A Brilliant Deception

AB&T Novels by Kim Foster

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

A BRILLIANT DECEPTION

An AB&T Novel

Kim Foster

LYRICAL PRESS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

 

T
wo galleys lay shipwrecked on the shore of the Adriatic Sea, a day’s ride from the Venetian lagoon. The ships’ sails hung in ragged strips, ravaged by the storm that had forced them ashore, still so far from home.

The twilit skies were calm now; the storm had receded as swiftly as it had begun. Only a mild, salty breeze remained, stirring the canvas flaps of the tents that had been hastily erected on the wet beach.

Cooking fires flickered among the clustered campaign tents, sending out warm sparks, filling the chilled autumn air with the smells of roasting meat. The men, the sailors, had abandoned the foundering ships and escaped by rowboat, bringing as many supplies as they could carry. Tonight, they would feast. Because although they had survived the tempest, the most dangerous part of their journey still lay ahead of them.

Sounds of singing and celebration rose into the darkening sky. God was on their side tonight. Most would say it was fitting for a band of Crusaders, returning home to England after a successful campaign in the Holy Land.

While most feasted and told tales around the fire, two men were huddled, discussing more serious matters in hushed tones within a candlelit tent—the grandest tent of the camp, set apart from the others.

“I have sent a small party into the city of Venice, in the cloak of night,” said Thomas, the elder of the two. He had a trim gray beard and sharp green eyes, and looked older than his sixty-two years in his weathered chancellor’s robes. “They will gather supplies, and most importantly, the items we will need if we are to go in disguise.”

Traveling as a band of merchants would provide reasonable cover. The plan had merit. But the chancellor narrowed his eyes, watching the younger, taller man hovering over the map, studying the route and sipping his cup of wine. What was the likelihood they would be able to successfully disguise the king of England as a simple merchant?

Everything hinged on that. Of course, any king would have trouble pulling off such a disguise, but the one who stood before the chancellor’s gaze would have particular diff iculty. Besides the height—a head above most men—and the penetrating gray eyes, there was that hair: flame-red, like his father’s, and a temper to match. And then there was the intangible, the aura in his very manner: the man was every inch a king.

It was one of the reasons they called him Lionheart.

The chancellor watched his king closely. Thomas knew Richard the Lionheart trusted him, considered him to be his closest adviser. Would he heed his advice now?

“Your Grace, I must advise you that the chances of capture are very high. We will be traveling through Leopold’s territory, and coming dangerously close to Henry’s.” He indicated the parchment map. “The risks are grave indeed.”

The king placed his cup on the table, sloshing the garnet-colored wine within, and turned his gaze on the chancellor. “What would you have me do, Thomas? After everything we have been through, I will not be thwarted on this last stretch.” Candlelight flickered in the king’s eyes.

Although the Third Crusade had been a success, the journey home had been less so. Foul weather had plagued the Crusaders all the way. They had been forced ashore on the island of Corfu, where they had changed to two new ships—the ships that now lay wrecked beside their camp.

There was no choice in the matter now—they had to make their way overland. Thomas knew the king would not leave his men, would not make a secret journey, saving himself and abandoning everyone else. He did not even suggest it. But there was another issue that needed to be raised.

Thomas smoothed his velvet robes. “I fear, Your Grace, if we do not return home quickly, there will be little left of your throne to reclaim.”

King Richard’s expression turned stony. They had discussed this many times, and the king was well aware of the whisperings about his brother John. Rumors said the prince was taking too many liberties, wielding too much power. There was a good chance Richard would have a battle for his own throne once he returned. And the longer he stayed away, the worse it would be. It may already be too late.

Thomas, however, had been formulating a plan ever since they’d put ashore. It was desperate and risky, but they had few choices.

“Your Grace, you should consider sending someone ahead. A small, clever group could reach England well ahead of our larger group. They can slip through enemy lines and travel efficiently.”

