Daegmund of Gradock regarded his uninvited guest from beneath lowered brows. Lord Merrodon was seated across from him, a goblet in his hand, trying to appear as though he were in full possession of himself. Daegmund was by no means fooled, but had to own that his interest was roused.
The House of Merrodon had never deigned to pay the House of Gradock much notice before. Daegmund could remember his father cursing such hauteur, and demanding to know in what way they thought they were better.
Daegmund had always considered it was the fact that the House of Gradock lacked the elegance of the stronger families of Wessex. He had never considered that it was because Lord Merrodon was afraid of them.
Lord Merrodon still sat quietly, a curious mix of insolence and fear. He had hardly spoken since entering the room, but had availed himself of copious amounts of liquid refreshment.
Daegmund had never been the sort of person who found it necessary to put people at their ease, or help them when they became tongue tied. He remained silent as well, waiting for Lord Merrodon to collect his scattered wits. Anlaf stood leaning against the wall, half in the shadows, playing with his gem encrusted dagger.
Lord Merrodon eyed the blade uncomfortably, thinking that it was out of place in such a hall as this. The shabby feel to the house, and the rough clothes that Daegmund and his brother wore, stood out starkly in contrast to the opulent workmanship of the knife.
“Our families have never been close, Lord Gradock,” began Lord Merrodon suddenly.
“I do not think it can be said that the Gradocks have ever been close to anyone,” returned Daegmund with a careless shrug of his shoulders.
This observation did not seem to help Lord Merrodon’s lucidity at all, and he swallowed a rather large measure of mead.
“’Tis my wish that we could… at least… we might develop some sort of bond between our families.”
“I do not think that likely.” Daegmund shook his head with finality. “I have seen your daughters.”
Lord Merrodon’s face became suffused with unbecoming colour, his mouth opening and closing much like a stranded fish.
“I did not mean that sort of alliance! You must be mad to suppose that I would shackle my own flesh and blood to a…” Lord Merrodon broke off, observing Daegmund’s raised brow. He swallowed jerkily and then forced a smile. “I thought we might help each other a little.”
Daegmund snorted.
“I thought t’would be some foolishness of that sort. You find yourself in trouble and expect me to help you out of it. You will find that the Gradocks are not known for their neighbourly impulses.”
“But it would help you too!” exclaimed Lord Merrodon, a touch of desperation entering his voice.
“Really?” Daegmund’s tone sent the blood rushing to flood Lord Merrodon’s face with colour.
“I can offer you the chance of revenge without retribution: to kill Rafe of Valrek.”
For the first time Daegmund’s form seemed tense, and he dragged himself upright in his chair.
“You could? How interesting.”
Lord Merrodon relaxed, sitting back in his seat with a smug, self-satisfied smile.
“Why do you want him dead?”
“Does it matter?”
“Twill matter a great deal if you do not tell me,” responded Daegmund with the lazy antagonism that was unique to him.
Lord Merrodon was reminded of the youth who stood in the shadows playing with his dagger. He looked up and caught the glitter of the blade, and the flash of rubies and emeralds. The youth flicked it so that the blade left his hand and turned a full circle, before the hilt landed back in his palm. His face was as indolently relaxed as his brother’s, but there was a trace of amusement lurking around his mouth. Lord Merrodon’s eyes seemed to have a morbid fascination in the knife. He watched silently as the youth tossed it, cleverly manipulating its movements so that it seemed to dance.
“My master finds Lord Rafe to be something of an irritant.”
“Lord Rafe seems to have that effect.”
“Quite.” Lord Merrodon’s attention was still on the knife.
“And how is it precisely that Lord Rafe offends your master?”
“Merely by existing,” responded Lord Merrodon with a thin smile.
“I see. So I will be given the opportunity to avenge my honour by ending his life, and your task will be complete?”
Lord Merrodon shifted in his seat.
“Yes, but… I am afraid there is a little more to it than that.”
“There always is.”
“You see, there was an attempt already.”
“And it was not successful?”
Lord Merrodon shook his head miserably.
“No the injury is severe ‘tis only…” Lord Merrodon hesitated. “T’was not Lord Rafe that was hurt.”
