The Heart of Darkness

by Odelia Floris

  His horrified clerk breathed in sharply. Normally she would have given him a dig in the ribs or kick in the shin for taking such a liberty, but Sister Elfreda walked between them. ‘I would—would never do such a thing!’ she stammered desperately.

  She was surprised by an easy laugh from their guide. ‘I’m ashamed to admit I feel like doing that too sometimes,’ said Sister Elfreda. ‘Abbess Hawisa has little faith in the human soul’s ability to resist the sins of the flesh, particularly where the young are concerned, and,’ she looked sympathetically at Sir Richard, ‘is very sure in her view that all men have only one thing on their minds.’

  ‘I do indeed have only one thing on my mind these days: finding the felons who’ve been carrying off these maidens in Chaucy,’ the knight muttered sourly.

  Sister Elfreda’s serenity appeared unruffled. Still smiling her wide, all-knowing smile, she touched Sir Richard lightly on the arm. ‘Yes, I am sure you have, dear. I for one do not share her views on such matters.’

  Silence reigned for a good few moments before Sir Richard turned to the serene sister thoughtfully. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, Sister Alice seems a rather over-excitable young woman. Do you think that what she reported was really there, or might it merely be the offspring of a fearful imagination?’

  ‘I wondered myself at first,’ said Sister Elfreda. ‘But her tale seems consistent enough.’

  Having reached the far side of the meadow, the nun mounted a stile that spanned the fence dividing it from a grassy lane beyond. She had to hitch the skirt of her habit up to her knees so it did not hinder her while she stepped over the top bar, but she did not seem overly concerned about revealing so much naked leg in front of her male companion.

  Rowena waited until Sir Richard had negotiated the stile, and then mounted it herself. From this vantage point, she could see that the wide laneway led down into a wooded valley, from whence the trickling of running water sounded.

  ‘It must be a hard task for a girl as small and frail as Sister Alice to carry water all the way from down there and over this stile,’ said Sir Richard, giving Rowena a gallant but unnecessary hand as she jumped nimbly down.

  ‘Indeed it is,’ replied Sister Elfreda. ‘But the abbess insists that all the sisters here work hard, regardless of their stature or talents.’

  ‘I wager it’s not a common sight to see her lugging water up here.’

  Sister Elfreda smiled dryly. ‘I am afraid our blessed mother superior gave up such menial tasks long ago.’ She pointed to a small gap in the dense foliage crowding both sides of the path, about halfway down to the spring at the bottom of the valley. ‘Here is the place.’

  Upon reaching the spot Sister Elfreda had pointed out, Sir Richard parted the saplings and pushed through, carefully holding them so they did not whip back in the face of the closely-following Rowena.

  About fifty feet back from the path, the saplings and brambles gave way to clear, leaf-strewn forest floor as the towering woodland giants cast their heavy shade. Only the odd beam of dappled light from the setting sun penetrated the thick greenwood.

  There was an abundance of evidence to suggest someone had been there recently. The brown, red and gold September leaves littering the forest floor were scuffed and scattered, and the damp black soil liberally dotted with horse hoof prints.

  Sir Richard knelt beside the disturbed ground. ‘Yes, definitely two horses, I would say.’

  ‘How can you tell that?’ asked his assistant.

  ‘Because there are two different sets of hoof prints, silly!’

  ‘Yes, but how can you tell that they do not belong to the same horse?’

  ‘Because horses have different sized feet, just like us. One of these sets of hoof prints is larger than the other.’

  ‘I see—’ She suddenly paused to sniff the air, then frowned worriedly. ‘Can you smell that? I’m sure I can smell dead meat…’

  He tested the air too. ‘You’re right. It does smell of rotting meat.’

  Rowena crossed her arms and turned up her nose. ‘This time you can look, because I certainly am not. Being a wild, free-spirited country maid is all well and good, but sometimes you just want a man for the task.’

  The knight got to his feet. ‘Fine. You just stand there and be a weak female while I go look.’

  Sir Richard started a quick search of the undergrowth. ‘Here, come and see what I’ve found!’ he called a few moments later, from near a thicket of briar roses.

  She held the end of her sleeve firmly over her nose. ‘No, I don’t want to.’

  He looked over his shoulder at her and laughed at her distastefully wrinkled face. ‘It’s safe, honestly.’

  I suppose he does look genuine enough, she thought reluctantly, before taking a deep breath and holding it while she cautiously sidled over to the spot.

