E. M. Powell

by The Fifth Knight

  “Indeed.” To her shock, his blue eyes glistened with sudden tears. “But I’ve been trying to find my betrothed. She has run off with another man, a knight who has turned her heart against me.” He gave her a wry smile. “If only you could heal hearts. I have to find her before she marries, to try and change her mind.”

  “I will pray for your intentions, sir knight.” She placed a last strip of linen on the wound.

  “Thank you, Wilfreda. I’m sure God will listen to your intercessions.” He sighed. “Just ask him to bring me to my beloved Theodosia.”

  “Theodosia?” Wilfreda looked up at the knight.

  “That is my beloved’s name.”

  “B-but, sir knight, that is the anchoress’s name.”

  “Are you sure?” Bewildered hope lit the knight’s eyes.

  “Aye.” Wilfreda struggled to keep her hope in check, her hope that she, Wilfreda Percy, would answer this noble knight’s prayers. “The knight with her was called Sir Palmer.”

  The knight drew his head up and gave a slow blink. “That is he. The man who turned my dear one’s head. They are putting forward some pretense of her being a religious woman? Goodness, the lies.”

  “But you’ve found them.” She gestured to her patient. “Maybe this poor man’s suffering was God’s way of leading you to them.”

  “Indeed.” The knight seemed overcome with emotion. “Can you take me to them?”

  Wilfreda got to her feet. “Indeed I can, sir. They are with the Abbess in her visitors’ parlor.”

  The knight looked at his companion. “I’ll not be long.”

  Sir le Bret nodded.

  “Wilfreda.” The knight took her hand in his, the strength of his grip a surprise.

  Blood surged to her cheeks. Her bitten nails held grime from the pots, as well as congealed blood from her work on the wound. The blue-eyed gentleman seemed to care not.

  “I will be forever in your debt,” he said. “Now, shall we make all speed?”

  She nodded. “Aye, sir.”

  He tightened his grip further, and Wilfreda tried not to wince.

  He smiled. “Indeed, you are an angel.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Mother Ursula hurried along the corridor to her second-floor bedroom, irritation growing with every step.

  Bless Wilfreda, she was willing enough, but she was chuckleheaded beyond belief. Every task had to be explained fifty times, shown a hundred. Give her a job, and she’d somehow muddle it up.

  Ursula passed one of the novices, sweeping the corridor with the due diligence she’d expect.

  “God bless you, my child.” Ursula hustled by.

  The novice gave the Abbess a quick curtsey and continued with her task.

  Ursula opened her bedroom door, hoping Wilfreda worked within. Of course not. The room stood clean, tidy. Empty.

  With a frustrated sigh, she made her way back down the corridor.

  “Have you seen Wilfreda?” Ursula asked the novice.

  The broom didn’t stop. “No, Mother.”

  Ursula went back down the many steep stairs and along to the kitchens. “Is Wilfreda in here?” she called from the doorway.

  The cook looked over from her preparations. Her face shone from perspiration and steam. “She was doing the pots, Mother, but was called to the infirmary. Goodness knows what she’s doing, but she hasn’t returned.”

  “I’ll send her. When I find her.” Ursula rolled her eyes. “In the meantime, can you please prepare food for two travelers? Enough for a few days.”

  “Certainly, Mother.” The cook went to task another novice, and Ursula set off in the direction of the infirmary.

  She cut through the silent cloisters, then up a back flight of stairs. She was quite out of breath by the time she entered the quiet room. Her eyes lit on the latest admission.

  Three of the sisters gathered around the bed, their long black robes masking the occupant. The sweet smell of an onion poultice hung in the air. Clean linen bandages awaited their application.

  Ursula walked up to the bed, and her stomach lurched when she saw its occupant.

  “Good afternoon, Mother.” The sister in charge continued her work.

  Ursula forced a calm demeanor. “Good afternoon.” She cast a cool, professional eye over the prone man. Inside, her spirit quailed. A great, scar-faced brute, Theodosia had said of one of Becket’s murderers. That, to a fault, was the knight who lay on one of her infirmary beds. “What ails this poor man?”

