The Lazarus Vault

XXIV

Jocelin stands in the doorway holding the burning brand. The flames spit and hiss like a demon; his face is etched with fury.

He raises his sword. Ada’s nearest the door, and I think in his rage he’ll cut her down just to get to me. Instinct takes over. I snatch a spear from the rack on the wall and lunge at him. He dodges the blow the way Gornemant taught us, twisting away, but the tip catches a fold of his tunic and flings him back, into the space where the stairs drop away. He falls down the stairs, thudding and clattering on the treacherous spiral, his sword ringing like a dropped coin. The torch goes out.

I put an arm around Ada’s shoulder and hug her to me, trying to impress the urgency.

‘If you stay here, Guy will kill you.’

She nods. I take her hand and lead her down the stairs, feeling my way with the butt of the spear. We find Jocelin in a heap on the next landing, blood oozing from a wound in his skull. I don’t stop to see if I’ve killed him. Somebody must have heard the noise.

But no one’s raised the alarm yet. We reach the bottom of the stairs and creep across the courtyard to the stables. I find a groom curled up in a stall and shake him awake. He rubs the straw out of his eyes.

‘Jocelin had an accident — a fall in the dark. I have to go to Guy. Saddle my horse, and the grey palfrey.’

I leave him and run to the gate, while Ada goes inside to fetch some things. I feed the watchman the same half-truth, and together we crack open the gate wide enough for a horse to pass. I glance at the buildings, wondering if Ada will come. What if she’s changed her mind?

Ada emerges dressed in a stout travelling dress and cloak, with a small bundle tied over her back. Whatever misgivings she has, she’s mastered them for the moment. Her face is invisible under the hood: I can’t guess what she’s thinking. She puts something cold and sharp in my palm.

‘Don’t forget these.’

My spurs. The groom buckles them on around my boots. He sees Ada climb into the grey mare’s saddle and gives a bewildered stare. Has he begun to wonder why the house is so dark, so quiet, if Jocelin’s in such distress?

‘She needs to be with her husband.’

We slip out the gate. The moon’s strong, lighting our way. The rhythm of the horse under me calms my nerves. Ada rides beside me. Her hood blows back and her hair flies behind her. I gaze across the fields where we practised our swordplay and made mock charges. Past the orchard, where I told Ada the tale of Tristan, and the low-roofed barns where we met by night. These places have been my world for the past six years. It’s a strange thought that I’ll never see them again.

I feel free, but I know it’s an illusion. I saw the look on Jocelin’s face. If he’s alive, no power on earth will stop him coming after us.