“Here, Alice!” Kit held the chicken out to her.
“Would you like some porridge?” Mercy asked Eoos as she stepped past the woman.
It was as if he had never commented. As if the statement never existed. “Yes. Thank you.”
Unease spread through him. He stepped up to Mercy as she took a trencher and scooped porridge out of the pot. He opened his mouth to ask about the excommunication again when the fire below the pot caught his attention. Orange and red tongues flicked over the sides of the thick logs beneath the black pot.
Suddenly, he began to see something else. A different fire in a different hearth. His mind superimposed the memory over the real fire. He was confused at first as to what was happening. And then, the sharp pain exploded through his mind. He staggered, putting a hand to his forehead.
He heard someone calling. He felt hands on him, but he wasn’t sure whose hands they were.
“Eoos!”
Mercy’s call snapped him from the memory. The sharp pain receded.
Mercy stood over him. Confused, he realized he was sitting in a chair. Alice stood near a pen with other chickens, holding the one Kit gave her. Kit stood behind his mother, staring in alarm. But it was Mercy’s furrowed brow, her fear, that brought him back to the present.
“A memory,” he said quietly.
She put her hand against his forehead. “Were you in pain?”
He shook his head stubbornly. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
She pulled her hand away from his head. “No fever.” She stared at him with concern. “Does your head hurt?”
“No longer. Only when I remember.” He glanced over her shoulder at the boy. “It is nothing. I am fine.”
Kit looked at him doubtfully. “Sometimes I stub my toe and it hurts, but then the pain goes away. Was it like that?”
Eoos nodded.
“What did you remember?” Mercy asked.
He glanced toward the hearth. “The fire. I saw other flames in a different hearth.”
“Perhaps the hearth at the inn,” Alice offered.
“I wouldn’t know. But I’d like to see the inn I was attacked in. It could bring back more memories.”
Mercy glanced at Alice.
For a moment, Eoos swore there was alarm in Alice’s wide eyes.
Mercy shook her head. “You’re still recovering. I don’t think it’s wise.”
Eoos scowled. “I want to know who I am. I want my memories back.”
“It could be dangerous. We should wait until you are stronger.”
Eoos shook his head. “We will go. Soon.”
Mercy sighed softly and then nodded. “Yes. Of course. You should rest now, though. I will take you tomorrow afternoon.”
Eoos agreed with a nod.
“Are you sure you’re ready for more memories?” she asked with a worried frown.
Eoos was touched by her worry. Or was there more to why she didn’t want him thinking of his memories? “Yes.”
“I mean… the pain you were in just now…when you remembered.”
“I am willing to submit to the pain if it brings back my past.”
Alice snorted as she crossed the room to the hearth. “Some pasts are best forgotten.”
Eoos frowned. “Do you know my past?”
Her eyes rounded in terror. “No. No. I know nothing.”
Eoos knew a lie when he heard one. This woman knew more than she was saying. The tension in the room strung tight. What were they hiding? Were they protecting him? Or were they protecting someone else? Either way, they were not going to tell him, but he would find out soon enough.
“It will be alright,” Mercy said. “You’ll remember everything, I’m certain. For now, you need to eat and regain your strength.”
He looked at the trencher and pulled it over to him, beginning to eat the porridge.
Mercy handed Kit a trencher of porridge. The boy hopped from one foot to the other as he ate. When he was almost finished, Mercy asked, “Kit, have you fed the horses?”
Kit’s eyes widened as he licked his fingers. He puffed out his lower lip and rubbed his cheek. “I was on my way when Simon came.”
Mercy turned to regard him with a suspicious gaze.
Kit sighed and dropped his hand. “I’ll do it now.” He kicked at a pebble and headed for the doorway. Suddenly, he stopped and looked at Eoos. “If you think it’s okay, maybe I can show Eoos his horse!”
Eoos stood. “I have a horse?”
Mercy grinned. “That’s a good idea, Kit. I need to help Alice clean up. As soon as I am finished, I will come to the barn.” She looked at her son. “Kit, if anything happens to Eoos, come and get me.”
