‘Sir Richard wants you to come down to the dungeons at once,’ announced a young soldier who had just stuck his head around the door. ‘He said to tell you to bring your writing things with you.’
‘Did he say why?’
‘I think he wants you to write some things down, milady.’
She started gathering quill, ink and parchment, and putting them in her bag. ‘Yes, I had guessed as much. What does he want me to write down?’
The soldier marched back out while she hurried along behind. ‘He’s been questioning some thief down there, so he probably wants you to take down some notes or something.’
Rowena had to skip down the stairs two steps at a time in order to keep up with his long stride. ‘I see.’
But she did not see. As she tripped hastily along, Rowena still wondered why she was suddenly required in the dungeons. They were one of the few parts of the castle where she had not yet been and was yet to feel any desire to go.
The soldier led her down a long corridor and descended another flight of stone steps. As she reached the bottom, she was hit by an overpowering musty, damp stench of decay that had her fumbling for her handkerchief in the half-light, and once it was located, firmly holding it to her nose.
As her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she saw that she was being led along a wide, subterranean vault. Large pillars spaced at regular intervals held up its arched roof, from which copious amounts of water dripped and trickled down onto the slimy, moss-covered stone floor.
Rowena felt like she had just entered some eerie underworld. The only sounds disturbing the deathly stillness were the ghostly echo of her and the soldier’s footsteps, and the steady drip-drip of water droplets falling from the roof and landing in the puddles on the floor. She hugged herself in an effort to stop shivering. The sudden change from the warm, sunny day above to this cold, damp, subterranean world had given her the chills, and she half-expected some ghoul or demon to step out from behind a pillar at any moment.
When they were about halfway along the vault, a sudden scuffling noise broke out in a dark corner.
She stopped abruptly. ‘What’s that?’
But before the young man-at-arms could answer, the largest rat Rowena had ever seen scurried across the ground in front of them. Eaglestone’s newest member of staff shrieked in fright and snatched up the hem of her dress, fearing the creature might think it a good place to hide.
The soldier took her firmly by the elbow and guided her onwards across the slippery flagstones. ‘Don’t worry, milady. The place is full of the vermin, but they’re harmless enough—unless you are sleeping.’
Still casting wary glances about her, she let him shunt her along to the barred metal gate at the end of the vault. There he stopped, produced a large key, unlocked the gate with a loud click, and held it open for her.
She entered and found herself in a narrow passageway with a number of doors leading off it at regular intervals. The gate was swung shut and locked behind her, then the soldier escorted her to the one open door, from whence a weak light shone out.
‘If you could just step in here, milady,’ he instructed her.
She hesitated for a moment, dreading what she might find within, but then stepped reluctantly inside after the soldier.
The only light in the tiny stone cell came from a single flickering torch mounted on the wall. The scene it illuminated confirmed her worst fears. Sir Richard was seated at a rickety table glowering across at a terrified boy seated on the opposite side. The youth looked like he had taken a beating. He had a black eye, his face was smeared with blood and more ran down from his nose and onto his rough sackcloth jerkin.
Without removing his menacing stare from the trembling lad, Sir Richard pulled an up-turned wooden crate to the table. ‘Sit down and record the confession of this felon,’ he ordered his new clerk.
But Rowena was rooted to the spot. She had heard of the rough treatment felons received at the hands of ‘The Black Sheriff’ often enough not to doubt it was true, yet she still felt disappointed. Sir Richard was surely better than this—or was it yet another of the animal’s accursed ploys?
‘Tell this lady what you told me,’ the sheriff growled at the bloodied youth.
The prisoner lifted his blood-smeared face and looked up at Rowena with pleading eyes. ‘Please, I’m innocent. I didn’t do nothing. I didn’t steal that bread.’
Sir Richard slammed his fist down on the table with a sudden violence that made his young clerk almost drop her satchel in fright. ‘You just told me that you did!’
The miserable lad wiped the thick blood from his mouth with the back of his sleeve. ‘I thought you was going to kill me if I didn’t confess.’