Daegmund thought Lord Merrodon was going to cry. He looked scared, almost hunted, and had the air of a petulant child.
“I think perhaps you had best tell me everything,” responded Daegmund heavily.
Lord Merrodon drained the mead in his goblet. Daegmund gestured to Anlaf that he should pour him more.
“T’was not my fault! I had never met him, how was I to know?”
“How were you to know what?” Daegmund’s voice had taken on a slightly impatient note.
“That it was his captain!” cried Lord Merrodon, his brow creased in thought. “Gordo, Gadic, Gizzards… I cannot remember his name.”
“Anlaf, take the mead from him; it seems only to make him worse.”
Anlaf prised the goblet from Lord Merrodon’s fingers with difficulty.
“Now explain to me exactly what happened,” commanded Daegmund.
Lord Merrodon blinked up at him pathetically for a moment.
“I already did.”
“Then tell me again!”
“My master’s plan was to lure Lord Rafe to Merrodon on some pretext. Because he was to be a mediator in a dispute between two Houses, he could not accept shelter within their villages. That meant he would need to set up camp. When he arrived I was to kill him and make it appear as though a raiding party from Mercia was responsible. However, Lord Rafe did not come, the Gordo man did.” Lord Merrodon turned to Anlaf beseechingly. “How was I to know he was not Lord Rafe? He said he was; why should I have doubted him?”
“I see no reason why you should have doubted his word,” soothed Anlaf.
Lord Merrodon seemed placated, and fell to mumbling incoherently. Anlaf and Daegmund faced each other over his head but neither spoke for a moment.
“What are you thinking?” queried Anlaf curiously.
“That there is more to this than either of us know.”
“Please! You must help me! He will kill me if I fail!” pleaded Lord Merrodon.
“You could always run.”
“There is nowhere that I would be safe from him!”
“Come, come; Lord Rafe...”
“Lord Rafe? Who cares for Lord Rafe?” screamed Lord Merrodon. “’Tis my master that will kill me, there is no place that he cannot reach!”
Daegmund and Anlaf exchanged a shrewd look.
“Who is your master?”
Lord Merrodon’s eyes widened in terror.
“I cannot tell you! He must never know!”
“What must he never know?” pressed Anlaf.
“That I have failed, that I have come to you and told you all!” He looked wildly from one to the other of them. “Please, you must help me. We must attack now, all must be finished before my master arrives.”
“Your master is coming here?”
Lord Merrodon shuddered and nodded his head.
“For what purpose?” asked Daegmund.
“H-he wished to see the b-body.”
Daegmund’s eyes met Anlaf’s.
“Then we must see he is not disappointed.”
------
It had been a long night, longer than any he could remember having suffered before
. At some point he had managed to persuade Adele and Eda to take their rest and leave Finan to him and Leofric. He had only left Finan’s side long enough to walk them back to their tent and station two guards to keep them safe. He had returned to Rand’s tent immediately afterward, not being able to leave even when he knew that Finan was out of danger. Leofric and Rand had stayed also, and together they had taken it in turns to make Finan as comfortable as they could.
Finan woke just after dawn. Rafe was dozing by the fire when he had heard Leofric’s excited voice call Finan’s name. He looked weak, but the fever had left him completely.
“Finan?”
“Leofric? What…?” Finan blinked dazedly a few times trying to focus. “Lord Merrodon…”
“Fear not, Finan, all will be well,” answered Leofric shaking his head.
Finan’s lips moved as he repeated this assurance over to himself silently.
“How do you feel?” Rafe hardly recognised his own voice.
A touch of humour entered Finan’s face.
“As though an army had marched over me. How long has it been?”
“This is the third day.”
“So long!” Finan’s tone was surprised. “I do not remember but…” He broke off with a weak smile. “I dreamed that I was a child again and my mother was bathing my face.”
He saw the three men exchange looks.
“What is it?”
“T’was not your mother, lad; t’was Lady Adele and Lady Eda,” informed Leofric.
Finan’s eyes widened in horror.
“You mean that…?”
Leofric nodded significantly.
“What! You let them?”
Rafe laid a hand on Finan’s shoulder, pushing him back down on the bed. Drogo, having a lively sense of self preservation and seeing that an argument was brewing, left the tent hurriedly.
