Page 40 of Knight of Darkness
Ratcliff knelt down in front of Wymar and smiled slyly.
“My, how the Knight of Darkness has fallen. Look at you now,” Ratcliff sneered, pulling at Wymar’s hair so he had no choice but to look directly into the face of his enemy. “I have heard of your exploits at Lincoln, but you’ve gone from a champion knight for that bitch you call a queen to nothing more than a plaything for my amusement. Did you honestly think Lady Ceridwen would want some weak sword hand over someone who has the rightful king’s favor? If you do, then you are indeed sadly mistaken and a bigger fool than I already thought you to be.”
“You lie, Ratcliff. Ceridwen would never stoop so low as to bed someone who executed her father, not to mention a traitor to the Empress Matilda.”
Laughter echoed off the walls of Wymar’s prison but that was nothing compared to the pain of Ratcliff’s fist smashing into Wymar’s face. The bastard shook his hand to ease the pain and smirked again.
“How little you know the woman. You were both so overly confident by just striding up to my gates expecting me to bow down to your every whim. But she at least saw reason, realizing that I would not bargain away your release so easily. And I certainly did not allow her to think that Norwich would be turned over to her at such a small sacrifice on her part.” He wrung his hands together obviously enjoying this moment to hold over Wymar’s head. “Do you know that she offered to marry me to save your sorry hide? Why, even now, she awaits me in my bedchamber. I cannot wait until I at last have that tiresome bitch beneath me.”
Wymar spit out a mouthful of blood and glared at Ratcliff. “When I finally get out of here, ’twill give me the greatest pleasure to kill you.”
“That is a strong statement for someone who is a prisoner in my dungeon.”
“I will get free,” Wymar vowed.
Ratcliff stood and stretched, peering down upon Wymar who could not miss the hatred flashing across the man’s face. He took up an iron brand from the flames of a nearby fire and held it out so that Wymar could see the design.
“Do you see this? ’Tis my personal brand. I like to mark all my prisoners in case they escape. And in the off chance you do get yourself free from here, you will always be branded as my property.”
He dug the scorching iron into Wymar’s shoulder. The sizzling sound and smell of burning flesh almost made Wymar retch, but he held his composure as best as he could through the pain. When all was said and done, Ratcliff threw the iron rod aside and walked toward the doorway chuckling.
“I think I will go attend my bride. ’Tis not polite to keep a lady waiting. I wonder if knowing I am bedding the fair virgin you thought to have for yourself will finally break your spirits? I will enjoy telling you all the details of taking her upon my next visit,” Ratcliff declared as he once more headed toward the stairs. “Throw him into the pit. Mayhap that will cool his temper.”
“Ceridwen!” he shouted her name as if she could in truth hear him whilst his arms were taken in a death grip.
Wymar struggled but in the end it was useless. The sound of metal bars squeaking in protest as they were opened alerted him of what was in store for him next. He was then falling and landing with a splash into God only knew what. The smell alone was enough to wake him even as the bars high above were slammed shut.
“Enjoy your stay,” the guard taunted before he spat into the pit for good measure and left. There was no reason to stand guard. Given the depth of his newfound cell, Wymar was not going anywhere.
He scrambled over some of the debris to get himself above the water. Something scurried across his boots and Wymar kicked the animal aside. Looking above, he saw the meager bit of light from a torch fade away before he was plunged into total darkness.
Thoughts of Ceridwen sacrificing herself for his sorry hide drained the remaining bit of hope Wymar had been holding on to. He could not erase the vision of her in bed with Ratcliff. The thought tortured him and twisted his guts into knots. He needed some kind of a miracle in order to save the woman he had come to care for. Unsure if he was worthy to receive such a gift from the heavens, he bowed his head and began to pray.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Wymar shivered inthe dark. There was no doubt in his mind he was going to die in this God forsaken pit. How long had he been here, waiting for death? Hours? Days? ’Twas no way to tell whether ’twas day or night… not with the darkness of this cesspit from hell. No one had come to offer him even a meager bit of food, not that he could have stomached it even if they had. The stench of his prison surely must be permanently burned into his skin, to be carried with him forever even if he were to ever see the light of day again. He was sick, his body on fire most likely from the infected wounds on his back and wrists. He would not think of the brand also ingrained into his shoulder. He had given up hope hours ago… or mayhap ’twas days.
God had abandoned him. Praying to a higher being had been useless but still he had to at least make the effort to somehow fight for his freedom but ’twas mostly for Ceridwen. Thoughts of her bedding Ratcliff continued to twist his soul in agony.
A light appeared or mayhap ’twas a vision for he swore it took shape in the form of his lady-love.
“Wymar…”
“Ceridwen…” he managed to whisper between his cracked, parched lips. He stretched his hand forward with what little strength he had left but she disappeared from view.
“My Lord Wymar,” a voice called from above and Wymar tilted his head back yet covered his eyes from the brightness of the torch.
“Turb?” Was that really his voice sounding as weak as a newborn kitten?
“Aye, my lord. We have come to save you.”
At last, he thought before leaning his head back against the slimy wall. He barely heard the hinges squeaking as the bars above were opened and a rope thrown down. Too weak to make any effort to grab at the lifeline that had been tossed to him, he at last made out a form descending from above.
“Thank the Lord, we have found you, Wymar,” Richard declared. “Can you climb up onto my back?”
“Aye,” he said but failed in his attempt to get any kind of a firm hold on his friend.
“Arthur!” Richard called up quietly. “Attach the other rope and get down here. We are going to have to pull him up together.”
