“I would ask, my lady, for your aid in ensuring that the reliquary is returned to its custodians. It is not an item that would be wise to mislay.”
The lady smiled and parted her robe. Around her waist was slung a round bundle that could only be what he most desired. “Our thoughts are as one, Father. I meant to offer this to you as a gift, in thanks for your silence about my choice.”
“You have it, my lady.”
She surrendered the reliquary to him, pausing to kiss the edge of the bundle. “Perhaps you might request the aid of Saint Euphemia in ensuring the cause of righteousness is served.”
“But how shall it be taken from this keep without any noting it?”
Lady Marie dropped her hand to the coffin, her gaze knowing. Father Ignatius might have simply set the prize inside the box, but the lady lifted her dead maid’s skirts. She placed the bundle on Agnes’ belly, beneath her folded hands. It looked as if she had been with child when she passed away, yet not so far along that the fullness of her kirtle might not have hidden it. “No one truly looks at a maid,” Marie murmured and gathered the fabric around Agnes’ hips to disguise the bump yet more.
Father Ignatius heard the other maid inhale sharply and guessed that she was offended. The lady did not appear to notice.
She bent and kissed the dead maid’s brow. “Still you serve me,” she murmured. “Godspeed to you, Agnes.”
Father Ignatius gave a blessing and the lid was closed again.
The lady spoke more loudly then. “Emma, we must see that Agnes is laid to her eternal rest. I know that my lord husband has other concerns this day, but would not delay in fulfilling my duty to Agnes. Would you aid me in retrieving her belongings, that they might be distributed to the poor?” She met Father Ignatius’ gaze steadily. “Could you give the final blessing at the old cemetery, Father? Perhaps at midday?”
“Of course, my lady.” He understood that he was to take the responsibility for smuggling the prize through the gates. The ruse was a good one, and the risk well worth the prize. He had to remind himself of such in an effort to steady the flutter of his heart. Father Ignatius had never been a bold man, but the cause of righteousness demanded that he do as much this time. He prayed for boldness as well as Agnes’ soul while the lady turned to leave left the chapel.
“Oh! Have you a key to the chapel, Father?” the lady asked sweetly, turning to face him. “I would see it locked after your departure, the better to ensure that Royce is confounded in his search for it.”
“Surely Sir Royce also has a key.”
“I will claim that, as well.” The lady put out her hand, her manner imperious.
Father Ignatius could only trust her in the details of her scheme. He retrieved the hidden key and granted it to her. She smiled and pivoted, quickly leaving the chapel.
He took a deep breath and eyed the coffin, preparing himself for the bold deed he must do.
But it proved that Father Ignatius had misunderstood the lady’s intent.
He heard the key turn in the lock of the portal and spun in dismay. He knocked on the portal, but the lady laughed softly. “No one will ever again cheat me of my due, Father. I may need this prize to negotiate all that I would make my own, and you will not have the chance to take it from me.”
Father Ignatius’ hand dropped to the ring of keys on his belt out of habit, but it was gone. Too late he recalled that the maid had collided with him. She had stolen his keys!
And Lady Marie had requested the one that was missing from the ring.
He had only the key to the empty sanctuary by the altar.
“My lady!” he protested and tried to force the door. It was of considerable weight and the lock was good.
Father Ignatius bent and peered through the keyhole. He could discern Lady Marie striding away. The maid cast an impish smile over her shoulder and Father Ignatius felt a shadow of dread slide over his heart.
Did Lady Marie mean to betray him?
What was her intent?
He saw the wagon leave the bailey, accompanied by Royce’s men. Was Bartholomew amongst them?
He pivoted and leaned against the door, surveying the small windowless chapel with dissatisfaction. What could he do to help?
For once in all his days, Father Ignatius found prayer to be a less than compelling choice.
* * *
The wagon came around the bend of the road, just as Anna had anticipated. The party did not ride as tightly together as they should have done, which would make matters simpler.