At this, the sheriff jumped to his feet. Cringing near the door, Rowena clapped her hands over her ears at the loud bang of the stool hitting the floor.
The furious sheriff reached across the table and grabbed the lad by the collar with such force that he was lifted clean out of his seat. ‘You’re damn right I will!’
‘Sir Richard, let the boy go, I’m begging you!’ Rowena gasped, barely able to keep from turning away at the sight of such violence.
But Sir Richard ignored her. He gave the terrified boy a violent jerk and pulled him closer until their faces nearly touched. ‘Stop wasting my time, you thieving scoundrel!’
The prisoner winced at the shower of spittle hitting his face, but kept his mouth firmly shut.
‘Stop this! I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it!’ Rowena cried from the safety of the doorway, loath to let any scheming, devilish knight get between her and the exit.
She could just imagine it. So sorry about your niece, Lord Cunningham…don’t know how she managed to fall down that bottomless pit in the dungeons…must have wandered down there…a sheriff’s castle is really no place for a young girl…
Sir Richard took no notice of Rowena. ‘You confessed to this crime, so stop wasting my time!’ he shouted in the lad’s face.
The young clerk took a few desperately reluctant steps towards the enraged knight. ‘Stop. Please, please stop!’
The sheriff still took no notice.
‘Sir Richard, if you don’t stop trying to strangle that poor boy I’ll throw my inkpot at your head!’
Nothing.
The tin inkpot was aimed and sent on its way. It hit its target a ringing blow on the side of the head before clattering onto the stone floor.
Still nothing.
So his heart was not the only thing that was made of stone. She sunk gloomily onto the crate Sir Richard had drawn up to the table earlier. ‘I wish I had stayed in Cornwall. Nobody told me Hartfield was the address of the Seven Deadly Sins. Pennreth might have been a humble place, but at least there weren’t all these so-called ‘gentry’ who are just pagan swine!’
This finally got Sir Richard’s attention. He loosened his grip and let the petrified boy fall back down. Then he turned his steely gaze towards the only woman on Eaglestone’s clerical staff. The reflection of the flickering orange torch flames glittered in his dark eyes. ‘My mistake, Mistress Rowena. I ought to have realized that a mere girl would not be able to handle this kind of work without becoming soft and sentimental.’
He spat the words out with a kind of casual insolence that seemed to say I can’t be bothered wasting insults on you when it is so obvious. It incensed her. That spiteful cousin had really known what she was doing. Why go to the trouble of insulting someone yourself when you can farm the task out?
Rowena got to her feet, stalked up to her glowering overlord with the indignant air of an offended cat and halted in front of him. ‘How do you know he is guilty? He might be telling the truth when he says he didn’t do it.’
The sheriff’s glittering dark eyes unflinchingly met the righteous challenge glaring up at him. ‘Telling the truth? Hah! Not likely. That entire family is a pack of liars. His father was a felon if ever there was one. He was hanged by my predecessor four summers ago. He should hav
e met his end on the gallows much sooner by rights, but the old fool had trouble making anything stick to that slippery knave.’
She stood on tiptoe in an effort to even out her serious height disadvantage a little. ‘You can’t go about beating people to a pulp just because they’re related to convicted felons!’
He stretched himself up to his full height and more than killed off her gain. ‘I’m telling you, the lad’s guilty as sin.’ The dark knight was as calm as an ice-covered pool now. ‘This thieving knave deserved everything he got.’
She looked her adversary up and down distastefully. ‘How can you say such things? Unless you behave with fairness and compassion, you’re no better than the lowest criminal!’
The air of shock in the room was almost palpable. Sir Richard and the man-at-arms who had escorted Rowena down stared at her in silence. No one ever challenged the sheriff like that. They were far too in awe of his highly trained physical power and air of barely suppressed violence. But the fresh-faced country maid had already discovered the chink in Sir Richard’s armour, and he knew it.
The plain fact of the matter was that, despite his hot temper and often morose attitude, Sir Richard was a man of honour in one respect. He abhorred any man who raised a hand against a woman, and Rowena felt confident he would not do her any violence, no matter how furious he was.
