“She is not my lady.”
“But you do not deny you are anxious to return to her.” Henry chuckled as though he found that quite amusing.
“Nay, I do not deny it.” William allowed himself a smile.
“She’s worked her way into your affections, has she not?”
William said nothing, well aware anything he said would be used against him.
His friend sighed. “I do not blame you. She has worked her way into mine as well.”
William frowned, glaring at his friend. “What are you saying?”
Henry waved away his concern. “Do not worry. I have no designs on her. I am only saying that I have grown to care for her and wish to see her happy. Her life has not been easy, not with her...skill. She needs protection.”
“Which is why she is staying with the bishop.” William wondered if he was trying to convince Henry or himself of that.
“We shall see if he truly offers her safety.”
William had his own doubts. Only time would tell if the bishop was the best option for Cristiana. Yet what else could she do? Where else could she go?
Those questions continued to run through his mind as they dismounted at the stable. Rain began in earnest, bringing a distinct chill with it now that night was falling. He was grateful they’d decided to seek shelter at the inn. They paid a stable boy to see to their horses, then gathered their gear and ran across the courtyard through the rain to the inn.
Apparently many had the same idea for the place was filled. Wooden tables were lined with travelers and villagers. The rain seemed to have muted everyone’s mood. The low murmur of voices and rattle of wooden bowls mingled with the clinking of tankards. The scent of simmering soup, roasted meat, and cooked vegetables drifted through the air, but the odor of unwashed bodies fought with smoke for supremacy.
The place was warmed by a fire in the center of the room on a raised hearth. William scanned the place, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He knew Henry did the same. Trouble had a certain look and they were well used to recognizing it. Satisfied with what he saw, William turned to Henry.
“Shall we?” he asked and gestured to an empty spot at one of the long tables. They took a seat on either side, the better to keep an eye on all around them.
“Good day to ye, sirs,” a serving maid said as she slid a cup of ale to each of them. “Are ye hungry then?”
“We are indeed,” Henry said with a smile.
“Would a bowl of hot soup be to yer likin’?”
“Indeed.” He chatted with her for a few moments more before she moved off to the calls of another patron.
“Quiet bunch,” William commented as he sipped the ale and glanced around the room.
“That is a good thing. I don’t want any difficulties.”
The serving maid swung by and plopped bowls of steaming soup and bread before them. Surprisingly, the soup tasted quite good and was made with small bits of meat, onions, and turnips in a thick broth.
“Where ye travelin’?” asked a man sitting nearby. He had a round, friendly face with pock-marked cheeks.
“To Reiling,” William answered, naming a village farther south than their true destination. He did not want anyone to realize they would soon be traveling with the relic in their possession.
The man nodded at his companion. “We left Longsbury three days past and are going south as well.”
“What business did you have in Longsbury?” Henry asked.
The man scowled. “We had business with the bishop, but we won’t be returnin’ there ever again.”
“Oh?”
He glanced around, then leaned forward. “Curse the bishop to hell.”
“Those are strong words,” William said, a hint of warning in his voice. He didn’t care to have his employer cursed.
“I’d use stronger if I could.” He took a long draught of ale and set the empty cup on the table. His companion did the same.
“Allow us to pay for a drink for you and your friend,” Henry said as he gestured to the serving maid and threw some coins on the table.
William frowned, wishing Henry wouldn’t encourage the man. It felt less than loyal to be listening to gossip about the bishop. Yet he had to admit that he, too, wanted to hear what the man had to say.
The maid returned with more ale and snatched up the coins with a knowing smile and a waggle of her brows at Henry.
The round-faced man and his companion lifted their cups to William and Henry, then drank. The companion said nothing, his narrow face pinched, his lips pursed together. He shook his head, an angry scowl on his face.
“I’m called Samuel and this here is Jack. We have been working on the cathedral for several months now. We’re stone masons by trade. We thought how good it was to find steady work and all for the winter. Gives us a chance to feed our families.”
“Certainly,” Henry said with a nod.
“The head mason, he told us only a few days past how we’re going to have to change the plans. How the cathedral is going to be even larger than he first told us.”
William shared a look with Henry who shrugged. While they hadn’t heard of the change in plans, it seemed like no concern of theirs.
The man leaned forward, warming to his tale, his voice lowering as he continued. “Though all the workers are pleased to have a job, we still complained a bit. We had to take down the wall we’d just built. Felt like a waste.”
His companion bumped him with his elbow to gain his attention then whispered in his ear.
“Jack here don’t want no more trouble, ye understand? He’s worried complainin’ will bring the bishop’s wrath down upon us again.” He stopped to pat his friend’s arm and took another swig. “But I say we’re far enough away that we got nothin’ to worry over.”
Jack shrugged.
“You won’t have any trouble from us, isn’t that right?” Henry looked at William.
“That’s right. We have no quarrel with either of you,” William reassured them. The problem the two men had with Bishop Duval seemed a minor one. Though the bishop was his employer, he had no intention of getting involved in something of this nature.