Kit bobbed his head, a strand of hair falling into his eyes.
Eoos took two large strides and was at the child’s side.
“The worst job is mucking out the stalls,” Kit said as they left the cottage. “But I like to be around the horses.” He led the way across the yard toward the barn and behind it. “We’re lucky. None of the other villagers have a barn, but sometimes my mom houses sick animals there.”
“She treats animals as well as people?” Eoos asked, following the child. He took one step to every three the boy took.
“Aye. There was one time when a goat was having a baby and the baby died inside the mother. It was gross. But mom saved the goat momma.” The child rounded the back of the barn. A beautiful horse was tied to a wooden beam. It whinnied and tossed its dark head.
Eoos stopped, staring at the palfrey. “This is my horse?”
Kit nodded. He walked up to the horse and patted its neck. “We didn’t know what his name was, so I named him Pounder because he stomps the ground a lot.” Kit picked up the bucket near the side of the barn.
Eoos stared, trying desperately to remember. But nothing came. Only empty memories swirled in his mind.
“Come on, Eoos.”
The horse whinnied and tossed its head.
Eoos stepped closer to the horse. ”He’s beautiful.” He stretched out his hand and the horse pushed its nose against his palm.
“He remembers you,” Kit said.
A strange longing rose in Eoos as he ran his hand along the horse’s nose. He wanted to remember. He focused, but nothing came to him. He scowled, frustrated.
“We have to get the grain, Eoos.”
The horse whinnied and tossed its head again.
Eoos nodded and backed away from the animal, following Kit into the barn.
Kit moved to the rear of the structure and disappeared inside one of the stalls. As Eoos followed, a reflected light caught his attention and he glanced into one of the stalls. A full set of plate armor lay on the ground. “What is this?”
Kit looked out from the last stall. “Your armor.” He hurried over to Eoos. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?”
“It shouldn’t be on the ground, it will rust.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wondered how he knew that. But there was more. “The suit needs to be cleaned and set upright, off the ground.”
“I don’t know how to clean it or I would have,” Kit admitted.
“Like this.” Eoos moved into the stall. He grabbed a cloth laying over the side wall and picked up the helmet from the ground. He stared at it for a long time, trying to remember how he knew to clean it. He ran the cloth over the dirt on the metal helmet, and it came away. “It needs to be cleaned immediately because you can’t use water on it.” He scrubbed the dirt from the base and moved upward. Again, he paused to stare at it. As a knight, wouldn’t he remember his own helmet?
Kit came to his side with a cloth in his hand. “You just scrub?”
Eoos nodded and moved the cloth back and forth over the metal.
Kit took one of the gauntlets in his small hand and started working on it.
“It’s hard work to clean armor,” Eoos said.
“I would spend all night cleaning it if I could. Not too many knights come through here. Well, except for the Bishop’s men.
And Mom told me to stay away from them.”
Bishop’s men? “Doesn’t the village have a lord? What about his men?”
“Naw. The bishop is in charge here. He protects the village. Well, everyone except for the children.”
Eoos looked at the small boy. The child put all his effort and concentration into cleaning the gauntlet. “Why doesn’t the bishop protect children? It would seem to me that children and women need the most protecting.”
Kit pursed his lips. “Maybe. But that’s not how the bishop sees it. I had a friend named Rafe, we played together a lot when I was little. Sometimes, we played knights.” He smiled, but slowly his grin faded. “And then, his time came and I never saw him again.”
“His time?”
Kit nodded. “Five summers.”
“What happened to him?”
“The bishop took him.”
Eoos scowled in confusion. “Where did the bishop take him?”
“I don’t know. I never saw him again.” Kit scrubbed harder.
Eoos watched the boy. His innocent brow was marred by a frown. He seemed so vulnerable.
“It is Luke’s time tomorrow. The bishop will come for him.”
Eoos allowed the child to speak. It didn’t make sense to him. Why take the children?
“I don’t tell Mom, but I’m afraid sometimes.”
