Punishing The Slave Girl (5 page)

Kenrick thinks we can fight them off if we need to. He believes the city walls are impenetrable, and even if they make it down here, they'll be leading themselves to an early grave.

'
We have the advantage', he says. 'The higher ground, the tactical know how. The man power', but even when he speaks he seems to lack confidence in what he's really saying, as though the words are empty casks of something that once used to be much more powerful, and he's saying them because he has to, because it's his job and he's putting on a show just to please the king. As though they both are putting on a show, because the King sits there and agrees with him, despite everything else pointing to the contrary, as though the simple act of admitting weakness is an acceptance of defeat.

Osborne is the only man who seems to have a clear head. He is the only man apart from Froome who believes that if we stay in the palace, we will die. Contrary to Kenrick's belief, Osborne thinks we will be vastly outnumbered unless we somehow bolster our reserves. Most of our best men have been sent to head the Vikings off before they reach us. If they are defeated, we won't have enough men left to defend us. He believes we have vastly underestimated the savages, both in terms of troop size and ability to fight. He wants us to get word to Milner. He wants us to ally ourselves with the King's cousin, put the past behind us and stand together to defend the realm.

'
There will be no Kingdom after this', Osborne argues. 'No throne to sit on and no ass to sit on it with. This is a real danger, it's happening now and we need to act.'

'
We need to kill them all, that's what we need to do', Henry says, hitting his chest passionately. 'You'll stay here and fight for your King. For the realm.'

'
I'll stay here and die for my King you mean. We all will. Is that what you want?'

'
Any more and I'll end you myself', Henry says, rising out of his chair, his face flushed with anger.

'
The city is falling apart', Osborne says, sighing heavily. 'The men and women are leaving. I suggest we do the same before it's too late.'

'
Enough', Henry barks. 'I will not listen to this insolence in my palace. We'll wait for our men to bring back the heads of those savages to run along the spikes of these city walls, and until they do, I'll hear no more about it.'

A week later we get word. A lone rider is spotted at the edge of the city, slumped across his horse. When he gets to the palace, we realise it's Blake, still alive but mortally wounded. He has deep cuts across a face that has swollen and cracked by the temple, a broken arm and gouges across his torso from a weapon not even Kenrick recognises. He's been riding for the best part of a day, dying for a little more than that. A shake of the head is enough for us to know.

'
Edgar?', Henry insists. 'Jacob? Carruthers? Riley? What happened to my men? What the fuck happened to my men?'

Henry grabs Blake by the lapels, but it's already too late. The rest of us watch as he tries to lift him into the air, as he tries desperately to get a response from a man that's already dead.

Henry turns to look at me. I shake my head too. 'We need to go', I say.

'
We need to go now', Osborne confirms.

Froome has lost the colour in his cheeks.

'
We fight', Henry says defiantly. 'We stay here and fight these fucking barbarians.'

We have less than fifty men, Kenrick and the King included. No-one knows how many are coming. The army my husband sent up to stop them was two hundred strong, so this pathetic stand is little more than a suicide mission, but he won't listen, and Kenrick has no choice but to fight alongside him.

He lets me go with Froome and Osborne. Orders me to Greyweather Tower to wait for him there.

'
Take our son', he says, 'and if I die, make sure he makes it to the throne.'

'
I will', I tell him, even though I know I'm not pregnant. Even though I know he can never make me so.

'
You better fucking make it', he says to Osborne. 'I'll run a sword through you myself if you don't.'

The two men embrace. 'Come with us', Osborne insists. 'This is hopeless.'

'
This is my palace, Edwood', he says. 'I'm not letting it go that easily.'

'
Get me word', Froome requests. 'As soon as you can.'

I kiss my husband, pull him into me and hold his hand. 'Are you sure you won't come?' I say.

'
Go', he orders. 'Before it's too fucking late.'

We are the only three people leaving the palace. There are maids here, cleaners, chefs and other staff members that have no idea how to fight. I want to tell them all to leave, but we are running out of time, and I know the King wouldn't allow it anyway. I go on horseback with Osborne and Froome rides alongside us, awkward on a muscled stallion. We ride quickly through the city to the south, while a few scattered pedestrians watch us leave, their faces thin with wan resignation. We are cloaked and hooded, but I get the feeling they know who we are.

One man with a cataract that makes his eye look like a marble, leans on a stick and spits into the ground as we pass. A young girl plays in the ground by his feet, tugging at the leather straps on his sandals, blissfully unaware of what is about to happen.

At the south exit on the city wall, we wait anxiously for the soldiers to open the massive wooden door. They are both nervous, having never seen their Queen close up before, and keep making mistakes when trying to turn the mechanism. My horse stamps its feet into the ground impatiently, threatening to rear into the air, neighing and breathing heavily. Osborne eventually manages to calm it, and with the doors finally open to the countryside beyond, we make our way away from the city and the dangers that are about to descend upon it.

We ride for an hour across the rolling hills to the south, without a single word. I turn often to watch the city disappear over the horizon behind us, hoping to get a look at the barbarians I've dreamt about for so long. Our destination is a day and a half's ride from here without stopping, two days if we have to camp. Osborne finally decides to break the silence when we drop off the plains and into the tree line to hide ourselves amongst the forest.

'
Are you really pregnant?' he asks me.

It almost makes me laugh. 'Remember I'm still your Queen', I say.