“Well, Jack here was working on the new wall while the rest of us were taking down the old one. The bishop was walking around the grounds and stopped by the new wall. No one was about and Jack doesn’t think the bishop knew he was there. A poor young lad ran up to the bishop with his hand out, asking for alms. Without the blink of an eye, the bishop backhanded the boy across the face. He grabbed him by the ear, told him never to approach him again.”
William frowned. The story was disturbing but surely there was more to it than Jack had seen. He couldn’t believe the bishop would do such a thing.
“Hitting a child?” Henry asked. He shook his head. “’Tis a terrible thing.”
“That’s not the worst of it,” the man advised. “So Jack stands up, hopin’ that when the bishop realizes he’s there, he will leave the boy be. But the bishop takes no notice of him. Instead, he takes the boy’s hand in his and bends his fingers back and breaks them as though ’tis nothin’. Told the boy that was what he got when he walked around with his hand out.”
William’s stomach turned. He’d seen cruelty in his travels, but cruelty to children was another matter entirely as far as he was concerned.
Henry’s eyes grew wide. “I always thought the man had a mean streak.”
“Jack hollers to catch the bishop’s attention and at last he spies Jack standing there. He releases the boy, stalks over to Jack, and lets him go on the spot. Says he’s got no use for a nosy mason. When Jack protests, the bishop calls his guard and tells them Jack broke the boy’s fingers.”
“Surely the boy told them the truth,” Henry said.
“A young boy would hardly defy the bishop,” William countered. As unsettling as the story was, he had the feeling he wasn’t going to like the rest of it.
“That’s exactly what happened. The poor thing was cryin’ s
o hard, he couldn’t speak as it was. He just stood there, holdin’ his broken fingers.”
At this point, Jack had become more agitated as though uncomfortable with the details his friend was revealing. He shifted in his seat, shaking his head, tapping his friend on the arm.
“I’m tellin’ ye, ’tis fine, Jack,” the man said in an attempt to calm him. “Bishop Duval can’t harm us here and others need to know the truth. That man is anything but holy.”
Jack ran his hand through his hair but at last settled back with his cup in his hand.
William shared a look with Henry, hardly able to believe the tale. “Why would the bishop do such a thing?”
“For no other reason than because he can!” Samuel slammed his cup on the table for emphasis, the contents splashing on the rough table.
“This is difficult to believe,” Henry said.
“There’s more.” Samuel’s face grew grim. “Show them, Jack.”
Jack’s eyes watered suspiciously as he shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line.
“Show them. We’ve got to tell people the truth,” Samuel insisted. “Do ye want that done to someone else?”
Jack gave a long look at first Henry, then William. With a heavy sigh, he opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue.
William drew back in shock. Where his tongue should’ve been was a swollen, red lump split in two from the tip back.
“Hell’s teeth, man!” Henry exclaimed.
“The bishop did that. Or rather he had his guards do it.”
Bile rose in the back of William’s throat. He’d seen far worse injuries—it was the knowledge that a bishop had ordered the punishment to an innocent man that made him ill.
“Why?” Henry asked.
“To keep him from talkin’. To warn him to keep his mouth shut. It marks him as a liar for life.”
“Truly? This bishop ordered that to be done?” Henry shook his head in disbelief, his gaze catching William’s again.
Jack shut his mouth and nodded, then picked up his cup for another drink.
“Father Markus is the one who carried out the bishop’s orders. Jack said he seemed to enjoy it. The man was smilin’ the whole time while Jack was screamin’.”
William felt sick to his stomach. He couldn’t believe their story, yet why would these men create such an unbelievable fallacy? If it was true, then Cristiana was in grave danger. As rebellious as she was, he well knew she would defy the bishop if he asked her to do anything she didn’t want to do.
He rose and looked at Henry. “We’d best seek our beds as we’ll be leaving at first light.”
“Indeed,” Henry agreed and stood, leaving additional coins on the table. “Thank you for sharing your story with us. You’re right. It shouldn’t remain a secret.”
Jack mumbled, gesturing with his hand.
William shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand you.”
“He says no one will believe you.”
For a brief moment, William thought of all the times that his brother, Nicholas, had been told that. When a vision struck, Nicholas would try to make events change for the better using whatever information he had received from his second sight. It didn’t always work, and people rarely believed him. Yet still he persisted with what he thought best given the details he had.
William would place a wager that Cristiana often had to do the same—make the best of the situation at hand and not worry over what people believed.
William could do no less.
“That makes no difference. We will still do what we think is right,” William said. “I am sorry for the pain and suffering you have endured. God be with you.”
“And with you, sir,” Samuel said.
Jack nodded solemnly.
“Let us check on the horses,” William told Henry as he led the way out of the inn. After seeing Jack’s damaged tongue and the cause of it, he needed some fresh air.
“I worry for the lady’s safety,” Henry said. “If she defies the bishop, and you know she will, the consequences could be much worse than she anticipated.”
“We must do all we can to prevent that,” William said as they hurried through the rain to the stable.