For what seemed an eternity, the two broad-shouldered warriors just stared at the young woman. And then stared some more.
Feeling desperately uncomfortable, Rowena looked down at her hands and cleared her throat.
The noise seemed to make Sir Richard recover a little from his stunned silence, although he still looked as if he needed more time to decide what he thought of the highly unexpected event. ‘Ahem, so I take it you won’t write down a confession for this—this—this suspect to sign?’
‘Yes, you are correct.’
‘What am I supposed to do now then? Let the crime go unpunished?’ demanded the sheriff, through clenched teeth.
‘Perhaps we could question him. If he did not do it, he might know who did.’
Sir Richard had a look of forced calmness about him as he picked the stool up from the floor and sat down. ‘Very well, we shall try your way—though without the threat of a beating we’ll never get anything out of the boy.’
Rowena looked earnestly across at the boy. ‘You do know who did it, don’t you?’
He faced her with a look of steely determination on his bruised and bloodied face. ‘I won’t tell you who it is ’cause then you’ll punish them and it’ll all be my fault ’cause I snitched on them.’
‘I told—’ began the sheriff, but was silenced by a kick in the shin delivered by a soft-shoed little foot.
Rowena could see the lad was not going to say anymore. She did not blame him for that or for any food he may have stolen. A starving pauper taking food was committing an act of self-preservation, not a felony.
She turned to the gloating Sir Richard. ‘They were starving; look how thin the poor lad is. Surely you could just let him go? It’s only a bit of bread, for goodness sake!’
The knight refused to look her in the eye. He bit his lip in silent reluctance, clearly loath to give in.
She placed a hand on his cheek and manually turned the scowling face towards her. ‘Have you no pity in your heart?’
He nearly fell off his stool in shock at the unexpectedly bold move. ‘If I just—just, God, what was I saying? Oh yes—ignore petty crime they’ll get bolder! Next thing you know he will be mugging innocent citizens at knife point.’ He was getting into his stride again. ‘I have to be seen to be harsh on felons!’
She kept her hand in place and smiled sweetly at him. ‘If you sheriffs did not extort such high taxes and go around hanging families’ only breadwinner, poor people would not have to steal to keep from starving.’
He pushed his seat back until he was out of her reach and crossed his arms defensively. ‘I only collect the taxes that I’m told to. It’s part of my job to collect the king’s taxes!’
‘I have seen the figures,’ she replied coolly. ‘I know you are charging a higher tax rate than you ought to, and keeping the extra money for yourself. They say all sheriffs are corrupt, and you are clearly no different.’ Rowena calmly looked him in the eye. ‘I’m not stupid. I know all about your finances, right down to the last penny.’
Sir Richard rose from his seat in dangerously tense silence and beckoned to her. ‘A word—outside.’
She silently got up and followed him out.
It just had to be said. On her very first day, she had noticed the horrifying amounts of money he was not so much skimming off as pouring off. His previous clerk had written it all down in the none-official account records he kept alongside the official one. She had hardly been able to believe Sir Richard did not know about this when he and his old clerk had so clearly been in league together on the fraud.
As soon as they were in the privacy of the passageway, the sheriff turned abruptly to face her. ‘Someone’s blackmailing me, extorting money from me. It’s the only way I can raise the money to pay them, alright.’ He spoke in a harsh whisper, and although Sir Richard’s expression was veiled by the darkness, she could hear the desperation in his voice.
‘Who are these villains who extort your money?’
‘That’s none of your damn business!’ came the harsh reply. ‘And you mustn’t tell anyone about this. If it gets out that I have been charging too much tax, there’ll be trouble!’ As he spoke, Sir Richard turned his face towards the light coming from the doorway. Stress was written all over it.
She sighed. His position on this was non-negotiable, of that there was no doubt. ‘Very well, I swear by the blood of Our Saviour that I will tell no one.’
This seemed to satisfy him, although not entirely. ‘What about the lad? He heard what you said—you should have thought about that before you blurted it out!’
‘Perhaps if you agreed to release the poor boy and drop all further inquiries he might promise to keep quiet?’
‘It does not look like I have any choice in the matter,’ he replied sullenly.
