Lawrence had called the villagers and the landlord selfish, but he knew he was the same: he was going to use her sainthood for his own benefit. But he decided to push these thoughts out of his mind and focus on what had to be done. After all, he was a merchant. His own profit should naturally be the first thing on his mind.
At length, Fran returned and noticed that the two of them were still there. She seemed surprised, but Cole seemed to feel validated. Fran nearly asked why they changed their minds, but when she saw Lawrence clutching her bible she seemed comforted. She looked at Cole, then back at Lawrence. Her past and future were being held in his hands. She looked down, probably realizing that he’d let his merchants’ instincts get the best of him.
“Get ready to draw that map for us.”
They heard her hands clutch her cloak tightly.
“Us merchants have our own convictions.”
Fran’s eyes fell to the ground as she nodded.
“Alright. I’ll do it.”
She wiped her eyes and looked up.
“Thank you.”
Lawrence smiled, though he wasn’t looking at her. The embers in the fire had collapsed, and sparks fluttered around. He looked outside.
“Looks like it’s the moment of truth.”
Fran, being a military chaplain, took his meaning immediately and nodded.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ll say the same as before, that you’re a silversmith sent by the bishop. But this time, I’ll add that we’ve been sent here in order to help evaluate her candidacy for sainthood.”
Fran seemed confused for a moment, but her wits were quick and she realized what Lawrence had decided. She nodded, albeit slowly.
“I have no desire to sell Katerina out. All I’m willing to do is verify that her nomination is under consideration. That should be enough to stop them.”
Fran nodded more forcefully and replied clearly.
“Understood.”
With that, they heard the horses and soldiers come to a stop. She wiped her eyes again and clutched the bible Lawrence had returned to her tightly to her chest.
“It’s time for battle.”
When she looked up, her face was deadly serious, and her voice as grim as a veteran knight.
Chapter 6
When you think of the word “prominent,” you think of something like the old knight who was now eyeing the groveling villagers scornfully. He was nothing but prominent, as if he had flames rising from his back.
“So you’re from Ruvinheigen?”
Had Holo been unwilling to lend her aid, they would have already fled back to Gerube. But behind that old knight was a contingent of hastily-drafted soldiers (possibly farmers), so running now wouldn’t be a good idea. It might even have been better to just stay in the hut and wait for this business with the angel to blow over. Indeed, because it wasn’t clear how things would turn out, Lawrence and Fran were the only ones who had left the hut.
“Yes.”
Hearing Lawrence’s reply, the old knight beckoned the soldiers with his chin. He called himself a governor for the landlord, and at first Lawrence thought he was going to pull out a certificate to validate that claim. But instead, the soldiers pointed their spears at them.
“Either you’ve seen and heard nothing while you were here, or never came in the first place.”
His tone was obviously one of command, making it clear that he expected them to understand if they had any brains in their heads. Lawrence calmly looked up at him.
“Understood?”
He was making himself clear: if they obeyed, they would be safe. He didn’t care if they told the Church; it would all be over soon enough. But if they resisted then no one would come to their aid. It was a clear command, and any normal merchant would obey.
“I have been sent by the bishop, who has commissioned a piece of silverwork about the legendary angel.”
The governor’s eyebrow jumped up at that.
“And it’s no surprise why you came back empty-handed, given how far away from Ruvinheigen this is. No one will suspect you.”
“Yes indeed.”
He was threatening them, but obviously felt relaxed when he heard Lawrence’s reply; anyone could see that. Kings and emperors were all once just the lords of poor lands, and had built them into kingdoms after convincing the other lords in the area of their courage and ability. As such, this heavy-handed acting was probably the governor’s limit. Lawrence calmly continued.
“But that was not our only purpose.”
A hushed breath was heard.
“Did you know there’s a saint here?”
“A saint?”
The governor seemed shocked, but Lawrence kept talking.
“Her name is Katerina Rucci. Many nobles adored her, and when news of her deeds reached the Pope’s ears in the far south, he nominated her for sainthood. That nomination is now due.”
“..”
Everyone was too shocked or suspicious to react.
“We were sent here to investigate and ensure that her nomination was valid. Her dislike of such things made it take a long time to track her down.”
Nothing would come of stopping Lawrence now, if what he said was true. Treating him poorly now would only come back to haunt them later.
“However, when we did, we found that she had already passed on peacefully. There are many blind people in the world, who would label such a person no better than an animal. But the lord here is wiser than that, so we will report the truth. Incidentally..”
Lawrence stared at the governor.
“..What will you report to your lord?”
It was like a magic spell restarting the conversation. The governor snapped back to reality with a sweaty brow, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly - probably the way he normally looked when he wasn’t acting haughty. And yet, before his voice could settle on actual words, another was heard from behind him.
“Perhaps that’s true.”
The old knight turned around in shock. Someone behind him was speaking, the nicest-dressed in the bunch. He was thin, and seemed to be in his forties - the nervous type, who would scream at the slightest sound. And yet this odd character also seemed quite lordly. He brushed his governor aside, having hopped off his horse and walked up to Lawrence and Fran alone. Perhaps he wanted a one-on-one conversation.
