"Now, go home, and see how things change for you."
John-John bowed to the Great Lady then turned and walked away, cradling the fragile blue flower in his hands. When he turned to wave at the Lady, she had vanished.
John-John hurried home. When he reached his father's house, at the back of the tavern, he carefully planted the blue flower to the side of the door.
Then he opened the door.
The old man lay, sprawled at the bottom of the stairs. John-John raced to help him up, but he was stiff and cold already... Long dead. John-John felt sorry for the old sot.
A knock on the open door, then a charming blond head peeked through the crack. "May I come in?"
John-John's heart fluttered with joy. "Lilly!"
Lilly entered timidly. "I thought we might elope. With your Da being so against us marrying, and all."
"No need to elope, Lilly." John-John ran to embrace the girl he'd loved for many months. "Da is no more."
He moved away to let her see the place where his father lay. "It looks as if he fell from the stairs and his head hit the flagstone."
Lilly bit her lips. "He was so drunk all the time, ‘tis no big surprise."
John-John squeezed Lilly's waist. "We'll have to wait a reasonable time after the funeral, but after that, we can get married and live right here together."
Lilly leaned her head on his chest. "‘Tis my dearest wish."
In his fluttering heart, John-John thanked the Great One for Her blessing.
Chapter Fourteen
Lyon, mid November 1029
"A dragon, you say?" Bouchard refrained from laughing at Damas. He shifted in the padded seat of his private audience room. "None has seen such an evil creature since Saint George slew the last one... and that was centuries ago, east of Egypt."
"‘Twas not the last dragon, Your Grace." Crumpled on a chair by the fireplace, head hanging below his shoulders, Damas looked older and genuinely troubled.
Bouchard narrowed his eyes to consider Damas, searching for clues. He'd never seen the baron so shaken. "What did the creature look like?"
Damas raised his face, eyes wide at the recollection. "A golden dragon, gliding through the air and belching fire..."
Could he truly have seen it? Bouchard didn't quite believe this outrageous tale, but mayhap, he could use it to his advantage. "And what, pray tell, could possibly tie Lady Melusine to this flying, belching dragon?"
The light of the candelabra chasing the winter gloom glinted in Damas's steely gray eyes. "It happened on the Wednesday when she disappears from her castle."
"What do you mean by disappear?" Bouchard hid his surprise. His informants had not reported this peculiar fact.
Damas drew himself up with importance. "My mole in Montarcher tells me the lady disappears every first Wednesday of the month... even as she is with child. No one knows where she goes or what she does, but she is nowhere in the castle. ‘Tis very strange and suspicious behavior."
True story or not, Bouchard saw an opportunity. He cleared his throat and straightened the folds of his purple robes. "This is a grave accusation, my son."
"I'm not the only one to remark on the coincidence." Damas squared himself in his chair with renewed confidence.
Bouchard grunted, rubbing his hands together. The logs in the grate crackled but did not quite dissipate the chill in the air. "Of course, evil intervention could explain why my messenger last summer never returned."
"The man in black?" Damas shoved off his chair and stood, hand on the pommel of his sword, looking down upon Bouchard... a blatant lack of respect for a devout Christian. "He seemed to me a very capable man, not easily defeated, Your Grace."
"He was." Bouchard's heart bled at the loss. What a waste of male beauty. To think that the Pagan shrew might have harmed or killed such a man made him want to crush her under his boot like a vile scorpion. But Damas need not know the private messenger had doubled as an assassin. "I had asked him to inform me on Lady Melusine, but I fear something dreadful happened to him."
Damas shook his head with disgust as he paced in front of the crackling fire. "I swear, there is something utterly evil about that Pagan bitch."
So Damas, too, hated the woman. Bouchard raised one placating hand to regain control of his guest. "There is no need to blaspheme in the house of God, my son. These chambers are part of the basilica."
Damas pinched his lips and nodded stiffly, his gaze darting around the cozy chamber with thick tapestries covering white marble walls. "Furthermore, the jewel found in the swamps, the dragon diadem the beast requested be returned, was the exact Pagan trinket the calamitous Melusine wore in her hair the first time I met her. ‘Twas at the inaugural banquet in Montarcher."
