My Lady Jane(115)

G turned to his brother, who lifted his own impressive blade.

“Stan,” G entreated. “Come to your senses. The king is alive. This will all come down to two sides: the righteous and the imposters. Right now, you stand with the latter.”

Stan’s sword wobbled, and he glanced sideways at his father.

“You’re wrong,” Lord Dudley said. “You’ve always been a fool.”

“The fool thinks he is wise,” G retorted. “But the wise man knows himself to be a fool.”

That was a great line, he thought. He tried to remember where he’d stashed the quill and paper.

His father looked annoyed. He cleared his throat. “Whatever. Bash will dispatch the boy, and we all know that you’re no skilled swordsman.”

Everyone glanced at Edward and Bash. The weapons master was, at the moment, on the offensive. Edward retreated gracefully behind a tree to buy himself some time and rest before he began his own offense. But for the moment, it appeared that Bash had the upper hand.

“You see, Gifford?” his father crowed. “You see how your king cowers?”

“Edward does not cower!” Jane banged her frying pan against her hand. Stan and Dudley didn’t seem impressed by her threatening display, but G knew she’d fight them, too, if it came to that. Though his wife was little, she was fierce.

Bash advanced, and Edward continued to retreat. Advance. Retreat. Advance. But just as Bash looked ready to deliver a stunning blow, Edward’s feet flicked and he was out from behind the tree and driving his opponent backward.

“Unexpected, yes?” Edward said, breathing hard. “Just like you taught me.”

Jane whooped in a way that would have seemed unladylike if anyone had been paying proper attention.

Both men went back to the dance of two expert swordsmen, and G turned to his father, the clang of blades in the background.

“Perhaps, Father,” he said, “you will change your mind about who win will this scuffle in light of some recent news. The first is this: King Edward is fully recovered from your poison. I watched him kill the Great White Bear of Rhyl without even breaking a sweat. He’s no sickly boy. The second, which might be even more disconcerting to you: your beloved firstborn has fled.”

G jerked his head toward the spot where Stan had stood only moments before. Indeed, between the far buildings, Stan’s retreating form could be seen careening around a corner. He always did have the courage of a flea.

“I could go after him,” Jane suggested. “With my frying pan.”

“He’s not worth it, my dear. Save your frying pan for someone who matters.”

Jane hmphed but stayed where she was.

“And the final piece of news . . .” G suddenly swung the tip of his sword closer to that eagle nose. “Since you last saw me, I have spent every waking hour sharpening my fencing skills. I have sliced candlesticks and skewered straw dummies and sparred with some of the finest blades of France. I might not be able to beat a weapons master, but I can easily best an old, top-heavy, pusillanimous, two-faced, paltry, odious excuse for a man.” He pushed his sword forward until it was against his father’s coat. “Drop your sword.”

Lord Dudley, lacking in grace and honor—and at this point in time, any sort of backup—dropped his sword and fell to his knees, just as Edward disarmed Bash of his blade.

Bash put his hands together. “I will give you anything you ask of me, Sire,” he panted, and bowed his head.

“Fealty. Swear your fealty,” Edward demanded.

“My king, my sovereign, your smallest wish is my soul’s desire. Kill me if you need, but if you deign to let me live, I will be your humble servant, in whatever capacity you deem fit.”

Edward wiped sweat off his brow and looked to G. “Do what you will,” he said, nodding at Lord Dudley.

Now this was a matter between father and son.

G turned and placed the tip of his sword on his father’s chest. He pressed it with enough force to break through the topmost layer of fabric.

“Now, Gifford, think about what you’re doing.” Dudley’s voice was unnaturally high.

“Shut it, Father.” G spat the word in disgust.

“My son, please. I only did what I did for the good of the kingdom.”

“A kingdom you destroyed? Even now, at this very moment, men are fighting out there behind the walls, fighting and dying because of what you did. You’re a most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise breaker, the owner of not one good quality.”

Lord Dudley held out his hand. “You just don’t understand politics. Have you learned nothing? Everyone involved in the running of a kingdom deserves to die at some point. It’s how the game is played. You win or you die.”

“You deserve to die.” G looked at his father’s outstretched hand and it made him sick that he shared the same blood as this man. (Or maybe not, because he didn’t have the nose.) With a flick of his sword, he cut a gash in Lord Dudley’s palm.

Behind him, Jane gasped.

Dudley fell to his knees. “My son. My boy. I understand you are angry. What can I do to make you spare my life? I’ll do anything. Anything!”

“Anything?” G said. “Will you give me your estate?”

“Yes! I will give you all that I have and more!”