While the sheriff skulked in the passageway, his clerk hurried back into the cell. ‘Soldier, get the torch!’ she ordered a very surprised man-at-arms. ‘We are letting this boy go, for he is innocent.’
Blinking uncertainly in the face of this unprecedented reversal, the man did as he was told, though not with his usual enthusiasm.
With a steadying hand firmly on the rather shaky boy’s arm, Rowena followed Sir Richard and the torch-carrying soldier along the damp, gloomy passage. When they had climbed the stone steps and finally emerged blinkingly into the sunlight, Rowena breathed in the fresh air gratefully.
‘Ah, there you are, sire!’ said Sergeant Gallagher, coming down the stairs that led to the sheriff’s chambers. ‘I was about to go down to the dungeons to look for you.’ When the sergeant came closer, he did not seem surprised to see the bruised, blood-smeared boy. He grimaced sympathetically at the youth. ‘Ouch, that doesn’t look too good.’
‘It doesn’t feel too good neither,’ the miserable victim replied.
Gallagher grinned casually at Sir Richard. ‘Walked into a door, did he?’
Sir Richard clenched his fist. ‘Unless you’ve got something useful to say, Gallagher, just keep your damn mouth shut!’
The sergeant ignored Sir Richard. ‘We really ought to take the lad to a healer.’
‘I was thinking the same thing myself,’ said Rowena. ‘I have heard that there is a physician down in the town?’
‘There is indeed,’ Sir Richard muttered sourly. ‘The man’s a quack. I wouldn’t go near the damn weasel even if I was dying, because the only thing I’d achieve by doing that would be to hasten my own death.’
‘He’s not far wrong there, madam. I wouldn’t go to the man either,’ said the sergeant. ‘Many of the country folk go to a wise herbalist named Brother Jacob. He is a hermit-monk who lives
in a cottage in the forest not far from here, and is spoken of very highly by all who know him. I can help you take the lad there, if you wish.’
Still feeling a little annoyed at Gallagher’s seemingly casual attitude towards Sir Richard’s behaviour, Rowena looked at him solemnly. ‘I wish it, Sergeant.’
Once they were out of the castle, Sergeant Gallagher led Rowena and the lad along a twisting, narrow path that took them deeper and deeper into the forest until finally, just when Rowena was beginning to think that they were lost, the path suddenly opened out into a small clearing.
In the centre of the clearing stood a little stone cottage surrounded by beautifully tended garden beds filled with a colourful riot of herbs and flowers of every description, interspersed by narrow paths of yellow lime sand. The cottage had a steeply gabled roof covered by a thick layer of thatch and wooden shutters flanking the small windows on either side of the door.
The little home seemed most carefully and lovingly kept. It was immaculately clean, with not a thing out of place or in need of repair, while from the chimney a wisp of grey smoke curled gracefully into the air. A gentle breath of wind rippled through the garden, making the red daisies dance gaily on their tall, thin stems and sending a wave of sweetly scented air wafting deliciously over Rowena.
‘How wonderful!’ she exclaimed, stopping to savour the moment. ‘And look at all the gay butterflies and busily humming little bees. Oh—and look at that fat fellow!’ She laughed in delight at the sight of a very large bumblebee trying to squeeze into a nasturtium flower but failing on account of his size.
The battle-scarred soldier smiled indulgently. ‘Aye, ’tis a pretty sight, to be sure.’
‘That’s all very well,’ came the miserable voice of the lad from behind, ‘but if your face was so swollen you could ’ardly see and you felt like you’d just been trampled by a herd of crazed oxen, you wouldn’t care neither.’
Rowena, in her delight, had almost forgotten why she was there. But at this reminder, she started to walk towards the cottage once more.
When they reached the door, they found it was open. Rowena could see a figure clad in a pale grey monk’s habit inside, kneeling on the floor in deep prayer before a small wooden crucifix hanging on the wall in front of him. He had his back to them and did not seem to have noticed their arrival. Reluctant to disturb him, the red-haired maiden paused on the doorstep.
The Heart of Darkness Page 4