blessed martyr, Denys.”
With a cry of frustration, Reginald brought his sword down. The monk hugging the archbishop for protection lifted his arm to stop the blow. The sword hissed through the air, cutting the monk’s raised arm and landing on the archbishop’s head. The monk screamed in pain. Clutching his arm, he staggered away.
Blood trailed down the side of Becket’s face.
Now perhaps Richard thought the archbishop would realize they meant to take him to the king.
William lifted his sword and brought the flat part down upon Becket’s head. It landed with a dull thud.
Remarkably, the Archbishop still stood and stumbled from the pillar.
Reginald shoved the archbishop and he fell to his knees and elbows.
With a sick realization, Richard knew he would never go to the king, never follow the king’s orders. Disgusted at his impudence, Richard lifted his sword high in the air. His teeth clenched tightly. “Take that for the love of my lord William!” He brought the weapon down as hard as he could, using all his strength. The sword hit with such fury that it cut deeply into Becket’s head, slicing through his skull to land on the stones below. The sword hit the floor with a loud clang, jarring Richard’s arms, and the metal blade split in two.
The archbishop collapsed and his blood flowed over the stones and down the steps.
Richard remembered everything. With his memories came a heavy cloak of guilt.
Mercy emerged from the cottage, almost bouncing. She was so full of excitement and joy. Richard had granted her hope. Salvation. The moon was high overhead and a wind whipped around her as she approached the barn. They were leaving. She was almost done packing. Just the food and… She noticed that Richard’s horse was not there. Confused, she swept into the barn, searching for Richard. But he was not there.
Scowling, she called, “Richard!” The darkness was complete. Everything was silent except for the creaking of the barn in the wind. “Richard!” she called desperately. Where was he? A rippling of trepidation snaked across her shoulders. She turned the corner to his stall, but it was empty. Where had he gone?
Confusion filled her. Where was he?
His horse was gone. Had he left? She quickly pushed the thought aside. For a moment, a fog clouded her mind. Why would he leave? Perhaps he went somewhere. Back to the inn? Why? Why would he do that? She was just making excuses.
Had he remembered who he was?
The thought sent a paralyzing fear through her. She should have told him. She should have told him the entire truth. That he was one of the knights who killed Archbishop Thomas Becket. But she was afraid he would leave her. And she needed him. Desperately.
Quickly, she pushed all the thoughts aside. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was Kit. Still, Richard had promised to help her, to save Kit.
Again, she shoved the thoughts aside. Even if he had left, it made no difference. She had to concentrate on saving Kit. There was only one thing she could do. Continue with the plan. Leave Goodmont. She rushed back across the yard and into the cottage. Finish packing.
Mercy’s mind churned. What was left? Food. She quickly took a blanket from her bed and tied all four corners together. She began to place some of the leftover bread into the make-shift bag. Food. Ale. She searched beside her bed. She knew she had a flask somewhere.
