by Rue Allyn
“That is very good of you. Go tell Gretle. I will be with you shortly.”
Juliana headed for the garden to await Robert. Why hadn’t the letters, especially the epistle of Saint Peter, been broadcast already? Would not many Beguine lives have been saved and made easier if the saint’s true opinions about the priesthood had been known? Perhaps. And perhaps greater disagreements would occur because of Saint Peter’s contradictory writings about the place of women in the church. Yes, she decided, finishing her gruesome chore, Sister Angelina had been right to keep the letters hidden. She would follow that example, safeguarding the letters for a time when they could do the most good.
• • •
“You wanted to speak with me, Lady Juliana?”
Would she tell him what was hidden behind those bricks he watched her move? Would the Beguine still live if he had not paused to observe Juliana’s odd activity? Nay, Juliana assured him that was not possible.
Waving a hummingbird aside—the creatures seemed to be everywhere—Robert strode into the gardens, a frown on his face. Much of the reason for the frown ambled along behind him.
Hassen’s smile dimmed when he spied her. “I hear you have lost a friend just as you found her.”
“Thank you for your understanding, Sayyid Hassen. Yes, Sir Robert. I wish to discuss what we must do to be able to remain in this house.”
“Nothing must be done. The house is too vulnerable to inhabit.”
“I must agree with Baron Ravensmere.”
Robert winced. Somehow the weasel had discovered how much Robert disliked his title, and the man never failed to seek an opportunity to use the rank.
“That is too bad. Sir Robert, a way must be found to make this place habitable. Beatrice will be holding vigil over Angelina’s body for the next three days, and the body cannot be moved before then. After the burial, we will be cleaning this place and resuming the normal duties of the Beguines in Palermo.”
“You can’t . . . ”
She raised her palm outward. “Hear me out. I can and I will use this building to restore the Palermo beguinage for the simple reason that we cannot afford another, and since we must be here for at least three days, we might as well remain. What coin we have must be used to purchase building supplies and other necessities for making this ruin into a home.”
“’Tis foolishness to remain here.”
“I have available properties that would suit you better than this one,” the weasel said.
“Thank you, Sayyid Hassen, but we Beguines do not own those buildings, and we do own this one. Making this building livable will cost us only time and effort.”
“You are determined on this course?” Robert asked.
“I am.”
“There is nothing I can say to convince you to change your mind?” Hassen queried.
“Nothing.”
Robert frowned more. “And you have not forgotten your promise to return to England with me?”
“I have not forgotten.”
“Since you are determined, I will endeavor to provide for the building’s safety before we depart for England.”
“You do not intend to remain in Palermo, daughter of England?” the weasel asked, puzzlement clouding his face.
“’Tis a matter between myself and Sir Robert. You need not concern yourself. Whether I stay or go, the beguinage will be here.”
“Oh, well then, let us discuss how best to return this house to its former state and keep you safe while that is being done. I know many merchants in Palermo and could persuade them to deal very fairly with you, despite the discontent of the weavers. In fact, we may be able to use the rebuilding of your community as a way to placate that guild. And, with your permission, baron, I will send guards of my own to assist you until the walls can be rebuilt.”
Those guards could attack as well as protect—which did the man intend? Robert studied the merchant’s sharp features but could find no hint of guile. With no obvious reason to decline the offer, Robert nodded. “The help will be most welcome.”
He and his men would have to keep watch against the men Hassen sent. In this place, danger seemed to lurk in the very air. Robert would take no chances with Juliana’s well-being.
Chapter 7
After the time of vigil and the funeral, the Beguines saw Beatrice safely on her way to her family home in Messina, then returned to the burned-out beguinage and began to clean. They had been cleaning for days now, and Robert wondered if the women would ever stop. Save for evidence of fire, the house had seemed tidy enough to him. But Juliana, Berthild, and Gretle had tsked and shaken their heads, then gone to war with dirt he could not even see. Relieved to be asked to run errands, he escaped to the market and tasks he understood.
He spent one full day haggling with merchants and carrying parcels to and fro. He returned from his last foray expecting a hot meal and some conversation. Henry met him at the door with the news that the ladies had retired to their quarters too exhausted from their labors to prepare any food.
“What happened to the cook?”
“B’ain’t seen ’im since ye left this morning, sir,” answered Henry. “Like ’n he’s gone and got drunk again.”
Obviously, Gretle’s harangue on their arrival in Palermo failed as an effective measure against the cook’s drunkenness. I should have beaten him senseless the first time.
“What will we do, sir?”
“About what?”
“About food, sir. My belly’s awful empty.” A rumbling gurgle punctuated Henry’s plea.
“Here.” Robert handed one of the parcels to the groom. “The fruit and bread in that should sustain you and the guards until tomorrow. When the animals are fed and watered in the morning come and get me. We will go into Palermo together to hire a new cook. When and if the present cook returns, tell him he’s not needed. We’ll also hire more men to replace those Sayyid Hassen sent and for whom we pay too much.”