"The banquet where Lord Artaud was introduced to the Christian brides?" The reckless Count had dared reject them all. Another reason to want him dead. That, and the fact that he'd held Bouchard hostage, and forced him to sign away his lands in Forez.
"Aye." Damas paced, the dancing flames projecting his moving shadow across tapestries and floor rushes. "That banquet."
Bouchard hated the Pagan shrew and wanted to believe Damas, but his story, although backed by witnesses, sounded farfetched. Even the dragon slain by Saint George might have been a large crocodile. Yet, only strong evil could have thwarted the handsome assassin on a mission from God. "How can you be sure ‘twas the same trinket?"
Damas smirked. "‘Twas in the shape of a winged dragon. My lady wife recognized it, too. You know me and gold, Your Grace. I would never forget something so exquisite made of pure gold."
"Indeed." The man had a real obsession with the yellow metal. Bouchard knew how he'd acquired his riches, too. His assassin-spy had informed on Damas as well. Bouchard planned to relieve the thieving baron of his loot, but only after he'd killed the Pagan shrew and her count.
Turning on his heel, Damas faced Bouchard, staring, waiting for his verdict.
Bouchard breathed in the smoky air, spiced with the rich fragrance of frankincense. "And you saw the jewel and sighted the dragon on that particular Wednesday of November?"
"Precisely." Damas took a step forward, too close for comfort.
Bouchard pursed his lips. "‘Tis too much of a coincidence."
Damas nodded. "Either she is a changeling, or she has dealings with evil creatures on those particular days."
Bouchard steepled his fingers. "This could be the perfect opportunity to excommunicate Artaud and his Pagan bride, and have the barons strip him of his title." He touched his fingers to his lips. "But the pope will request concrete proof of their conniving with the devil."
"The dragon is real. I saw it with mine own eyes!" Damas raised his silver brow, deepening the creases in his forehead. "Isn't that proof enough?"
"For you, aye, but not for His Holiness, or the Council of Princes." Bouchard relaxed when Damas took a few steps back.
The general's shoulders sagged and he raked his silver-streaked hair away from his eyes. "What can we offer as proof to the pope?"
Whatever Damas and his folks had seen may not be a dragon, but if it were any kind of odd creature, it could serve Bouchard just as well. "Methinks we should hunt down that evil beast."
"Hunt it down?" Damas froze, hand on his sword hilt.
"Aye." Bouchard allowed himself a thin smile. "Nothing like a dragon carcass to convince a pope, or to rally any doubting Thomas under the mantle of Holy Mother Church."
The flabbergasted open mouth expression on the count's face was precious. "I don't see how..."
"If your theory is correct, the creature should be out again in the swamps on..." Bouchard squinted at the Julian calendar tapestry hanging above the fireplace. "The first Wednesday of December, in three weeks."
Understanding dawned on the baron's tense face.
Bouchard leaned against the back of his padded chair and laced his hands on his ample stomach. "We shall surround the swamps with Christian hunters and soldiers. We shall find and kill the
abomination once and for all, then display its remains to convince the pope there is evil in Forez."
Damas rubbed his short silver beard nervously. "Slaying a dragon may not be all that easy."
"Aye. But ‘tis possible. Saint George did it." Bouchard enjoyed patronizing Damas. "If you are right, and somehow the lady is the dragon, she will die with her pup in her belly. And if the dragon is only the source of her evil influence, she will grow weak and easy to kill."
Bouchard suspected Melusine had strong ties with Pagan forces to have overcome his assassin. The man was near indestructible. But if the woman were a demon, it would explain everything. Damas seemed the perfect strategist for the task.
"Dragons are magic creatures, Your Grace. They fly, they breathe fire... this one already scorched two of my men to black cinders." Damas plopped back into his chair, raking his hair in a nervous gesture. "Besides, the swamps spread far and wide... ‘tis treacherous terrain. Then there is the lake. What if the dragon escapes over the water? We do not have enough boats... or archers to bring it down."