'
I'm not sure you'll have much of a Kingdom left to reign over', Osborne says.

'
Maybe not as a Queen of England', I say, and Osborne leaves the words hanging.

We slow the pace to let the horses rest. We've come some distance away from the capital already and this area seems to be safe. Froome suggests stopping to take a rest, but Osborne wants to push on at least until Pembroke. If we can make it to the great lakes before nightfall, we have a better chance of crossing into the Earl of Kent's land before the sun rises.

Above us, in the canopy of the forest trees, I hear bird song. Although our lives are still in danger, and the future of my country is in jeopardy, it pleases me to be out here surrounded by nature. It pleases me to finally be away from the palace and embarking on an adventure.

'
Isn't this peaceful', I remark to Osborne.

'
Aye, my Queen, it is', he says with a hint of sarcasm. 'Beautiful.'

'
It'd be a hell of a lot more peaceful if we weren't under threat', Froome remarks.

'
What do you know about them?' I ask him.

'
I know everything that I've already told you and the King', Froome says. 'I know they are savages, I know they rape women and I know they will kill you as soon as look at you. They don't speak the common tongue, nor have any sense of fairness and justice. They are devil worshippers and no better than the animals that run amok amongst these trees in the middle of the night. They are not human, my Queen, they are-'

Froome stops dead in his tracks. Osborne halts our horse a moment later.

'
Fuck', Froome says. 'Oh fuck.'

'
Wait', Osborne says insistently, a hand out on his arm. 'Don't panic.'

My heart is beating so wildly, I expect Osborne can feel it rattling against his rib cage where I'm pressed into his back. There are horses and carts blocking our way in front. Three, maybe four of them, with men sat on horses either side. It's a travelling group of warriors. I crane my head just to get a better look. They are still some distance off, but close enough to have seen us. They are not dressed like men of my land. In fact, they don't look anything like men I have ever seen before. There must be thirty of them at least and there are women with them too.

'
Barbarians', Froome says nervously, the word difficult for him to push out. 'Oh fuck. What are they doing here?'

'
Calm down', Osborne says. 'We are farmers, nothing more. We are passing through the land, that's all.'

Osborne reaches behind to where I am sat to push me out of view. The Vikings sit on their horses, waiting.

'
We need to go', Osborne says. I watch Froome look at the track behind us wanting to turn his horse. 'We need to go together', Osborne continues.

'
Are you sure?' I say, excitement almost taking my breath away.

'
We need to go', Osborne confirms again. 'They've seen us, we can't outrun them. We try, they'll kill us for sure. Froome, time to move.'

Osborne heels his horse and pushes it forwards. As he passes Froome, he takes hold of the man's right leg and digs it into the horse's rib cage for him. Froome has no choice but to advance with the encouraged beast. We approach the warriors slowly.

'
Stay out of sight and don't say a thing', Osborne says to me. 'Do you understand?'

'
Yes', I whisper, unsure if I've spoken loud enough for the words to reach him.

When we get within five metres, one of the barbarians lifts up his hand to indicate for us to stop. Two of the Vikings either side of him dismount and begin to walk towards us, their long blond hair tied off in braids, swinging pendulously as they advance.

'
We just want to pass', Osborne calls, his hands up in a passive gesture. 'We have no weapons.'

I can't help but move my head out to look at the men. Like the old man said, they have animal horns on their heads, and furs across their waists and shoulders. On their rippled chests, they each have a tattoo, carved into the skin. One carries a hammer, while the other a broad sword almost the same length as him. They are young, handsome and very well built. I can barely breath for the anticipation.

'
Please, we just want to pass', Froome says, his hands in the air, beginning to quiver.

'
Get down off the horses', the Viking to our right says.

'
Please, we need our horses', Osborne says.

'
Get down or I'll make you', the other Viking says, lifting his sword into the air threateningly.

Froome looks at Osborne, who I see nod back at him. Both men get down off their horses and I begin to do the same.

'
Not you', the Viking with the hammer says. 'You stay there.'

'
Please', Osborne says again. 'This is my sister, she's very weak. She has the sickness.'

'
Kneel down, now. Both of you.'

I watch as Osborne and Froome are forced into a kneeling position. The rest of the Vikings have caught up with us, and sit now observing, their eyes all over me. It is the chief amongst them who speaks next.

'
Are you King's men?' he asks.

'
We are farmers', Osborne is quick to point out, his voice wavering a little. 'We are on the way to see my uncle.'

'
There is nothing that way', the chief happily points out. 'Not anymore.'

Some of the group begin to laugh.

'
Take the horses and the girl', the chief says. 'We can use them at least.'

'
Wait', Froome says. 'I have money, I can get you money.'

'
Money we don't need', the chief says.

The Viking with the hammer mounts my horse, putting himself behind me.

'
You don't smell like you've got the sickness, and you don't smell like a farmgirl', he says, his arm immediately going round my waist to pull me into him. 'I'm Magnus. What is your name?'

'
Anne', I say, my voice breaking.

'
Are you scared, Anne?' he says, his breath hot on my neck. 'I think you should be.'

The Viking with the broadsword mounts Froome's horse, steadies it and kicks it out into the direction it has already come from. Magnus spins us around to join him.

'
What about us?' I hear Osborne ask.

'
Are you going to come and look for your sister?' the chief asks him.