Eoos dropped to one knee to be eye-level with Kit. He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Why?”
“I’m almost five summers.”
Trepidation snaked through Eoos. He was not certain he was understanding the boy. “The bishop will take you?”
Kit nodded without looking at him.
“Away from your mother?”
Another nod. “I don’t want to go. I want to stay with Mum.” His voice became thick and his lower lip puffed out.
“I’m sure your mother will not let you go.”
He looked up at Eoos with tears in his large eyes. “She won’t be able to stop him. No one can.”
His misery and fear tugged at Eoos’s heart. “I’ll do everything I can to help. Don’t worry, Kit. If you don’t want to go, you won’t go.”
Kit threw his arms around Eoos.
Startled, Eoos resisted for a moment and then allowed himself to sink into the hug.
Chapter Six
Usually, the mornings were quiet. Eoos was pulling on his boots when he heard movement in the barn. He paused, listening. Was it that farmer returning?
Rustling came from the stall beside him. As he stood, he heard the ping of metal against metal. Slowly, he looked around the wall.
Kit sat on the ground, the breastplate on his lap. He held a cloth and was scrubbing vigorously with so much concentration that he didn’t hear Eoos enter.
Eoos stood for a moment. The armor was already cleaned. Kit had done a thorough job with it earlier. He picked up the left cuisses and a cloth, and sat opposite of Kit. He knew something was bothering the boy.
The two worked in silence.
Eoos focused on scrubbing the armor, watching Kit’s reflection in the smooth polished metal. “Where’s your Mom?”
“In the village,” he said with a pout.
Eoos didn’t look up. “It’s early.”
Kit scowled. “It’s Luke’s day. She went to help his Mom.”
Eoos paused and looked up at the boy.
“It’s his turn to go with the bishop,” Kit said softly. “I’ll never see him again.”
Understanding dawned in Eoos. It was what Kit was so fearful of. He had to see it. He had to understand what happened. He stood. “Be brave, Kit.”
Kit looked up at him. “Where are you going?”
“To see for myself.”
Mercy reluctantly made her way into the village. She knew the routine too well. The street was crowded with men and few women from the village. There were no children, except for the sacrifice. Mercy immediately saw Abbey standing before the Wolf’s inn. Bartholomew had fed her and Luke well that morning, almost as a last meal. She hurried to Abbey’s side and took her hand into her own.
Abbey looked at her with a mixture of relief and fear.
Mercy’s heart twisted. There was no turning back. “Are you ready?”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Abbey whispered.
“I’m here with you.” But Mercy couldn’t help the trepidation rising inside of her.
Abbey clutched Luke’s hand tightly.
Two soldiers waited at the other end of the street, each wearing chainmail. One of the guards came forward.
Abbey pulled Luke closer to her. “No,” Abbey whispered.
Mercy looked down at Luke. The boy’s eyes snapped from the approaching soldier to his mother. Then he looked at Mercy before burying his face in the folds of his mother’s skirt.
He clasped his mother’s hand with both of his small ones.
“No,” Abbey said, shaking her head. She held Luke’s hand, refusing to give him up. “I said no! I won’t give him up.”
The guard stood for a long moment, looking at her. Then he took Luke’s thin arm and began to pull him down the street to the bishop.
“You can’t have him!” Abbey shouted, holding tightly to Luke’s hand.
The guard ignored her and pulled until Luke’s hand was torn from Abbey’s.
“I said no! NOOO!” The wail echoed through the dirt streets of the village. Abbey stretched out her arms toward her young son.
None of the villagers gathered before the Wolf’s Inn dared move. They shuffled uncomfortably and looked away from Abbey.
Mercy’s heart pounded. Helplessness rose inside of her. The guard wasn’t listening to Abbey. She glanced at Abbey’s horrified expression and then back at the soldier.
The tall soldier in chainmail, with a sword strapped to his waist, held Luke’s arm in a tight grasp. The child looked back at Abbey with tears streaming down his round cheeks. “Momma!”