“Do not excite yourself, Finan.”
Finan looked up at Rafe as though he had gone mad.
“How could you?” he demanded indignantly. “You know I cannot stand to be cosseted by meddlesome women.”
“Finan, you were in a bad way, we knew not what to do. If it had not been for Adele and Eda, we would have lost you.”
Finan digested this information in silence.
“I suppose you had no choice,” he conceded grudgingly, but his eyes still burned with the indignity of it all. For a moment there was utter silence as Finan continued to glower at them. Rand began to whistle softly and Rafe turned to stab him with a piercing glare, recognising the tune immediately as one that Adele favoured. Leofric intercepted the look and cleared his throat.
“What exactly did happen at Merrodon, Finan?” he asked.
Finan’s brow wrinkled in concentration.
“’Tis all a little hazy, but I remember thinking that the rider who had come to escort me from the camp was ill or nervous. Now of course I can quite understand why he should have been. When we entered, Merrodon said his master required him to kill me.”
“His master? Of whom do you suppose he was speaking?” asked Leofric.
“King Aethelbald,” stated Rand with certitude.
“Why would King Aethelbald wish to see me dead?” returned Rafe.
Rand shrugged his shoulders.
“I do not know, but I came from Mercia with the knowledge that both you and Adele were in danger from a Lord of Wessex, I think we now know who that Lord is.”
Finan shook his head.
“Why would Lord Merrodon wish to kill Rafe? He had never even met him. No; he stated quite definitely that it was his master that sought Rafe’s demise.”
“If he had changed his alliance to Mercia of whom else could he have been speaking but King Aethelbald?” countered Rand.
“King Aethelbald has no reason to kill Rafe, it makes no sense,” pointed out Leofric.
Rand ran his hand over his head and, grasping a handful of hair, gave it a sharp tug.
“Must it make sense? Did my father’s actions against Calis make sense?”
For a moment they were all silent, a little taken aback by the way Rand had brought such an emotive topic into the open.
“Yes,” answered Leofric. “At least there was a reason. There had been bad blood between your families for three generations, there was a root where the problem had begun.”
“What about Lord Gradock?” suggested Finan.
“He would not do this,” responded Rafe.
“Why not? Tis common knowledge that he hates you.”
“If Daegmund had wished to see me dead then he would have killed me when he had me in his power. Why would he let me go, just to have me killed later?”
“Deniability; he would have been in much trouble if he had despatched you,” answered Leofric.
“He would not have let it weigh with him. If he had wanted to kill me, that is precisely what he would have done and he would have cared nought for the consequences of his actions. He would not stoop to such deviousness as this.” Rafe smiled a little. “He would see no need to be devious.”
“I could almost think you like him, Rafe.”
“I understand him and know that this is not something that he would do.”
Leofric looked doubtful, Finan flat out disbelieving but both men held their tongues.
“If it was not Lord Merrodon, Lord Gradock, or King Aethelbald,” Leofric paused. “Who else could it be?”
Rafe shook his head, indicating he had no idea.
“Come, Rafe, surely there must be someone?” Rand’s question sounded very much like a statement of fact. “You cannot be so well liked as that!”
“He is not,” assured Leofric blandly and, on encountering a look from Rafe, raising his shoulders slightly in innocence.
“Well then, who else is there?” demanded Rand.
“There may be a great many men who have no liking for me, but there is much difference between antagonism and trying to end my life!”
“You feared for Adele’s safety,” reminded Rand.
“Have you no sense knocking around that thick head of yours?” Rafe demanded. “Surely even you must see that visiting harm upon Adele is a vastly different thing to visiting harm upon me!”
In the silence that followed Rafe found three pairs of shocked eyes turned reprovingly upon him.
“What are you…? You knaves!” choked Rafe furiously. “Do not dare to think that which you are thinking, or I will throttle the lot of you! You know that to lay a hand on Adele is to challenge me. However to seek to harm me is to challenge King Ine. It is a far more serious thing.” Rafe broke off as he saw Rand and Leofric’s eyes focus on something behind him. He turned quickly, but knew already what he would find.
Chapter Twenty Six