  ‘A dead rabbit. Why didn’t you just tell me it was a dead rabbit?’

  He smirked darkly down on his irritated young clerk and crossed his arms. ‘Because it is so much more amusing to tease you, my sweet cinnamon…’

  * * * *

  ‘I’m sure it must have been the felons,’ said Rowena. ‘The description fitted them perfectly, and the lone girl passing along a thickly wooded, remote path is obviously their favourite prey.’

  Sir Richard sidestepped to avoid colliding with a woman carrying a towering load of fire-kindling through the bustling market. ‘I agree, Rowena. It most definitely sounded like them.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll try to carry off one of the nuns again, or might they have been scared off?’ Rowena almost had to shout to be heard above the cries of the hawkers and stallholders touting their wares, and the squawking, clucking chickens in wicker baskets awaiting sale.

  ‘Please sir, spare a penny for a starvin’ orphan!’ came a little voice from behind them.

  ‘What?’ Sir Richard looked about for the speaker, and then turned around in response to a tug at his doublet.

  Staring fearfully but hopefully up at the knight and his companion was a raggedly-dressed, barefooted boy of about seven. His white teeth stood out sharply against his dirt-smeared little face, and he looked up at them from beneath a tatty but jauntily-angled cap.

  ‘Please my lord,’ he said, holding out an empty bowl.

  Sir Richard reached into the purse tied to his belt, took out a generous handful of coins and dropped them into the bowl. ‘Here you go, son.’

  The thin, dirty little face lit up with delight. ‘Aw, thank ye, sir!’ The grubby little hand hopefully clutching its begging bowl then moved in front of Rowena. ‘Please mistress, spare a penny for a starvin’ orphan!’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t have a lot…’ she muttered, fingering the few coins in her purse reluctantly.

  The poor maid had been saving up her meagre allowance for weeks, and today was the day she was taking it into Hartfield to buy cloth for two new dresses to replace her torn, stained and faded old ones.

  The urchin rattled his begging bowl and looked up at her with sad, soulful eyes. ‘Please mistress, spare a penny!’

  She sighed. What the heck. Her clothes might be a bit tatty, but they still had a long way to go before they rivalled this poor child’s.

  She took her purse out of her pocket and tipped its entire contents into his bowl. ‘Take these.’

  The little beggar looked at his haul in disbelief, his eyes shining with joy. ‘God bless ye, God bless ye! Me twin sister’ll be beside herself!’ he cried, flashing his benefactors an ear-to-ear grin before running off excitedly.

  Rowena smiled. ‘Aw, bless him.’

  Even Sir Richard allowed himself an indulgent smile before turning back to his clerk. ‘Now, what was it you were asking me? Ah yes! Will they try again at the convent…I’m surprised they did not carry it through, as Sister Alice did not show them that she’d noticed they were there. Perhaps they were just scouting in preparation for setting an ambush.’

  ‘Yes, I think it’s likely they were. And
that means it is an opportunity to catch them we cannot afford to miss.’

  ‘But how? If the felons get the slightest inkling that we are waiting to seize them, they’ll disappear back into the forest without a trace like they always do.’

  ‘You are quite right, and that’s where my cunning plan comes in.’

  He lifted his black velvet cap off and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Oh no, you’ve got that look on your face again! I wager it’s going to be a dangerous plan…’

  She gave a miffed toss of the head. ‘It is better to have a dangerous plan than no plan at all!’

  He groaned. ‘Alright, let’s hear your ridiculously dangerous, hare-brained plan.’

  ‘Well, I was thinking—’

  ‘Always a dangerous thing…’ he muttered beneath his breath.

  She jabbed an elbow in his ribs. ‘Shut up. What I was thinking is this: if I disguise myself in a nun’s habit and pretend to be Sister Alice going down to the spring to get water, the villains might try to carry me off.’

  ‘So your plan is to get kidnapped in place of Sister Alice? How is losing another clerk going to help me get any closer to arresting these felonious bastards?’

  ‘Because, goose-head, you and your men will be lying in ambush, ready to fall on the felons when they try to carry me off.’

  He shook his head firmly. ‘No, it’s far too dangerous. And anyway, who knows when they are planning to strike? We might be waiting for eons.’