“Noooo!” Abbey jerked forward toward the child. “You can’t have him!”
The armored guard shoved the woman back with a firm hand as the child in his hold struggled to break free.
Mercy caught Abbey’s shoulders, holding her back. She was afraid her friend would get hurt. “It will do no good, Abbey,” she whispered quickly. “We’ll get him back.”
The words didn’t console the frantic woman. She was desperate. She dodged out of Mercy’s hold and ran to the child.
The men of the town stood, lining the street like statues, unable or unwilling to help.
The boy reached out his hands to his mother and Abbey seized the child, drawing him against her to hold him protectively.
Mercy watched the horrible scene, her heart aching for her friend. It was inevitable that Abbey’s son would be taken. They couldn’t stop it. The soldier was hearing none of Abbey’s cries. Luke would be taken. Mercy should have known that their plan wouldn’t work. What did the guard care if the mother said no?
The guard reached for his weapon.
Horrified, Mercy hurried to Abbey’s side, shouting at the guard to stop. She pressed her hand over his to prevent him from drawing his sword. “You can’t! She is distraught! She is –”
“It is the law,” the soldier snarled. “The bishop commands it.” He shoved Mercy aside.
She fell on her back into the dirt of the road, the scene playing out in painful slow motion before her.
The guard ripped his sword free of its scabbard and lifted it high overhead. For a moment, it gleamed in the sunlight, reflecting a blinding blast into Mercy’s eyes.
“No!” Mercy cried, reaching out to stop him.
Abbey lifted her arm to protect her child and herself against the sharp blow of the sword.
Nothing could stop the horrendous assault from happening. Nothing short of a miracle.
What happened was no miracle.
“Halt!”
The guard turned his head toward the stern voice, his arm still raised.
All eyes swivele
d to the origin of the voice.
Clunk. Shuffle. Clunk. The golden rod hit the ground and the shuffling of the bright white robe against the dirt street sounded in the sudden silence. Over and over the sounds played as he came closer. Bishop Devdan.
Mercy couldn’t help it. She hated him. She hated him with her entire being, but she was too fearful of him to say so out loud.
Abbey squeezed Luke to her, kissing the top of his head, mumbling, “Please. No.”
Bishop Devdan pushed the guard’s hand down and stepped past him to her side. “There is nothing to fear.” He laid a hand on her bowed brown head.
Abbey squeezed her eyes closed; a strangled sob issued from her throat.
“It is the will of the Lord. As it was with Abraham. Do you fear the Lord?”
“He is my only child,” Abbey whispered tearfully.
“God is testing you as he did Abraham. Whom do you love more? Whom do you fear more? What kind of destruction will the Lord level upon this village if you fail this test?”
For a moment, Abbey did not move. She stood as still as a rock.
Mercy climbed to her feet, wishing Abbey had the strength to deny him. Hoping that Abbey would not give up her son.
“Give him the boy, Abbey!” Simon shouted.
Mercy glanced up at Simon clutching his hoe before him as if he were ready to use it on Abbey. His brown eyes were narrowed, his lip raised in contempt.
Abbey squeezed her son, and slowly, slowly lowered her hands from him, staring him in the eye.
The bishop reached out and took the hand of the boy. The boy simpered, his eyes on his mother. “Come, child.”
Abbey’s shoulders slumped. She knelt before the bishop; her arms empty. Defeated.
Mercy stepped up to Abbey’s side, drawing the gaze of the bishop. “Why would God do this? Why would he demand all our boys?”
The bishop looked at her, his dark eyes resting on her. His mouth quirked to the side. “Mercy, isn’t it? I do not pretend to know the motives of the Lord.” His eyes narrowed slightly.
A chill ran through Mercy.
“Perhaps in atonement for a sin. Perhaps to test you. Pray.” He lifted his hands to the sky. “Pray, all of you! Pray for salvation.”
Shivers shot through Mercy. Salvation. Eoos was her salvation. He was the answer to her prayers.
A Knight With Mercy - an Assassin Knights novel Page 5