“Those we got came straight off t’ docks. How you goin’ to find more guards you can trust in this place, sir? ’Cause of them weavers bein’ so stirred up, b’aint no Christian person wants to be seen with us. Tho’ they take our coin fast enough when that Hassen asks ’em to.”
“We’ll start at the docks looking for mercenaries like we did with the first four men. Such men care little who pays them as long as they get paid on time and the food is good.” Which concerned Robert somewhat. The loyalty of mercenaries was for sale to the highest bidder, and even he did not have gold in endless supply. However, other means could be used to counter the lure of hard coin. He’d just have to make certain guarding the beguinage was worth more than gold.
That had been four days ago. Robert had little trouble finding suitable guards. But of the dozen or more potential cooks he sent to the beguinage for the ladies to approve, every candidate had been sent packing. A good cook was essential to hiring enough good guards. Without decent food, the guards would not even stay for coin, which would jeopardize the safety of the beguinage. And Juliana would never leave until the women who remained here were safe. Nor would he be satisfied to leave Berthild and Gretle defenseless. The older women had become good friends, and he valued his few friends highly.
For a moment, he was tempted to remain in Sicily, to bury his dreams of redemption and regaining the Ravensmere lands and take up the simple work of keeping the Beguines safe. But scorn and dead dreams or no, he must fulfill his promise to Edward. Until now, Juliana kept him from that promise with little more than smiles. That must end, and soon.
Early the next morn, Robert went in search of her, determined to get her to commit to a date for their departure.
He could not find her, and his control slipped. He roared into the kitchen, where Berthild and Gretle stirred a noisome mess in a kettle.
“Where is Lady Juliana?”
Both ladies jumped.
“Sister Juliana,” Berthild reproved, “is out.”
“Out! What do you mean, she is out?”
“Ind
eed, sir. Berthild means exactly what she says. Juliana is not here.”
“Gabriel’s ghost, I know where she is not. I want to know where she is!”
The two women shared a puzzled look. “Sir Robert, do you smell the contents of this pot?” Berthild challenged.
“Aye. What has that to do with Juliana?”
“She is out finding us another cook,” the taller Beguine revealed.
“Indeed, none of the slatterns you sent were acceptable, sir. You cannot judge a cook’s ability by the size of her bosom,” Gretle remarked.
“Do you tell me Juliana went into Palermo alone in search of a cook?”
“Nay,” came the reply in unison.
“Nay what? Nay, she did not go to Palermo, or nay she did not go alone?”
“She went to Palermo . . . ”
“Indeed, she took Henry and two of the guards with her,” completed Gretle.
“Oh.” Anger at his lady’s absence warred with relief that she was safe. “That is well, but she should have asked me to go with her.” He knew he was being churlish, but he could not stop. Juliana’s preference for a groom over himself pinched at his pride.
“You were still asleep, and Sister Juliana did not wish to disturb you,” Berthild stated the obvious.
“Indeed, yes. You were,” Gretle echoed.
“She could have waited.” He cringed at his own words. Now he sounded like a spoiled child.
Berthild cast him a fulsome glare and pressed her lips into a firm line. “Sir Robert. Would you like to eat the stew we have prepared?”
Robert took one sniff. “Nay. I have no time to eat. Send Juliana to me as soon as she returns.”
As morning lengthened, Robert lingered in the courtyard with the excuse of creating a practice field for himself and the guards. The field was necessary. Even the best warriors practiced to keep their skills sharp. But worries about Juliana lingered. If she did not return soon, he would have to go after her.
Why had he assumed she would stay placidly in place while he solved the problem of the cook? In the weeks he had known her, she rarely behaved as he asked.
Palermo was too large to search on his own, and he did not want to remove more guards from their work. He needed help. He would go to that weasel, Hassen. Robert did not like to be indebted to the man, but finding Juliana was of greater importance than his preferences.
He was about to march out of the gate when it opened and a ragtag crowd of beggars, cripples, and dirty urchins tumbled through. Herding them all into the inner courtyard were Juliana, Henry, the two guards, and one very large Nubian.
“Where have you been, and who are all these people?” he asked Juliana.
His Beguine patted a few stray hairs into place and fixed on that cursed smile, the one that made both his heart and body hurt most pleasantly and tended to fog his brain. She folded her hands in front of her. “These are folk we intend to help, and this is Shabaka, our cook.” She gestured at the Nubian.
“And?” Robert placed one hand on each hip. He was not fooled by her outward calm. Her knuckles were practically frozen white.
“And, what?” She attempted to walk past him with a jaunty step.
He grasped her arm and dragged her into the garden. “Where have you been?”
“That should be obvious. I went to Palermo to find a cook.”
A hummingbird flashed between them.
“You cannot simply bring anyone to this house.”
“Why not, pray? Is this not a beguinage? Am I not a Beguine?”
“What and where you are is not the point. As a Beguine, you have enemies in this city. If you do not take great care who you invite within these walls, we may find ourselves suffering the same fate as the previous occupants.”
“I know you believe that is true, but if we can show the people here enough kindness, they will learn they have naught to fear from us and that Beguines are not heretics.”
“Kindness will never be enough. Once made up, people do not change their minds about anyone they fear, no matter what you do to help or aid them.”