  “A wolf bite,” said one of the other sisters.

  The gaping wound on his thigh was covered with the soothing poultice. More was the pity. Ursula would be happy for this monster to suffer all the torments of hell for the wrongs he had committed. She nodded sagely as if she considered his predicament. “A sorry tale, sir,” she said. “How did you escape from the ferocious animal?”

  “Fought it. So did my lord.” The man’s thick-tongued voice had the roughness of a rogue.

  “Dreadful.” Ursula tutted in a parody of sympathy. The sisters began the precise task of bandaging the wound. “And what happened to your lord?”

  “He’s here.”

  “Ah, God be praised.” Ursula could feel that cursed muscle quiver in her jaw. It always happened when she told untruths. Even good ones. She looked around to cover it. “I must congratulate your lord on his valor. Where is he?”

  The knight shrugged. “Went with that girl.”

  “Wilfreda?”

  “Think so.”

  “Sisters, do any of you know where Wilfreda went?” Ursula folded her arms and slid her wide sleeves over her hands, the better to hide her trembling.

  “No, Mother,” replied one.

  “We went to prepare the poultice while she removed the knight’s torn clothing from the wound,” said the second.

  “She did a good job,” said the third, the sister in charge. “But when we came back, she’d gone. I’m afraid I don’t know where. You know Wilfreda, how absentminded she is.” She gave a knowing little smile, then confirmed Ursula’s worst fears. “Happen she’s lost that poor blue-eyed knight, and he’s wandering unaccompanied around the monastery.”

  The other sisters tittered.

  Ursula thought she might be sick there and then. “Then I shall find her. Enough of your unkindness, Sisters.” She turned on her heel and made for the door.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “T-the Abbess’s parlor is up these stairs, sir.”

  “You lead the way, Wilfreda.”

  The novice did so and marveled once again at her newfound authority. She tapped at the closed door. No reply.

  She looked around at the sound of metal sliding over metal. The knight had drawn his sword. She gulped.

  “Don’t be alarmed, my dear.” He laid a hand on her arm. “Palmer is a complete ruffian, and I want to be ready for him.”

  Wilfreda swallowed hard and tapped again at the door. Nothing. She raised her gaze to the knight’s. New courage she might have, but that didn’t extend to walking into the Abbess’s parlor without permission. “They’re not answering, sir.”

  “Or they’re gone.” He shoved past her, flung the door open, and marched inside, pulling her with him.

  He was right. The room, flooded with pale sunlight, was deserted, with the remains of the earlier lunch still scattered on the table.

  Wilfreda put her hands to her face, brought them back to her apron, clasped them, unclasped them. “I s-should tidy up, sir. Otherwise the Abbess will be angry — ”

  The knight booted the door shut with a bang. “She’s not the only one,” he said.

  She took a step back at his controlled yet furious tone. His blue eyes, so kind, she’d thought, blazed with disdain.

  “Where could they be?” he said.

  “I d-don’t know.” It came out as a wail.

  His nostrils flared as he paced the floor, sword in one hand. It caught the light in a sharp gleam, near blinding her. “Think, girl. Think. You were with t
hem as they ate.”

  “Not all the time, sir. I was in, I was out. Bringing things, like they asked, and, and, I spilled the water — ”

  “Oh, spare me the details of your tawdry little life. You are as boring as you are hideous.”

  “Sorry, sir.” She bowed her head and waited.

  “Now, think. Think. They may have said something, done something. Anything could be important. Just think, girl.”

  Wilfreda chewed her lip. “They talked about a letter.”

  “What letter?”

  “I don’t know, sir.” She raised a shaking hand and pointed toward the chest. “M-mother said it was in there.”

  He was to it in four strides. He bent down, pulled open the lid, and spilled the contents across the floor. Picking up a rolled paper, he opened it out and read it without saying a word.

  Oh, Lord, was this any help? “S-sir?”

  He tucked it beneath his surcoat. “Wilfreda.” His kind smile was back.

  Her knees buckled in relief. “Will this help you find your betrothed, sir?”