“I am Reginald Kierken.”
It threw them off to hear him announce his name to them, let alone take Lawrence’s word at face value. Even when Lawrence began to kneel to reply, he stopped him.
“I am Kraft Lawrence of the Rowen Trade Guild.”
Kierken replied with a hum, then sighed.
“Let me be frank. Have you any actual evidence?”
For a landlord to dismount and say such a thing proved his cowardice. He wasn’t even trying to sound tough. He was just a small fry trying to stay alive, thought Lawrence.
“What kind of evidence would you like?”
Kierken was speechless for a moment, but snapped back angrily. He either felt like Lawrence was toying with him, or was wholly unconvinced.
“Something to convince me of why I have never heard of this. This is something important enough to reach my ears. So speak! What evidence do you have?”
The coward’s anger had been sparked, and his face was red. It wasn’t necessary to play him for a fool, so Lawrence replied immediately.
“I’ve only the names of those who ordered us to come. Being a small fry, I’m not privy to any actual evidence, but I will gladly cite their names.”
The social network between nobles was tight, and they were all aware of each other. A landlord in charge of a religiously complicated area like this would surely be even more keenly aware of that network, especially one who more or less grovelled to them. Lawrence coughed, then began reciting the names from Katerina’s diary.
“Earl Lance of Leen. Sir Marus of Dolan. Marquis Evindott of Schtinghilt. Archbishop Riemann of Corsair.�
�
He paused slightly to observe Kierken, who was shocked. Clearly he knew at least some of those names. Lawrence went on.
“Then from the Duchy of Lindz there’s Sirs Dionne and Meriff and Countess Rose. As for the rest of Proania..”
Kierken waved at him to stop, his face having lost all color. Lawrence had only gotten through the names of the local lords in the north of Proania, so they were all probably familiar to him. So many nobles were involved, and yet he knew nothing. That would surely seem like he was an enemy of the Church. As such, it would be even more dangerous for him to act against Lawrence, if he was truly investigating on their behalf. If it was really this bad, all he could do was wag his tail.
“R-really? What.. what’ll I do?”
It was almost as if he was clutching at Lawrence’s feet, begging for mercy. He was to be pitied, but there was a limit to such things before pity turned into disgust. Even to merchants, who are said to be the least moral people on the planet, this man was pathetic.
True, it was practically impossible to lead one’s entire life respectably, but shouldn’t a ruler have some character worthy of their exalted position? These thoughts crossed Lawrence’s mind, but never left his mind. His smile never changed.
“Please stay calm. We haven’t come here to accuse you of anything, it’s clear that you have worked hard.”
That man, despite seeming so much older than Lawrence, nodded like a young child. It was enough to make one wonder if he might have swapped souls with one.
“After all, we saw how well that hut was kept. Good sir, you must be loyal to the Church, and any of the lords I mentioned would feel relieved by those actions.”
“Ah! Yes, they would, wouldn’t they?”
He smiled nervously. Fran hadn’t reacted the entire time. Either her discipline was just that strong or she simply didn’t know how to react to this spectacle.
“However, this is indeed an important process, and should be kept secret. Until her nomination becomes official, no one else should be given a chance to desecrate her.”
“..but..”
“After all this trouble, we’ve finally found her..”
Hearing Lawrence speak so gravely made Kierken swallowed hard and nod back. Their plan was going smoothly, and should work out fine once Holo made her move. At that point Kierken wouldn’t dare try anything funny. And yet, just as Lawrence was about to wrap things up, someone spoke out.
“Hey, that’s her, isn’t it!”
Kierken turned around like a startled mouse. Lawrence turned as well, and saw that a soldier with a broken helmet and shoddy cuirass speaking.. the hallmarks of an experienced soldier. He moved toward them.
“Yes.. yes..”
Fran breathed in sharply.
“What are you talking about?”
“Sir!”
Kierken was a weakling, but he was still a lord. The fact that he was being addressed as “sir” meant that this soldier was a paid mercenary, and not a proper charge. He spat toward Lawrence and Fran as he eyed her suspiciously.
“She’s just like the villagers said..”
“The villagers?”
Kierken was muttering at the man as he turned back toward Lawrence apologetically. The look in his eyes made Lawrence want to hug and comfort him.
“Yeah.. they said a silversmith with tan skin was here. And here she is, in the flesh.”
If Kierken seemed tense before, Lawrence was just as tense now. He was so nervous his eyes had trouble deciding who to focus on.
“Tell us, man! What are you talking about?”
The man spat again and beamed a wicked smile.
“These two couldn’t possibly be from the Church.”
Kierken spun around to observe Lawrence and Fran to gauge their reactions, having already turned on them.
“Don’t be deceived, sir! That silversmith with the tanned skin is Fran Bonilly, the dark priestess of a mercenary band known as the Red Eagles!”
He walked up to Fran casually, then pointed his spear directly at her.