Bouchard appreciated the way Damas thought about strategy, but he could also sense his insecurities. "Are you scared of a little dragon, Lord Damas?"
"Of course, not." Damas straightened in his seat and crimson flushed his cheeks. "I'm just saying it will take hundreds of men to cover the entire area, especially if we only have one day."
"Do not fret. I shall find you as many archers and hunters as you need. Even rowboats." His brother Renaud of Burgundy would provide them, against the promise of Artaud's gold. The man may not be happy about the recent loss of his army, but Bouchard's spies had uncovered many of Renaud's dirty little secrets and court intrigues. His high and mighty brother could not afford to refuse him anything. "So, Damas. Are you game?"
Damas nodded slowly. "Challenge accepted, Your Grace," but the baron's voice shook. Damas gathered his booted legs and rose. He sighed deeply. His grudging smile looked more like a grimace of pain. "I'm looking forward to such a rare event. ‘Tis not every day a knight gets to hunt a live dragon."
"Indeed." How Bouchard enjoyed making a weathered soldier quake with utter fear. Only the righteous did not shrivel at the thought of battling evil beasts. On that day, of course, Bouchard would remain safely in Lyon. No need for him to challenge the devil. Bouchard was a Prince of the Church, not a knight... even less a saint.
* * *
Artaud hurried across the bailey toward the Great Hall, a flock of geese and chickens scattering ahead of him. Captain Gilbert hastened after him.
"I appreciate your warning, Captain, but I shall not hide from my subjects. I must receive all who call upon me." His breath feathered in front of his face. "Who is he?"
"He didn't say, my lord. He is young, and looks like a villager of some standing." The captain spoke haltingly, struggling to follow Artaud's clipped pace toward the Great Hall. "But he comes from the domain of Couzan... He cannot be trusted."
Artaud strode into the Great Hall, welcoming the relative heat of the giant logs crackling in the two monumental fireplaces.
A young man dressed in comfortable gray wool stood there, staring at the flames. Upon hearing the clip of boots on the flagstone, he turned to Artaud, pulled down his felt hat and bowed respectfully.
Artaud walked up to him. "Who are you, and why do you want to see me in person?"
The young man straightened and glanced up. "My name is John-John, my lord. I own the wine cellar and the tavern at the cross roads."
"Impressive for someone so young." Artaud suddenly remembered where he'd heard the name. Could it be the same youth who'd helped Melusine a few weeks past, in the swamps? "And what brings you to Montarcher, John-John?"
The young man shot a furtive glance at Captain Gilbert, then at the servants storing the breakfast tables along the walls and sweeping the hall.
Artaud motioned Gilbert and the few servants away. "Give us a moment alone."
Gilbert flinched. "Are you certain, my lord?"
Artaud was glad Gilbert had returned from Couzan early. Otherwise, he'd probably be rotting in Damas's dungeon with the other men he'd left in Couzan. "That's all right, captain."
Gilbert saluted and left, urging before him the servants, who scrambled away, whispering and speculating, as servants often do.
Artaud waited for all to clear the hall, then turned to the young man. "So, John-John, what is so important that it cannot bear witnesses?"
"Last night at the tavern..." John-John lowered his voice. "I overheard soldiers from Couzan talking among themselves about a dragon hunt."
"A dragon hunt?" Artaud struggled to keep his alarm in check.
"Aye, my lord." The wide eyes filled with dismay. "They plan to swarm the swamps on Wednesday, and scare the beast out of hiding to slay it."
On the first Wednesday of December? Artaud barely managed to keep a calm demeanor as his heart galloped like a runaway horse. "And why would you come all this way to tell me such a ridiculous thing?"
"Because, my lord, I've seen the dragon myself, and he saved my life. And as a Pagan, I want to protect such a magic creature. I suspect you must feel the same." The young man made a disgusted face and shook his head. "Lord Damas only wants to slay it to gain fame."
Artaud shuddered. The dragon had been Melusine. John-John was the young man who'd returned her diadem and helped draw Damas out of hiding. He detected no deception in the boy, but Artaud should not reveal too much. "You did the right thing coming to me, John-John. I appreciate your loyalty and shall reward you richly."
