The Doomsday Code

CHAPTER 82

1194, Nottingham

John noted the look of surprise on his older brother’s face as he entered the dark gloom of the tent.

‘Little brother,’ his deep voice growled with amusement, ‘you look like you have finally got your hands bloodied in battle.’

John stepped forward. He said nothing.

‘You surprise me,’ Richard laughed. ‘Finally, you seem to have outgrown your wet-nurse. I suppose, because you have at last managed to wield a sword in battle, that you consider yourself a man, uh?’ Richard’s smile turned to a sneer. ‘Hardly. You are still a snot-nosed whelp. But I will credit you with taking a first step.’

John met his stern gaze. ‘Thank you,’ he uttered flatly.

‘Now,’ Richard stood up. ‘The matter at hand. You have the Grail with you?’

John pulled the scroll from a fold in his tunic.

Richard slowly nodded. John could see the stretching pink of his lips among the thatch of blond bristles. ‘Oh yes,’ he whispered. ‘You have no idea, do you, little brother? No idea of the power this … this yard of parchment conveys?’

‘It is just words.’

Richard’s deep laugh filled the tent. ‘Just words, he says. Just words!’ He shook his head. ‘You are an imbecile. This is a message from God. A message given a thousand years ago — a message that was always intended for me. Do you not see? The wars I have fought, my crusade against the infidels … was at the Lord’s bidding. He spoke to me, told me where to find this message. And you thought to steal it from me? To use this to bargain with me?’

His face darkened. ‘I would happily cut out your tongue, little brother, pluck your eyes from their sockets and hurl your head into a field for the crows to dine on, for your daring to play with my destiny. But …’ he smiled, ‘but you have shown some spirit in fighting me today. I like that.’ He held his hand out towards John. ‘Now, give me the Grail and I will consider leniency for you.’

‘And what of the people of Nottingham?’

Richard’s thick eyebrows arched. ‘You actually care for those peasants?’

‘They fought with courage.’

‘They are no more than farm animals, little brother, beasts of burden. They fight because they are commanded to fight. No more brave than a horse that charges because its rider has kicked its flanks.’

‘I am asking for leniency for them.’

‘Their king has returned!’ Richard snapped irritably. ‘Those … those vermin dared to challenge my authority! A few hundred of their heads on spikes lining the road into Nottingham will ensure I have no more nonsense like this to deal with!’

John felt his resolve weaken. ‘But they were merely defending their homes.’

‘Give me the Grail.’

Push him not too far … he might still decide to have your head!

Richard’s outstretched fingers wriggled. ‘The Grail. Now!’

John clasped it more tightly. ‘Give me — ’

‘Give me?’ Richard’s eyes widened. ‘Give me? You say “give me”? I will give you exactly what I decide to give you! And if it is your life, then it is only because it is — because it is not wise for the common folk to see royal blood spilled!’

John could see his brother struggling to control a burning rage, a pinkness in his cheeks, a throbbing vein across his forehead.

Push him more … and he might strike your head off right now.

John felt whatever strength he’d entered the tent with, ebb quickly away.

‘I … I insist I have your word there will be no example made of them.’

Richard’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do not anger me further, little brother,’ he said quietly, ‘I have been patient enough with you.’

John quickly held the scroll towards the candle burning on the table in the centre of the tent.

‘STOP!’ yelled Richard.

‘I will burn it, brother — I will!’

Richard’s wide-eyed stare flickered from the candle to the edge of the parchment, mere inches away. His face darkened with rage, his lips twitched, his hands slowly reaching for the sword beneath his cape. Then, like sun piercing through scudding grey clouds, his demeanour changed. He suddenly laughed.

‘Good God, you’ve grown some fighting spirit!’

John held the scroll where it was.

‘So be it! You will have my word.’

‘Nottingham will not be punished?’

Richard slowly shook his head. ‘They will not.’

John felt his guts loosen. He struggled to keep a gasp of relief inside him.

‘Then you can have your piece of parchment,’ he said as calmly as he could manage. He held it out towards King Richard. Richard took it from him, unravelled several inches of it to be sure it was the Grail. He examined it in silence for a moment, before carefully rolling it up again.

‘As king, my word is of course law,’ said Richard.

‘You will honour that?’

He nodded. ‘I will. Now … kneel and kiss my hand.’

John steadied himself with a deep breath, then stooped to hold Richard’s proffered hand.

‘You are going to see, little brother, the making of one Kingdom stretching from this miserable wet island of England to Jerusalem. One Kingdom under God … under me.’

John struggled to suppress a wry smile on his own face as he pursed his lips. There’d been something about Lady Rebecca’s whispered assurance — an assurance about things yet to be — something in the way she said it that he could actually believe it to be true.

The Grail will give him nothing, John. And … you will be king in less than five years.

‘Kiss my hand!’ commanded Richard.

‘Yes … yes, of course,’ muttered John.