  The knight’s smile broadened even further. “It is more help than you could possibly imagine.”

  “Oh, g-good.”

  He held up a finger and beckoned to her. “Now, come over here, my dear. I want to say thank you.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Theodosia sat astride Quercus in the stable yard as Benedict stood holding Harcos’s reins.

  “How much longer do you think the Abbess will be?” he said. “I want to get a good few miles in before darkness falls.”

  “Be patient. I’m sure they’ll be here soon.” Theodosia cared not. She used these last precious moments to savor the atmosphere of the Abbey, with its safety, its security, before she was cast out into the harsh world once more. The world of sin, of danger. She took a deep breath to try and collect herself. As Reverend Mother said, the world where she might find her mother, her one consolation in this terrible quest.

  “She’s only gone to arrange some food,” said Benedict. “What on earth could be keeping her?”

  As if conjured by his words, Mother Ursula came through the archway that connected the yard to the abbey. But she bore no bags, no baskets. She hastened to them as if chased by a foam-mouthed dog.

  “They’re here,” gasped the nun.

  “Who are?” said Benedict.

  “Le Bret. Fitzurse.”

  Theodosia went rigid. “But how — ”

  “They asked for sanctuary in the infirmary. Le Bret has a huge wolf bite at the top of his leg,” said Ursula. “Ride. Ride for your lives.”

  Benedict swung himself up into saddle.

  Theodosia collected Quercus’s reins and felt him respond, ready to set off. “Do they know we’re here?”

  The nun raised despairing hands. “I fear so. Fitzurse befriended my servant while she tended le Bret for a wolf bite.”

  The poor one-eyed girl? Theodosia met Benedict’s dismayed gaze.

  “Then we have no time.” He went to kick the stallion’s sides.

  “Wait!”

  He responded to Theodosia’s cry.

  “The letter,” she said. “What if he finds it?”

  “It’ll be safe for now in my room,” said Ursula. “Nobody else knows of its existence. I’ll retrieve it and find another hiding place. Now go.”

  “But, Mother, what about the knights? You and the sisters are at their mercy.”

  “Don’t worry on our account, child. If we’re threatened, I might be so afraid that I reveal your plans to follow Amélie to London.” Mother Ursula winked.

  “Well thought through, Mother,” said Benedict.

  “But what if they do you harm?” said Theodosia. “They are driven by the devil himself.”

  “I’ve spent my whole life fighting the devil,” said Ursula. “He’s not bested me yet. Theodosia, the holy Thomas Becket wanted to keep you alive. I’m blessed to carry on his wish. Go, child. Now.”

  Theodosia appealed to Benedict with a look, but he shook his head. “Then God bless you, Mother.” She reached a hand down to the small-boned nun, and their fingertips brushed.

  “Come, Theodosia.”

  She pulled Quercus’s head round and cantered after Harcos out of the stable yard.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “God be with you both.” Ursula held a hand up in farewell. Once they’d cleared the gateway, she retraced her steps, even faster than when she’d run down here. The letter. She needed to get that. Then find Wilfreda.

  Ursula took the stairs up to her parlor two at a time. The door at the top stood ajar. A shaft of sunlight shone through and formed a pool of light on the landing.

  She slowed her last few strides. Hadn’t she closed it? Or had she? Impossible to remember, she’d left with such haste with Theodosia and Benedict.

  Prepared for an encounter, she entered the room. “Wilfreda?”

  Silence.

  The table, littered from the lunch she had shared earlier, appeared untouched. Cautious relief replaced her anxiety. Wherever Wilfreda wandered with Fitzurse, it wasn’t here.

  She hastened over to her desk. Pristine as ever. The chest sat in its usual place. Praise be. She’d got here in time. She squatted down and opened the lid. Her horn books. A couple of quills. Blank paper, a section of thin vellum. Two seals. Lumps of red sealing wax.

  No letter. Impossible. She ran her hands over the inside of the chest, pulled the blank sheets of paper apart in case somehow it had got wedged between them.

  “Looking for something, Mother?”

  The male voice came from the doorway.

  She shot to her feet to see the door swing slowly shut. A knight stood there, had been hidden behind the open door.