John-John shook his head and returned a candid smile. "No need for a reward, my lord. I am only happy to repay the generosity of the Great Lady. See, she blessed my existence. Now, I am her humble servant until the day I die."
"I understand." Artaud smiled warmly. He, too, had confused Melusine for the Great Goddess when he'd first met her.
"Will you protect the dragon against Lord Damas and his soldiers, then?" Earnest hope flared in the young man's eyes.
"I certainly will, John-John. Now, go in peace. May the Great One help and protect us."
John-John winked at Artaud and screwed his hat back upon his head. "She will, my lord. She protects those with a pure heart. She told me so Herself."
Artaud chuckled as he watched John-John walk out of the hall into the wintry day. Just like Melusine described him. A pure, innocent lad, indeed.
* * *
Melusine ascertained the bedchamber door was locked then drew the heavy privacy curtain over it. She faced Artaud, letting loose her fears. "How does Damas know to hunt the beast on the first Wednesday of the month?" Her mind raced at all the implications. "If anyone knows, or even suspects I am not a simple mortal, the consequences could be dire."
Artaud walked to her and took her hands into his. "Damas has spies inside Montarcher. That's how he escaped. We must be careful of everything we say in front of soldiers, guards, or even servants."
Melusine nodded gravely. "My dragon stunt over Couzan's castle to force Damas out of hiding may have been a mistake."
Artaud's brow furrowed and he held her at arm’s length, his penetrating dark gaze measuring her soul. "Perhaps. But we cannot change the past."
Melusine escaped his hold and paced the blue rushes of their bedchamber. "A jewel that could turn ordinary metal into gold was all I could think of to draw him out. Then the dragon scared him enough so he would return it."
"It made sense at the time." Artaud sighed heavily.
"They will not find a dragon, of course, but if the word spreads that there is such a magic beast in Forez, the whole of Christendom might seek to capture or slay what they believe evil..." Why hadn't she thought of the consequences?
Artaud shook his head. "I may not be able to stop their avalanche upon Forez."
"What can we do?" Melusine bit her lips. "The Great One will allow the use of my gifts, since ‘tis definitely Her fight, and I will be in ondine form that day... but is that a good thing, or
will it make things worse? We cannot take any chances."
"Calm down. We have the strategic advantage of being forewarned."
"Aye. At least, we have that." May the Great One bless John-John's heart.
"‘Tis our chance to fight back, but in a way that will discourage further hunts." Artaud came close, and wrapped his arm around her waist.
She leaned against his strong chest. "Make them believe there is no dragon?"
"Aye." His baritone voice echoed through his chest.
Melusine closed her eyes to focus on the threat. "For the hunt, they will need many people to beat the bushes and scare the beast out of hiding. How will they fool the villagers to enroll them out of season?"
"Good point. ‘Tis long past deer, boar, or hare season. Everyone knows the migrating birds have already left for the warm lands south of the Mediterranean."
Melusine had a frightening thought. "Unless these villagers know exactly what they are hunting, and they are recruited by the church for a witch hunt."
Artaud's handsome face froze. "We must make an example. Set traps. Make this hunt such a disastrous fiasco for Damas, that no one will ever dare walk these swamps again... especially, if there is no dragon sighting. Failure will make a fool of Damas and destroy his credibility."
"I have an idea." Melusine smiled as a plan sprouted in her mind. "Can we count on Ida and Guilli's discretion?"
"Without telling them what this is about?"
"We can tell them we heard Damas will be hunting that day, and we are setting a secret trap for him... which is the truth."
"That could work. And my most loyal men won't question my orders."
"Good." Melusine rejoiced. "Here is what I have in mind..."
* * *
First Wednesday of December 1029
A few hours before dawn, Melusine swished her tail restlessly in the icy waters of Fae lake. She probed the rising mist with all her sharp senses. Not even a frog song or a bird trill. The dawn creatures, usually active before sunrise, remained quiet, as if afraid of something ominous. But Melusine sensed no magic at work... at least, none other than hers.
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