‘Have I?’ Ned muttered, so low Alan thought he must have misheard him. Ned lifted soulful blue eyes. ‘Will you accompany us, Alan? You’ve learned the lie of the land as well as any guide we could hire.’
‘My apologies, cousin,’ Alan shook his head. ‘I’m sworn to the Duke, and I’ve some business of his to conclude in the area.’ He saw no need at this stage to enlighten Ned as to the exact nature of his business at Kermaria.
‘You won the post you wanted?’
‘Aye. I’m Captain of Duke Geoffrey’s personal guard.’
‘You’ve done well. I knew you would. You must have worked hard.’
‘I did work. But luck played its part,’ Alan admitted. ‘I like His Grace and he–’
‘He likes you,’ Ned finished.
Alan gave one of his twisted, self-deprecating smiles. ‘Aye. It would appear that he does. Strange, isn’t it?’
‘You know it is not,’ Ned said shortly. ‘Now, Alan, about your being our guide...’
‘I’ve only been granted a few days’ leave. Duke Geoffrey’s expecting me back in Rennes, and I’ve a survey to conduct on some tenants of his.’
Ned bit his lip. ‘Of course, we shall make our own way if we must. But you are the ideal man, Alan.’
Overhearing, Gwenn came back and, putting her hand on her husband’s arm, added her plea. ‘Do say you will help us, Alan. We can trust you.’
Alan laughed to lighten the mood, for the pair of them looked very grave and he didn’t want them sinking their hooks into him. ‘I never thought to hear you say that to me, Mistress Blanche.’
On hearing Alan’s nickname for his wife, Ned looked sharply from one to the other.
‘You’re cruel to ridicule me,’ Gwenn said. ‘But I understand why you do it. You think to avoid helping us by rousing my pride. But what use is pride to me?’
‘You have changed.’
‘Yesterday changed me forever. Yesterday stripped me naked. My father was hacked down, and my brother, and a much-loved uncle. I have no home. Indeed, I had no future till Ned chose to give me one. I have nothing, only,’ she pointed at the guesthouse, ‘those children. And if I have any say in the matter, they will reach a safe port. So don’t think that anger will lift me out of my supplicant’s role, Alan le Bret, for I have been purged of pride, of anger, of...everything. All I have left is my love for those children, and Ned, of course. And if going down on my knees and begging might help them, then I’ll do it, and not mind it. Help us. Please. We need you.’
‘I’ve orders to be with the Duke in Rennes in five days’ time,’ Alan said, uncomfortably.
Ned put out a hand. ‘You could spare us a week, Alan. Send one of the brothers with a message to Duke Geoffrey. Surely a week is no matter.’
‘If it takes five days to reach Ploumanach with the children, it will take another three for me to get back. Add to that a couple of days for setbacks, and it would be more like two weeks.’
‘Take two then,’ Gwenn urged.
‘No.’
‘Alan, please.’
‘No! I will not break faith with the Duke. You can look elsewhere for your guide.’ And wishing he didn’t feel like a snake, Alan turned on his heel and marched towards the monks’ cookhouse, from which was wafting the mouth-watering smell of Brother Peter’s new batch of bread.
***
Even in broad daylight when the door was bolted, the vault under the hall of Kermaria Manor was as dark as the anchorite’s cell. The only source of natural light was down the air vent; and as the light must squeeze past an army of weeds and a carpet of moss that had sprung up on the damp stones of the airway, the daylight was filtered almost to nothing.
The day before, when Nicholas Warr had locked the two women in the undercroft, he had provided them with a candle. It had burned out long ago, and although Johanna had unearthed a stub in a wall sconce, that had not lasted either, and for several hours Johanna and Mary had been sitting in tomb-like darkness.
‘This place is as black as night, but it must be tomorrow by now,’ Mary whispered. ‘I’m thirsty. Johanna, do you think they’ve forgotten we’re here?’
‘No.’ The wet nurse was wondering how Ned Fletcher was faring. Had he got away? Was she still with him? And what of her baby?
‘Then why don’t they come?’ Mary went on. ‘They must be simple if they think they can starve us into submission. Why, one of those casks of salt beef would keep the two of us going for a year, and I know there were at least half a dozen at the last tally.’
