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King Richard took a breath, took another. Crispin had saved his life, too. And the king had offered to restore his knighthood and lands, if only Crispin would grovel for it. He could not make himself do it, had refused it. And there wasn’t a day gone by when he didn’t repeat that moment in his mind, allow it to play differently. Would it have been worth it to give up his last scrap of honor? Richard edged the sword forward. Perhaps he was thinking of that time, too. The blade was nearly at Crispin’s gut when he stopped. ‘Take it,’ he growled. ‘Take it, damn you.’ He had no choice but to grab it by the blade. When he did, Richard stepped closer and, with the sword held tight to his side, slid it forward across Crispin’s palm, slicing two thin lines. ‘Swear to me in your own blood that you will be loyal to the crown.’ Crispin hissed at the sharp pain and watched his blood drip upon the church floor. He gripped the sword tighter, raising his gaze defiantly once more to the king’s. ‘I do so swear, your grace, to protect England’s crown, its people…and you, my king.’ Richard’s languid lids lowered over his eyes. He held the sword tightly for another long moment before slowly letting it go. Crispin carefully pulled it in, grabbed the hilt with his bloodied hand, and sheathed it smartly. Richard continued his pointed inspection of Crispin’s person. When he spoke, Crispin at first thought he was addressing him, but decided it must have been directed toward the abbot. ‘We need a place to talk. Where can we go, Lord Abbot?’ ‘The chapter house,’ said Abbot William steadily. Crispin did not know the abbot well, but he knew he was a cool man who had faced emperors and popes on his many missions for the abbey while he served as archdeacon. One irate King of England surely could not fluster. He gestured for the king to follow and turned on his heel, his cassock flowing over his slippered feet. The king cast a glance over his courtiers and said in passing, ‘Only Guest. And his servant.’ ‘But, sire!’ cried his chancellor. Richard never broke his stride and called over his shoulder, ‘Must we repeat ourselves?’ It took only another moment more of the seething men’s eyes upon him before Crispin strode forward, aware of a trembling Jack at his elbow.