“So we’ll make for Longsbury with all haste come dawn.”
“Nay. We must get that relic first. If we return empty-handed, we will have nothing with which to bargain.”
“But, Lady Cristiana—”
“The bishop will not harm her. Not yet at least,” William argued. “He needs her cooperation. Physical force will be the last option he uses to get her to comply.”
“I knew there was something wrong with that man,” Henry said after the stable boy directed them to their horses’ stalls.
William said nothing as guilt filled him. He’d wanted the bishop to be more than a man. He’d wanted him to be doing God’s work. To learn he was so much less than that was disappointing indeed. How could he have misjudged him so badly?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“I’m terribly sorry, my lady, but there is a woman at the door who insists on seeing you. She says she’s your maid, yet she won’t come into the manor,” the maid servant said.
“’Tis all right. I know who she is,” Cristiana advised her. She had checked on Branwen several times since their arrival. No amount of talking to the maid could convince her to join Cristiana in the manor. She insisted the place was cursed and would point to the carving of the bishop’s symbol above the entrance to prove her point. The maid was unable to explain her logic, leaving Cristiana perplexed at her behavior.
Cristiana had found her a place to stay and work to do with the baker. She’d hoped staying busy and productive with a routine would help heal the maid’s mind. Though they’d been in Longsbury several days, Branwen didn’t seem any better. She still couldn’t answer questions about the night of the murder.
Cristiana followed the servant to one of the side doors near the small courtyard and found Branwen pacing there.
“Good day to you, Branwen,” she said.
Branwen spun to face her, tears tracking down her face. “Oh, my lady, I’m so sorry.”
“Whatever for?” Cristiana asked, putting her arm around her shoulder in an attempt to reassure her.
“I’ve done a terrible thing. Just terrible.” Her breath came in stutters.
“Calm yourself. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I couldn’t remember. I didn’t understand. I should’ve given this to you ages ago. I should’ve come home the night they attacked us, but I was too scared.”
“’Tis all right. I understand.” Cristiana’s heart pounded. Had Branwen remembered what had happened the night her mother had been murdered? Trying to remain calm, she kept her voice level. “What is it? What has you so upset?”
“This.” She pulled her hand from Cristiana’s and reached into the felt purse tied around her waist. “I was supposed to give this to you.”
The ring was of heavy gold, engraved with a crosier. A man’s ring for certain. Though Cristiana didn’t know for sure, it looked as though it belonged to an important church official.
A chill ran down her spine.
She turned it over in her hand, trying to understand how the maid had come to possess such a valuable ring. “Where did you get this, Branwen?”
“Your mother...she had it,” the maid muttered, wringing her hands.
Cristiana’s heart gave a lurch. She could make no sense of it. Why would her mother have this ring? “When did she give this to you?”
“That night. It was that night. That horrible night.”
Cristiana squeezed the maid’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. “Can you tell me of it?”
The maid’s breath hitched as she watched images Cristiana could only guess at. “Horrible—horrible night.”
“Aye,” Cristiana whispered, keeping her tone reassuring though she longed to shake the maid to make her speak.
“We were almost home. Men on horseback at
tacked us out of nowhere. Their black cloaks flying behind them.” She looked at Cristiana. “Great winged beasts.”
Now those words made sense. And were all the more terrifying because of it.
“They got your mother first, then the guards. They left us all for dead. Even me. Your mother was dying. I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t stop the blood. It was everywhere. She put the ring in my hand. Said I was to see that you got it.” The maid’s eyes squeezed shut.
“And so you did, Branwen. Thank you so much.”
“She told me to tell you she loved you. But I forgot! I forgot all of it until now! I’m so sorry.” The maid sobbed, the rest of her words undecipherable.
“You remembered. That’s what matters.” Cristiana wrapped the woman in her embrace, hoping she would calm down enough to tell her more. If she could just share the details of what she’d seen that night, it would help so much.
The maid seemed to gather herself at Cristiana’s words.
“Do you remember anything else from that night? Can you tell me who attacked you? How did it happen?”
“Nay. Nay.” The maid shook her head wildly back and forth, her entire body moving. “I didn’t know them. You couldn’t see their faces. They were great winged beasts.”
“Calm yourself, Branwen,” she said sternly, hoping the authority in her voice would help the maid settle down.
“I forgot, my lady. But then I remembered.”
“Aye, you did. What reminded you?”
“There,” she said, pointing to the doors of the cathedral. “They put that up this morn, and then I remembered. Can we go now? We should leave this place. ‘Tis not safe here.”
Curious, Cristiana walked toward the cathedral so she could see to what the maid was referring.
High above the ornately carved panels of the front door which depicted scenes from the Bible was a brass inlay. The image was similar to the one above the manor doors but precisely matched the crosier on the ring, golden and glinting in the light of day.
What did that mean? Did all bishops have such a ring? How had it come to be in her mother’s possession?
“Branwen, I am very grateful that you gave me this, but we can’t leave yet.”
Vengeance 03 - Believe In Me Page 15