  Eyes blue as the summer sky, Theodosia had said. “But with a heart like Satan.” Ursula said it aloud.

  Fitzurse merely inclined his head and held up his drawn sword. Livid red stained its gleaming blade.

  Ursula’s horrified glance went to the floor. Slumped at his feet was the body of Wilfreda, the poor creature’s one good eye taken out by the sword that had pierced her skull, a pool of blood beneath her.

  Ursula’s hand flew in a blessing for the girl. “You monster.” She returned her look to Fitzurse. “You didn’t need to kill her.”

  “Oh, but I did.” He stepped over Wilfreda’s body. His careless boot crushed one of her plump hands as he did so.

  Lifeless as she was, she would have felt nothing, but his utter disrespect enraged Ursula to a new depth.

  “Like I have to kill you.” He advanced with steady steps toward her, sword aloft. “Then Brother Edward’s little note remains a secret.” He moved between her and the door.

  “What a noble warrior you are.” She scanned the room as she backed away. “A half-sighted simple girl and an old nun.” She spat the words in contempt. The fireplace. She made the few steps, flung herself to her knees, and grabbed for the iron poker.

  Her hand closed around it. She went to swing it at him. A blow thudded into her shoulder. Like being kicked by a cow. She tried to shout, but no sound would come out.

  She felt warm. The fire. No. This was from within. The warmth seeped across her chest. She clutched at it. Her hand came away smeared with bright red, with an unmistakable metallic scent.

  Forgive me, Lord. I know I could have done better.

  She half-turned onto one hip.

  Fitzurse stood over her and watched her bleed out onto the floor with a calm that conveyed his pleasure.

  With her last strength, she took a breath and liquid bubbled in her lungs.

  “You, sir, will burn in a hell of your own making.”

  His lips formed words.

  But Ursula couldn’t hear them. Couldn’t hear them, because the light that poured through the window started singing.

  CHAPTER 19

  Theodosia’s wayworn concentration had reached its limit. The latest leg of their journey had taken them through an exposed, featureless landscape t
hat climbed in a long incline of many miles. With rocks and stones half-hidden under thin soil and patchy snow, the horses stumbled frequently and had to be ridden with extreme caution. Heavy clouds brought ice on the wind and scudded over the moonless sky to shift the night into deeper darkness, making the going even more treacherous.

  She carried with her too the added burden of her worry for Mother Ursula and the nuns of Polesworth Abbey. The Abbess had been ready to face Fitzurse with huge courage. But with such a man, courage might not be enough.

  “Looks as good a place as any to stop.” Benedict’s voice made her start; he’d been quiet for many miles.

  He pointed ahead with his whip.

  She peered into the gloom and took her shawl from her face. “Where do you mean?”

  “That small outbuilding, looks like a lambing shelter.”

  She picked it out with difficulty. A short way up the slope ahead, a single-story stone building huddled against the desolate land. With a roughly thatched roof, it had no windows and a small door. A few gray-wooled sheep wandered nearby, oblivious to the cold in their thick coats as they fed on clumps of coarse grass.

  “Should we not keep going?” she said as they neared it.

  “We have to rest the horses.” Benedict dismounted and tethered Harcos in the shelter of the building. “Bring Quercus around the corner so they can’t see each other.”

  She did as he instructed. With a quick pat to Quercus’s neck, she made her way back to Benedict.

  As he pushed at the damp-warped crude door, the clouds broke and the stars cast a poor light on the stark hillside. At its summit, a huge regular mound soared heavenward, topped with a high stone wall.

  “Look,” she said. “A fortification. We could ask for shelter there, send help back to the abbey.”

  Benedict glanced up, shaking the door by one twisted panel. “We could. If anyone lived there. I’ve seen a fair few of those forts in my time, always abandoned.” The door squeaked in protest but gave a little. He shoved at it again. “Folk like to say they were built by King Arthur. But I think that’s so they can sleep nights. I’ve heard such places were built by the ancients, a race of giants who roamed the land before Christ, some with a huge eye in their heads, others with the legs of animals.”