They would be easy to divide. She eased from behind the tree with her loaded crossbow. Edgar did the same, though he was not so good a shot as she. She saw his nod, then Norton and Piers erupted from the forest. The boys leapt for the backs of the horses pulling the wagon even as the men guarding the load cried out.
She and Edgar both let their bolts fly.
Anna’s hit the lead knight in the throat. He fell from his steed to bleed in the road and did not rise again. His destrier reared, whinnied in fear, and galloped down the road, his reins trailing. The steed of the other knight ahead of the wagon bolted in terror, despite his rider’s efforts to hold him back.
Edgar’s bolt struck the driver of the wagon in the shoulder. That man had moved in the last moment, startled by boys’ appearance, and he wrestled with the shaft of the bolt even as he tried to hold back the horses. The boys beat the rumps of the horses pulling the wagon and they were only too glad to gallop after their fellows.
Anna saw the larger man from the back of the wagon move forward, undoubtedly to help his companion, just as the remaining warriors charged the forest. Stewart sliced down the first of them with his blade, the other village men dropping from trees and throwing rocks to halt their attack.
Anna fled through the forest, intending to cut off the wagon at the next curve. She burst from the trees just as it was rolling past and leapt on to the wagon. She struck the smaller guard in the back, who was a squire, then kicked him off the wagon. The boy scrambled to his feet and ran back toward the keep, and Anna swore that he was out of her range. She hoped Edgar would stop him.
The guard from the back of the wagon had reached the front. To her astonishment, he seized the reins from the driver, then punched that man in the face.
The driver tumbled into the road.
Anna shot him in the throat before he could get to his feet. She then leapt for the guard who now held the reins and got one arm around his throat.
“Norton and Piers!” he bellowed. “Slow the horses!”
The fiend knew the boys’ names! She tipped up his helmet to better slit his throat and he swore when his vision was obscured. The cart began to lurch toward the ditch. She held fast to his neck and reached for her knife. He jabbed her in the ribs, twisting in her grip as he swore with greater vehemence.
“This is not the time, Anna!” he growled and she froze at the familiarity of his voice.
“Bartholomew?” she asked in astonishment. “But you are dead!”
“Not quite yet,” that knight muttered. “Though it appears you would see the matter changed.” He pulled hard on the reins even as Anna tried to accept this happy news. The horses slowed, but the wagon was too close to the side of the road. It rolled to a halt but one wheel went into the ditch. The wagon tipped so that the trunks in the back slid to one side. The shifting weight made the cart tumble to one side and Anna leapt from it with Bartholomew as the trunks spilled into the dirt.
The others were gone, and she did not doubt that lead knight would return. “Tell me, Anna, what did I do to earn such a greeting?” Bartholomew demanded, that familiar thread of humor in his tone, when they stood in the forest. “I thought you liked me.” He winked and soothed the horses.
Anna laughed in her relief, unable to believe her ears. He cast off the helm and smiled at her, his eyes twinkling, and she flung herself into his embrace with relief. “I thought you dead!”
“I have felt more hale in my time, to be sure,�
� he said and kissed her quickly. His eye was blackened and his face was cut, but she thought he looked as rakish and handsome as ever. He broke their kiss all too soon and flicked a glance at the forest. “Where are the others? There were two guards behind and one yet ahead…”
A growl emitted from the undergrowth and they turned as one to see Cenric, his teeth bared and his hackles raised. He looked down the road and Anna spun to see that other lead knight approaching.
She had no more bolts.
Bartholomew had seized the driver’s crossbow from the wagon, though, and loaded a bolt from the quiver there. He fired, then pushed her head down. Anna smiled at the sound of the knight falling from his stallion’s saddle. The horse trotted toward them, its ears flicking, and at Bartholomew’s glance, the boys seized its reins and soothed it to a walk.