‘Hunger’s not the weapon they are using,’ Johanna said abstractedly. If the Viking had not returned, then he must be on Ned Fletcher’s trail. Which must mean that her beloved was free... Johanna realised Mary was waiting for her to add more. ‘They have another weapon up their sleeves, and they’re waiting for it to bite.’
‘Another weapon?’ Mary shivered. ‘What might that be, Johanna? I can’t say I like it here, the damp’s making my muscles creak like a rusty gate, but we have everything we need: beef, cheeses, smoked fish, wine, ale.’
‘No wine, and no ale,’ Johanna said. ‘Don’t you remember, they removed the casks they’d not drunk dry?’
‘Aye, so they did. But we have everything else.’
‘Everything save what we need most. We have no water. And already we are thirsty.’
Mary blinked into an infinity of blackness. Her sigh rustled like a breeze playing through dry, dead leaves. ‘Water. I see. How long do you think they’ll wait?’
‘Who knows? But if I had any pennies to wager, I’d say that when they do come in, they’ll be drinking themselves. They will want to torment us.’ Johanna usually avoided contact with members of her own sex, but she found herself groping for Holy Mary’s arm. ‘Mary, I’m truly sorry they have you in here. I thought they’d release you with the others.’
‘I’m glad to be here,’ Mary lied stoically. ‘I am glad to share in your courage, Johanna. You are a brave, loyal girl, and I’d not have you face them alone.’
‘I’m not brave. And I’m certainly not the least bit loyal,’ Johanna said. ‘I only...only wanted the babe to be safe.’ And Ned Fletcher, she added silently.
‘You are brave, Johanna,’ Mary insisted with the confident, ringing tones of a brimstone preacher. ‘You can dress it how you will, but I know you are brave. And seeing you – the only one out of all of us with the faith to face that...that monster of a man – why, you inspired me.’ Mary clasped Johanna’s hand. ‘We’ll face them together.’
This was the first time that Johanna had drawn comfort from another woman’s touch, used as she was to viewing all other women as potential rivals. She returned the pressure on her hand, answering huskily, ‘Aye. We face them together.’
The scraping of the bolt made an end to conversation. Light angled into the vault. Two men entered, the Viking Captain and Nicholas Warr. As Johanna had predicted, Malait was clutching a waterskin.
Getting hastily to their feet, the women exchanged glances. Mary licked parched lips. Johanna wondered about Ned Fletcher. Neither of them smiled.
‘Good morning, my pretties.’ Otto swaggered towards them, tantalisingly swinging the waterskin from a thong wrapped round his solid wrist. ‘I thought it was time we had our little chat. Warr?’
‘Captain?’
‘Secure the door, and bring that lamp over. I want to mark their expressions.’
‘Aye, sir.’
The Viking raised his water bottle and, removing the stopper, took a long pull. Water dribbled down his chin, and the rivulets were soaked up in his forest of a beard. Both women stared fixedly at the lamp the archer was carrying. ‘Not thirsty, eh?’ In the beard, the wide mouth curved. ‘Pity. You won’t want this, then.’ Upending the container, Malait poured the contents onto the floor.
Mary shut her eyes and her dry throat tried in vain to swallow.
‘You’ve a visitor, little spy,’ the captain said, looking at Johanna.
Mary�
�s hand jerked in Johanna’s, and the wet nurse felt the other woman’s eyes boring into her. ‘A visitor?’
‘Your brother. He’s anxious for your welfare. Shall I send him in?’
‘You’ve already decided what you will do,’ Johanna said, dully. ‘Nothing I say will have any effect on your actions.’
Otto did not gainsay her.
Mary had withdrawn her hand from Johanna’s and was regarding her suspiciously. ‘What does he mean, Johanna? Little spy? You could not have been in this man’s employ. Johanna?’
‘Oh, be quiet, Mary, can’t you see he seeks to break our amity?’
Otto’s thick finger stabbed at Mary. ‘You, get upstairs. I want you to show me where St Clair is supposed to have buried his brat. While you, little spy, can wait here. I’ll send Conan down when we’ve found the grave.’
The faintest of sighs slid past Johanna’s full lips. Ned Fletcher must have got the babe away. Both must be safe.