The king tightened his mouth, listening. He looked down at the ring on his finger. A massive ring made of lustrous gold, holding a giant ruby like the heart of a lion. That had been the point, of course, and the reason for the peace offering from Saladin, the sultan they had battled throughout the Third Crusade.

It had been the gift to accompany the treaty signed by both leaders, the act that had ended the Crusade and signaled their return journey home. When Saladin had presented King Richard with the ring, he had explained its origin in a private audience with only the king and the chancellor in attendance. Thomas’s eyes had opened wide while Saladin described the ancient roots of the precious object. It was a deep honor indeed. Thomas had known it, and so had the king.

In the weeks following that act, many songs had been sung of the battles, the success of the campaign, and the ring as the symbol of all that. There was but one ring like it, and it would now announce King Richard’s identity as clearly as a trumpeting herald might.

King Richard considered Thomas’s advice. At last, he nodded. “Send for the man they call Lox,” he commanded.

Thomas opened the flap of canvas at the front of the tent. The smells of roasting meat and woodsmoke curled into the tent, and the candles flickered. He gave orders to the guard standing outside. A few minutes later, Lox entered the tent. He bowed deeply before the king.

Thomas looked closely at the man. He was not tall, but had broad shoulders and thick, curled hair. He was unshaven, like all the men in the troop. His keen eyes quickly marked everything inside the king’s tent.

Yes, Lox was an excellent choice.

Thomas knew him to be a faithful, honest, and courageous man. He had fought well throughout the Crusade, leading the yeomen archers well. But more than that, Thomas knew Lox had special talents. He was shadowy and could remain hidden, slip in where he wasn’t permitted.

A sudden laugh rang outside by the campfire, the sounds muffled by the tent’s canvas and the rich furnishings within. King Richard addressed Lox. “You will take three of your most trusted men, and you will take an alternate route home to England.”

“Sire?”

“You will leave tonight. You must go quickly. We will be behind you, but we will be . . . slower.”

Lox frowned slightly but continued to listen.

“Furthermore, you will take this with you.” At this, King Richard removed the ruby ring from his middle finger and handed it to him. Thomas watched Lox’s response closely as he accepted the ring. It was a wise decision. After all, there were many aspects of the king’s person that would give him away, many things that would be difficult to disguise. But the ring would be a dead giveaway.

“Take the ring to my brother John and tell him what has happened,” continued the king. “Take it to him and tell him the tale of our journey. If I have not returned within six weeks, something has happened to me. Death, possibly, capture almost certainly. The prince will know what to do.”

Lox looked at him uncertainly. Doubtless he had heard the rumors of Prince John’s treasonous acts.

“Your Grace,” Thomas said quickly. “I must question the wisdom of putting so much faith—”

“
If
he is no longer on our side,” King Richard said, turning from his adviser and placing a hand on Lox’s shoulder, “well, you are a man of resources and intelligence, which is why I have chosen you for this task. I charge you with the power and the wisdom to know what to do.”

“But, sire, I am just a—”

The king held up an imperial hand to stop him.

Thomas cleared his throat. “This ring, Lox, is a leader’s ring. Men will follow you. It will assure your success.”

Lox frowned. “You speak as though it’s a talisman.”

“Because that’s exactly what it is.”

Lox opened his palm and looked carefully at the ring that rested there. Then he closed his hand around it and lifted his head to face the king. “I will do this, sire. I will bring your ring, and your word, back to England. You can rest assured.”

King Richard held the man’s gaze. “I know you will.”

Thomas stepped from the tent with Lox and watched as the man returned to the group, his new mission worn heavily about his shoulders. The chancellor turned to look out across the water. In the distance, the lights of Venice—the fabled city—shimmered over the sea’s horizon.

He stepped back inside the tent, closing the canvas against the sounds of singing and feasting, returning to his king. “It is well, Your Grace. You have done everything you can.”

Richard the Lionheart took a final sip of wine and nodded grimly. “I only pray it will be enough.”