“What about the gold?” Norton demanded, reaching for the trunks that had fallen into the dirt.
“There is none, not on this wagon,” Bartholomew said. Norton had opened a trunk as Bartholomew replied, revealing a collection of rocks inside. Anna gasped. “Let us find the others before I explain.”
With some effort, they got the wagon back on the road. They stacked the trunks much as they had been. Bartholomew turned the wagon around and they soon came upon Edgar and the others. One of Royce’s warriors was dead and the surviving man-at-arms was bound. The squire, it seemed, had seized a horse and evaded them all. The group milled around the cart, disappointed at the sight of all the stones.
“Royce sends us an arsenal,” Bartholomew said. “And a means to return to the keep.”
“Your bold ploy is for naught,” the man-at-arms said with a sneer. “Sir Royce is not the fool you believe him to be. He fully expects you to return.”
“I have been there already and evaded him,” Bartholomew said. “I even spoke to him directly. I think you over-estimate the wit of your lord baron.”
“The boy will warn him,” Edgar said, his manner dour.
“What of the reliquary?” Anna demanded of the man-at-arms.
“Safe from your kind,” that warrior replied and spat on the ground.
Edgar pulled his knife and slit the man’s throat, casting his body aside. “Safe from your kind, more like.” He shoved the man into the ditch, then granted Bartholomew a rueful glance. “Such men do not deserve to live.”
“Nay,” Bartholomew agreed. “But our task is only half complete.”
“We need the gold!”
“We need the reliquary!”
“Strip them of their tabards?” Anna asked, fully anticipating his reply.
“Hide the bodies and take their places,” Bartholomew agreed, then gestured to them all. “Then bind these prisoners, these outcasts from the village who live in the forest.”
Edgar looked between them in confusion. “We are going into the keep? As prisoners? Have you changed your thinking, sir?”
“It is the best way to see this matter resolved,” Bartholomew said. “Royce expects his men to return from this feint with prisoners. We shall give every appearance of taking him some.” Then he smiled, the twinkle in his eye reassuring Anna that it would be Royce who was surprised.
“They do not know the tale,” Anna reminded him and he nodded.
“This cart is a trick,” Bartholomew informed the villagers. “I had thought it carried the taxes to the king, so ensured I was among its guards, but they talked on the way of their true quest. The plan was that they would draw you out of the forest, capture you all and return to the keep. The real treasure will leave after this wagon arrives at the keep.”
“With prisoners,” Edgar said with understanding.
“And what of the reliquary?” Stewart demanded.
“It must be in Royce’s treasury or his chambers.” Bartholomew paused and Anna knew he did not want to endanger the group unnecessarily. “I would suggest we return to the keep, with all of you apparently taken captive, then reclaim the treasure from inside. We will overwhelm them, and seize as much as we can of Royce’s prizes.”
“It will be risky,” Stewart said.
“But it is the sole way to see our ends achieved,” Anna replied.
Bartholomew surveyed the villagers. “I would not compel you to take such a risk. If you wish to forgo this quest, the choice is yours.”
Anna looked over the company and saw that there was no doubt.
“We are with you!” she declared, smiling at the chorus of agreement that followed her words.
“We should make haste, for the squire did manage to ride back that way,” Edgar noted. “He might well warn them.”
“Or Duncan might ensure he does not arrive,” Anna said, telling Bartholomew how they had divided their forces.
“A fine scheme,” Bartholomew said with approval. “Hide the fallen men in the forest, but bring their tabards. Make haste!”
Edgar pulled one such over his head, then donned that man’s helm. He cast an eye over the company and granted tabards to those villagers who looked to be of similar size to the fallen men. Meanwhile, Bartholomew bade the boys to tether the horses to the back of the wagon. He unfurled a length of rope, and Lucan showed the villagers a knot that looked doughty but could easily be slipped. Within moments, a trail of villagers was apparently bound to the back of the wagon, but they could easily free themselves. Anna had ensured that there were no signs of the scuffle remaining on the road, and had gathered a few bolts to be re-used.