***
Holding up the lamp as he entered the cellar, Conan saw his sister was perched on a casket of salt beef, gently pressing her breasts. ‘Missing the babe, Johanna?’ he asked indifferently.
Johanna raised her head and looked listlessly at him. ‘I only gave him suck in the evenings. I was trying to wean him. It doesn’t hurt much. My milk will soon dry up.’ She wondered if Conan had been sent to pronounce sentence on her. Mary must have shown Malait the grave of the peasant baby by now. Had it convinced Malait that St Clair’s heir was dead? Conan’s face was impassive, it gave nothing away. Johanna wondered what her fate would be if Malait remained suspicious. Would they torture her to make her talk? Vikings were renowned for violence and cruelty throughout Christendom.
‘Well, Conan, what’s to do?’
‘You’re free.’
‘Free?’
‘You’re to come home with me. Here, you’ll be thirsty.’ Casually, the pedlar tossed a bulging waterskin onto her lap.
Johanna hid her astonishment behind as blank a front as she could summon. Ducking her head, she made a show of fumbling at the stopper. ‘What happened to Mary?’ she managed, and to give herself time to think, she put the bottle to her dry lips and drank.
‘Not much. The maid pointed out the infant’s grave to Malait, and now she’s on her way to Huelgastel.’
‘What...what made him believe us? I should have thought your captain would take some convincing.’
‘He verified that what you said was the truth.’
‘Verified? How?’
‘Captain Malait had the grave dug over and found a baby boy.’
‘No!’
Conan was amused by his sister’s revulsion. ‘Time we started back for Vannes, Johanna. Drink up.’
Johanna felt sick, with relief as well as revulsion. Thank Christ the grave had contained a boy. If it had been a girl, it would have been her death warrant.
She kept her head down as she walked through the hall and into the courtyard. The yard was become a charnel house, with the bodies of the slain stacked under sheeting like logs ready for winter. She averted her eyes, but not before she glimpsed a leg sticking out from underneath the table linen. She had only lived at Kermaria for a few months, and never expected to feel sympathy for the people here, but now, seeing them laid out like so much dead wood, Johanna discovered she’d stayed long enough for fellow feeling to have grown.
Anxious to shake the dust of Kermaria from her shoes, she turned her face to the bridge.
In the solar, conferring with Nicholas Warr, Otto watched from the high window. ‘There she goes, Warr.’
Nicholas Warr stared at Johanna’s retreating back. ‘You say she refused to administer poppy juice to the child?’
‘So her brother maintained.’
‘And you suspect she’s keeping something back?’
Otto bared discoloured teeth. ‘I’m as sure of that as I’m sure the sun will rise at tomorrow’s dawning.’
‘Then why let her go, Captain?’
Otto’s smile was tinged with triumph. ‘Because, my dear fellow, she’s as mutinous a wench as you could hope to meet, and now she’s released, she will be off her guard. Her brother will be able to worm whatever it is out of her faster than I could if I had her flayed alive.’
‘Do you trust the pedlar?’
Otto held up a chinking drawstring pouch. ‘He’s vermin. But as long as I hold this, I trust him. Conan will be back.’
***
‘You made me walk so far and so fast, Conan, my shoes are wearing out,’ Johanna said, stopping to sit on a milestone. A grey rat of a dog that had crawled out of the ground-elder by the Kermaria crossroads and had been shadowing them squatted in the road by her shoes and scratched a ragged ear. Conan had not slackened his pace, but Johanna picked up her feet and examined them. Blisters were forming – she was not used to walking. The mongrel’s stumpy tail gave a tentative wag. ‘Why is this thing following us, Conan?’
With a sigh, Conan stopped and frowned over his shoulder. ‘It’s a pest, a stray.’ Impatience was building up within him. They had not progressed above three miles; she walked painfully slowly, did his sister. ‘You should have shown some restraint at table, Johanna,’ he said. ‘There’s too much of you to carry about, that’s why your feet ache. You’re fatter than ever you were before you went to Kermaria.’
A shadow darkened Johanna’s plump countenance. Ned had preferred Gwenn Herevi over her, and Gwenn Herevi was skinny as a rake. She did not like to think that there might be some truth in her brother’s accusation. ‘It’s all very well for you to criticise, Conan, but how could I let all that food go to waste? They ate well at the manor. A saint on a Lenten fast would have been tempted. Besides, I was eating for two.’
