London - Edward Rutherfurd [195]
What happened next took place so quickly that afterwards Pentecost could never quite remember the sequence of events. As the three knights rushed, he instinctively tried to wheel his horse to run away. But there were cobbles underfoot. His panic made him act so suddenly that his horse slipped and fell, and he was lucky, as he crashed on to the hard ground, to fall clear.
By the time he struggled up, two of the three knights were already a hundred yards away. He heard the clash of steel. Then he looked up. The third knight was gazing coolly down at him, his sword drawn. He laughed. “Fancy a little swordplay?” he asked. “I’ll come down then.” And in a leisurely manner, he began to get down from his steed.
Terrified, Pentecost did not even have time to think. As he clambered to his feet and drew his sword he saw, for just a second, that as the knight dismounted he had his back to him. He lunged, and by good fortune struck deep into the fellow’s side. A mortal blow.
With a cry the knight fell. Pentecost looked at him, aghast. The knight was on the ground staring up at him, groaning softly and very pale. He looked about, wondering what to do. The others were already round a corner, out of sight.
It was just at this moment that, from the direction of the West Cheap, a single figure came wandering dejectedly through the shadows towards him. Pentecost peered nervously, then murmured in surprise. It was David Bull. Pentecost hesitated. Should he hide? It was too late. The boy had recognized him and was hurrying up. Catching sight of the fallen knight as he drew close, David gasped. “He attacked me,” Silversleeves said quickly.
And then the boy said the words that caused Pentecost to grow paler than the dying knight. “Oh sir,” he cried, “do you know what has happened? My father and the aldermen have sold London to Prince John.”
Silversleeves stared. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. He told me so himself. There’s to be a commune.” He was so distressed he was near to tears again. Gazing miserably at Silversleeves he asked; “Is it all over, then?”
Now Pentecost had to think very fast. Glancing down, he saw with relief that the knight was dead. He looked up and down the street. Those knights would be back soon to find their companion. Had anyone else seen the killing? He did not think so.
“All is not lost,” he told the boy. “The chancellor’s here. We have men.”
“You mean you’ll still oppose Prince John?” The boy brightened. “You’ll fight for Lionheart?”
“Of course,” said Pentecost. “Won’t you?”
“Oh yes,” cried David Bull. “I will.”
“Good. Take my sword,” Silversleeves said, handing it to him. “I’ll have his.” Reaching down, he picked up the fallen knight’s weapon. Once more, he glanced around. All was silent.
Then, with a single, easy thrust, he plunged the knight’s sword into David Bull’s heart.
A few moments later, having put the sword back in the dead knight’s hand and closed his fingers around it, he went to get his horse. Fortunately the animal was still sound. Then, making a small detour, he waited in a nearby alley to watch.
It turned out as he had thought. After only a few minutes the other knights, having chased the patrol to the Tower, returned to find their companion. From his hiding place, he could hear their voices.
“By God,” one cried, “he’s been killed by a boy.”
“The boy attacked him from behind. Look.”
“He managed to kill the little brute before he died, though.” And they picked up the body of their comrade and rode away.
Not long afterwards, Pentecost arrived at the house of Alderman Sampson Bull.
“I’ve come to ask a favour,” he told Bull. “I’ve left Longchamp. He’s finished. Would you put in a good word for me with John and the council? After all I did for you?” And, feeling a little guilty at having misled him earlier, Bull grudgingly agreed. “All right. I’ll do my best.”
“You are a true friend,” said Silversleeves.
“By the way,” Bull remarked, “my boy went running out into the street a little while ago. You haven’t seen him, have you?”
“No,” Pentecost replied, “I haven’t.”
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