“I count four knights yet at the keep,” Bartholomew said tersely. “Six men-at-arms, though I left two bound in the armory.”
“They might have been freed,” Anna said and he nodded.
“Then there is the one squire that fled back from here.”
“As well as the other squires,” Anna reminded him. “The place is thick with them.”
“They will be armed and trained,” Bartholomew said to the villagers who nodded understanding. “And there will be servants in the hall, as well. We cannot guess their alliances.”
“Send one of the boys to the old village,” Edgar suggested. “Herve will be glad to take vengeance upon those who stole his goats, and the others will try to be of aid.”
Bartholomew agreed and Piers was dispatched on that errand. The boy disappeared quickly into the shadows of the forest.
“Father Ignatius might yet be in the keep,” Anna reminded to Bartholomew. “He went in search of the reliquary. We cannot abandon him.”
“And we will not,” he said, placing her crossbow on the back of the wagon, where she could readily grab it. “Once inside, all of you will contrive to steal the other wagon and get clear of the keep as soon as possible. Anna will fetch Father Ignatius from the chapel if we do not see him. Duncan and I will climb to Royce’s chamber, as if to report on our mission, and not leave without the reliquary.”
Anna was more than ready to see this matter resolved.
Chapter Fourteen
Royce was rather proud of himself.
His scheme was so brilliant that it could not fail to succeed. The first cart, loaded with trunks of rocks, had to be reaching the most treacherous part of the road through his abode. The rebels in the forest would attack, but they would be the ones to be surprised.
And pay the price of their treachery. He would be rid of them all by sunset!
Boys ran up and down the stairs of the tower, carrying the chests of silver pennies to the second cart in the bailey, then racing to retrieve more from his treasury. Royce supervised the efforts in his chamber, ensuring that they took the right trunks.
There would still be a measure of coin left for his own comfort. It was only three small trunks, but one was filled with gold coin. This was a clever choice on his part, for the fewer the villeins and the less trade within his borders, the lower the taxes. Goods for his table were less readily confiscated from the peasants or taxed out of them in these times. Indeed, the castellan had confided that they would have to buy flour in York by the spring to make bread in the hall.<
br />
What need had he of peasants too lazy to till the fields?
Nay, he was better without them, and this measure of coin would ensure his comfort for a good while, even with the king receiving his due. Let them all die. He would survive on venison and other game.
Who knew what good fortune might come to him from his plan? The gift of the reliquary might so impress the king that he might give Royce a fine gift.
Another holding, perhaps.
A richer one.
Royce nigh rubbed his hands together in glee.
He heard his wife weeping noisily in her chambers below his own and rolled his eyes at the fuss she had made over a dead maid. It was one less mouth to feed, as far as Royce was concerned.
Marie wailed in anguish and he gritted his teeth. Even his wife began to be a burden. She had never given him a son. He had long ago bored of her charms, and she had dared to tryst with the knight who aspired to replace him. If she could not be trusted, why should he feed her?
Did she mourn her maid, or the man who hung from the parapet, dead as he deserved?
Royce believed he knew the truth, and it gave him great pleasure.
It also fed his resolve to be rid of Marie.
First matters first, though. The last of the trunks were carried from the chamber and he realized what had been missed. “Gaultier!” he bellowed, believing that the Captain of the Guard must have taken the reliquary into his care. Gaultier knew he was to command the second cart, to ensure that the taxes arrived safely at the king’s court. They had arranged all the previous afternoon.
Royce strode out of the chamber and shouted again from the top of the stairs. “Gaultier!”
There was no reply. Where was the man? He had never known Gaultier to be as vexing as he had been this day, and it was not even noon.
Royce marched down a flight of stairs, catching the sleeve of a passing squire. “Where is Gaultier? Have you seen him this morn?”
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