‘Three more like,’ Conan responded sourly.
Johanna flexed her feet, counted another blister on one of her heels, and began massaging her toes.
‘Come on, do,’ Conan said, glancing at the sun. ‘I want to be back in Vannes before they lock the gates.’
‘Look, Conan, already there’s a hole in this shoe.’ Poking her finger through a rent in the leather where the upper had come away from the sole, Johanna waggled her shoe at him. The dog cocked its head on one side.
Conan prepared to walk on. ‘You can buy more shoes in Vannes, I’ve lodgings directly over the cobblers.’
‘Buy more shoes? But, Conan, I’ve no money.’
The pedlar stood still as a standing stone. ‘What, none?’
Johanna should have been warned by the set of her brother’s shoulders, but with her mind fixed on her feet, she did not notice. ‘Not a penny,’ she said, cheerfully. ‘I spent what I had on the material to make this dress.’
Conan turned. ‘I’d hoped for help with the rent. I can’t afford to keep you. I don’t need no bloody millstone.’
‘I should have thought you’ve feathered your nest enough on what I told you concerning Kermaria,’ Johanna said sharply. ‘You could help me out till I find...an alternative means of support.’
The pedlar gazed coldly at his sister. ‘I found you that position at Kermaria,’ he said, as if he’d gone out of his way to find her the job. He had indeed done well out of placing her with St Clair, but it didn’t suit him to admit that. ‘I owe you nothing. Plums like that can’t fall in your lap every day of the week.’
According to Otto Malait, the ungrateful wench was holding something back. Perhaps he could induce her to confide in him by trickery. Or fear. Fear would have to be a last resort, it might turn her away from him. However, a pinch of it would not go amiss. If Johanna was worried he might not take her in, it might spur her to talk freely.
Not for a moment did it occur to Conan to play on his sister’s affections. His life had never been enriched with family feeling, and he was Johanna’s brother only when it suited him. In the inn all those months ago when he had overheard Ned Fletcher and Raymond Herevi mention a wet nurse, he had remembered the Count’s interest in the St Clair family and
had seen at once that there was gain for him in sending Johanna to Kermaria. His sister’s needs had not weighed with him at all. If the opportunity had not presented itself, he would just as happily have seen her reduced to beggary.
Now, on the long road to Vannes, he was irritable. Johanna was too slow, but he could not abandon her till he had the information Malait wanted. He cast his eyes up the road and saw, balanced on the rim of the horizon, a building which to an innocent eye resembled a hundred other wayside taverns. It had an unsavoury reputation. Honest women shunned the place, for inside, women of another stamp took the drinks to the customers’ trestles. And if, as often was the case, more intimate services were required of the women, they would lead their clients to an upstairs chamber where two rows of pallets were spread over the floorboards, each screened from the next by a series of dingy, moth-eaten curtains stretched out on poles. The tattered curtains made a mockery of privacy, but no one ever complained.
Following the direction of her brother’s gaze, and not knowing the reputation of the inn, Johanna’s eyes brightened. ‘Is that a hostelry, Conan? I’m hungry, I’ve not broken my fast. And despite that water you gave me, I could drink a well dry.’ Johanna was so invigorated by the sight of the inn that she jammed her shoes back on her swollen feet and hobbled towards him. The cur followed.
Conan opened his mouth to loose a scathing comment about gluttony, but inspiration struck and he held his peace. Perhaps if he indulged his sister and bought her wine, that would loosen her tongue. Maybe he should try persuasion on her instead of the threats he habitually used. Pinning a passable smile to his face, he held out his hand, ‘Come on, Johanna. If you step out a little, I’ll buy you some food when we reach the tavern.’
Johanna gave him a grateful smile and wondered silently what had persuaded him to offer her food instead of insults. She threaded her arm through his and limped steadily on.
Inside the hostelry, Johanna was at first too thirsty to take an account of her surroundings, and when Conan ordered a full jug of Gascon wine to be brought to their table – an expense she had never known him spare her before – it would have seemed churlish to have refused such untoward generosity and admit to a preference for a measure of small ale.
The Stone Rose Page 37