“They’re also called the Kirjavainen Mercenaries, and they’re famous around Proania. My own band was always running into them, and thanks to that my friend of 20 years is gone.”
Kierken jumped back like a frightened bird. The mercenaries that nobles bought had social networks that were just as tightly-knit. No matter how well-spoken Lawrence and Fran were, if they rummaged through her things they wouldn’t have any defense.
“They’re the enemies of all who rule. Their leader was hung for being pagan, so there’s no way the Church would send someone like her on such a mission.”
“R-really?”
Kierken sounded like a suffocated chicken. The soldier narrowed his eyes in anger, and thrust the tip of his spear toward Fran.
“Ask her.”
He laughed out loud, and obviously not at the sight of his pathetic employer. He was just happy to have a tough opponent at his mercy.
“What say you in defense?”
Kierken stared at Fran, who silently cast her eyes down. She couldn’t hide her obvious nature. Lawrence simply looked over toward the hut.
“The angel knows.”
“Wait, what?”
Before the landlord had even finished his question, Fran had slid beside the spear that was pointed at her. Lawrence was impressed at how easy she made it look, but in fact there weren’t many people who would have the courage to try that with a real spear pointed at their belly.
Only those who lived this kind of life, or had inconceivably firm beliefs would try something like that. As she stepped forward, Kierken stepped back. He seemed overwhelmed by her zeal. He’d moved three steps back even as she made her second.
“You are Fran Bonilly, aren’t you?”
She didn’t reply, but simply took off her hood and spoke calmly.
“What if I said no?”
Having seen her step calmly around a spear would make it difficult for anyone to react. Not when she was behaving as if this sort of threat was nothing to her, and smiling when she heard her name spoken in hushed whispers.
“The landlord and villagers here called a faithful nun a witch for their own selfish interests. And now, they’re even more selfishly willing to label her a saint so they can line their coffers with gold. Other nobles are investing heavily in her sainthood, and yet the lord before me would end all of that just to build himself a cheap little watermill. How can you claim any high road here?”
The soldier seemed confused, but the landlord stared at her like he was hearing the very word of God. She smiled and turned back to Lawrence, who wasn’t sure what her intent was. Holo would soon make her shocking contribution to this situation, but Fran didn’t know that. Maybe she really did feel that strongly about Katerina.
“Yes, I am Fran Bonilly. Does that make me a holy woman, or a witch?”
She was directing her statements at the village farmers among the soldiers.
“I am certain you understand me. You must.”
They heard what was surely the sound of everyone swallowing in unison. Most of them lived on Kierken’s land, and knew well what it meant to always wander between the faiths of the Church and the pagans. Being faithful was the more difficult and painful choice.. and the one filled with fear.
“Surely you realize that the angel can see into your heart.”
A gust of wind blew by them and Lawrence watched as the soldier raised his spear and thrust it at Fran. Lawrence was just a traveling merchant, and wouldn’t be able to do much to stop him. It looked like he was going to run her through right then and there.
“Silence, witch!”
The man shouted at the top of his lungs as he lunged at her.
“Stop-¡‘
Lawrence shouted and tried to hold the man back, but couldn’t. And yet, the man’s spear didn’t get much deeper than her robe. It was no miracle, however. An arrow had been shot through his leg.
“!”
He look
ed down at his leg in shock. One of the soldiers dressed as a huntsman had shot him. Everyone’s face went white, and their breathing was sharp and panicked. They were frightened at the prospect that this would turn to blood, now that Fran had lit the fire of fear in their minds.
“Defend her!”
A tense battle erupted the moment someone made that cry. Chaplains could only rely on the power of words during battles. Nonetheless, they could whip ardent cowards into a fervor just as easily as they could send the dying off with a gentle sentiment.
There were many terrified eyes among the crowd, worried that God might punish them for letting the landlord destroy this place. Fran, the so-called dark priestess, had used her skills expertly. And, despite earning a red wound in her belly, her expression toward Kierken hadn’t changed.
“You. Please judge the truth with your own eyes.”
Lawrence expected Kierken to nod, but he was so startled that he fell to the ground. Fran was just that intimidating. She turned and began walking away.
“Wh-where are you going?”
It wasn’t necessary to ask, but Lawrence felt compelled to do so when he saw the blood trickling from her to the ground. She didn’t bother stopping or even looking back at him.
“To look for the angel.”
Her voice was muffled by the clamor around them, but he heard her. Moreover, he felt her faith hitting him like a flame from her back. She was more determined to fight for her beliefs than her own life. She would never yield. He had to run and grab her, so they could at least treat her wound first.
“..Do you hear that?”
Perhaps owing to her blood loss, she asked that in a hushed voice. Because of the noise around them, Lawrence didn’t quite hear her, but knew what she must have asked.
“It sounds like the growling of beasts..”
Hearing that beasts were growling behind him made Lawrence shiver. He turned around in anticipation, but all he saw was soldiers spilling blood without a care for anything but self-preservation. Was she mocking them satirically? Or laughing at the sight? Confused, he helped her walk away, and soon understood.
Spice & Wolf XII (DWT) Page 13