“That is a very sad way of thinking.”
“It has served me well.”
“Nonetheless, I cannot agree with you. Kindness goes a long way to helping people change. Besides, my sisters and I are not so different from the citizens of Palermo.”
“In the eyes of the locals, you are very different. You neither speak nor behave like the women they know. You compete with the weavers in their home city for their customers. Worse, a very influential priest has labeled your community heretics, and killing heretics is worthy of heaven. The poor here may take your charity, but if the choice came between you and the weavers or Basti’s assurance of heaven, you would be dead in moments.”
“Oh my.” She sat heavily on the wide rim of the now clean and functional fountain, her smile reduced to a faint quirk of the lips. “You have a point.”
“I am glad you realize that. I am also glad you had the good sense to take Henry and the guards with you.” Feeling that he had scolded her enough, he said this last more gently.
“Still, this is the work we came here to do. We cannot simply send those people back to the streets.”
“Why not?”
“If we did that, they would believe Beguine charity to be meaningless lies.”
“What does it matter if a few beggars think your charity false?”
“It matters a great deal. We cannot further the Beguine cause if we confirm the ill opinion that Basti and those who follow him have of us. We must keep our promises.”
Robert admired her determination and loyalty to principles, but would such dedication lead her to heartache? His own commitment to a promise had already led him into much regret. He tried another approach. “Once you feed these beggars and care for the cripples and children, others will come.”
“’Tis what we hope for.”
“Then restrict them to the courtyard and have Henry or one of the guards about at all times.” He clipped his words. Her refusal to face reality made him wish to shake her. She needed a keeper. And she would have one as soon as she wed. He was almost glad someone else would bear the frustrations of guarding Juliana.
“Aye, we will do that,” she concurred.
He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.
“Good. Tonight I will go into the city to the shrine of Saint Olivia and pray for our speedy and safe journey to England.” He would also pray for strength to resist the temptation Juliana represented. If protecting her was his chance to atone for his father’s crimes, he was not doing a very good job. She was too great a distraction. He needed absolution before he could attempt the journey back to England. He would pray for that as well. Heaven help them both if his prayers went for naught.
“You are leaving us?” One hand went to her throat, although the faint smile remained on her lips.
Concerned and oddly pleased at the slight signs of her distress, he took the hand that trembled at her waist and soothed his thumb over the backs of her fingers. “Does the thought of my absence trouble you? ’Tis only for one night, milady.”
“No.” The tiniest quaver shook her voice before she gave a delicate swallow. “Of course I am not worried,” she said more firmly. “Henry and the men you hired will keep us safe in your absence.”
He placed her hand back at her side. “Then I shall be off.” He turned to walk away.
“You do not ride?”
He turned back.
“I go to pray. Where would I keep a horse?”
Juliana nodded. “’Tis appropriate. A supplicant should be humble, and the truly humble walk.”
“Aye.”
Robert made to go once more.
“Wait.”
He halted.
“You have forgotten your sword. I will get it for you.”
He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Nay. I have no need for a sword during a night of prayer. My purpose is not to pray for my knightly prowess,
nor to renew vows already made new on my pilgrimage to Jerusalem.”
“Then what?”
’Twas the perfect opportunity to speak of the guilt that consumed him. Tell her of the ravening beast that threatened to break loose at the slightest provocation. ’Twas fitting for her to look on him with distrust and horror. It would remind him how much stood between them. He should tell her of the evil that lived in his soul.
He could not.
“Our journey, Lady Juliana,” he reminded her gently. “I go to pray for God’s help to keep us safe while we travel to England.”
The smile grew wide, but her eyes grew cold, and her hands folded together at her waist. “Of course.”
She could deny her nobility all she wished, but the woman was too gentle for her own good. Unable to speak his heart, he growled, “Be ready to leave for England as soon as I return.” He forced himself to walk away.
• • •
Robert’s prediction about the increase in beggars, cripples, and orphans proved true. Though she worried about him keeping lonely vigil, Juliana was too tired to do much more than fall into bed that night. She could not even worry how to oppose the departure for England he had threatened on his return.
The next morning, she tended the blisters on a beggar’s feet. Pus filled the oozing sores. That the man could walk at all amazed her. The line of poor and sick behind him wound all the way around the courtyard and out the gate. She could not possibly tend them all today, and tomorrow there would be more. Berthild and Gretle were as exhausted as she. They needed help. She prayed that more Beguines from Ghent would arrive soon.
Just as she sent the beggar hobbling to rest near the fountain, a murmur ran through the crowd and the line dispersed.
She looked up to see a monk standing before her. An escort of six men stood just inside the gate to the street. What kind of monk caused beggars to flee? For a brief moment her heart stopped, then began to race as fear and worry washed through her. Had Basti sent his deputies to search for the letters? Did Berthild and Gretle stand in harm’s way?
“You are Sorella Juliana, the healer?”
She wiped her hands clean on her apron. “Yes, I am Sister Juliana, and I care for the sick, although I make no claim to the knowledge of a healer. How may I help you?”