  ‘I agree that it could be risky, but if the ambush has been set up properly, and you and your men are the skilled soldiers you claim to be, then I believe it’s worth it. Only think; you might finally catch the villains—’

  ‘Good God!’ Pulling Rowena after him, Sir Richard suddenly dived into a narrow, filthy alley and flattened himself against the side wall of the alehouse it ran between. ‘By Jove’s codlings, that was a close thing!’ he gasped, looking furtively back out into the marketplace.

  She looked around at her unexpected new surroundings with confusion. ‘W-what?’

  ‘I damn near ran into that—no, don’t look, he might see you!’ He pushed her back against the wall. ‘It’s that rogue, Gray.’

  ‘Walter Gray, the father of the—’

  ‘Oi, what ya think ya doin’ on my patch, ya brazen cow!’ a female voice suddenly screeched.

  And before Rowena could make out what was happening, a young woman dressed only in a flimsy red slip had seized her by the hair and started trying to pull her out of the alley, all the while screaming threats and abuse.

  ‘Lay off, would you!’ Sir Richard shouted, seizing Rowena’s attacker from behind and pulling her off. ‘This lady here is a virtuous woman!’

  The garishly made-up woman was so intent on her frantic attack that the sheriff had to lift her up until her feet barely touched the ground in order to restrain her. ‘God in high heaven, listen to me, would you! She’s not a harlot!’

  The knight’s words finally seemed to sink in. The young woman stopped her violent kicking and screaming. ‘She ain’t?’

  ‘No, I certainly am not!’ Rowena replied, indignantly dusting herself down and smoothing her hair back into place.

  The sharp-faced woman grinned guiltily. ‘Aw, beg pardon, lady. Didn’t realise.’

  Rowena eyed her crossly, keeping well back. ‘You could have asked before trying to kill me.’

  But the dishevelled woman’s attention had already moved onto a more interesting place.

  She lifted the hem of her dress until her leg was bared to mid-thigh, gave her greasy blonde hair a saucy toss and looked flirtatiously up at Sir Richard. ‘Ya might ’ave read her wrong, but luckily for you, sir, relief ain’t far away. Two shillings, round the back o’ the Cockerel and Cow?’ She ran her tongue suggestively around her lips. ‘Come on, ya know ya want to…’

  He glared stonily down at her. ‘Do you know who I am, madam?’

  She flicked a dismissive hand. ‘Aw, don’t worry, ya can count on me ta be real discreet. We never tell anyone if we do it with dignitaries. In fact, many of me best customers are quite,’ she winked, ‘well known…’

  ‘I think you might just have succeeded in persuading me,’ said the sheriff.

  ‘Come and let me show ya a good time then…’ she purred, taking him by the hand.

  ‘No,’ he replied calmly. ‘What you succeeded in persuading me of was that it might be a good idea to arrest you.’

  ‘Ya what?’ she gaped.

  ‘Yes.’ His hand suddenly tightened around her wrist. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Sir Richard Hastings, sheriff of Chaucy. And you, madam, are breaking the law.’

  She would have looked less horrified if he had turned out to be the Devil himself. ‘The sheriff!’ she screeched, frantically trying to free herself from his vice-like grip.

  He let her jerk helplessly on the end of his arm for a good while before finally releasing her.

  She instantly bolted up the alley shouting, ‘Girls, girls, the law is ’ere!’

  But Sir Richard did not follow her. Instead, he just stood there leaning casually against the alehouse with a dark smirk on his face.

  ‘So that’s what you do for a little light relief, is it?’ said Rowena.

  ‘No, I’ve given up arresting them. We use to haul them in for breaking the peace, public drunkenness and lewdness, and throw them in the dungeons until the next court-day. They’d usually be convicted, fined and released. But the very next day they’d be out working twice as hard so they could still afford their pimp’s extortions and their drink habit. The cells get filled to overflowing in no time if you go and arrest every bit of riff-raff about. These women are not going to stop selling their bodies unless men stop wanting to buy them. And I’d swear some of those tarts were making more money in jail than they were out…’

  Rowena nodded grimly. ‘Yes. Last week, because of an error with their taxes, I had to enter that revolting cesspit of vice otherwise known as the Boar and Ring alehouse. There was no shortage of flabby, watery-eyed, lecherous fools wanting to go up for a toss in the hay with the pox-ridden whores filling the place. It was revolting. Honestly, the age of some of them! Once a man gets to a certain age, he really ought to give up leering and lusting over the pert flesh of women young enough to be his own granddaughters and start thinking about preventing his vice-ridden soul from burning in hell.’

  She shuddered in revulsion, still feeling tainted by all the leering looks of the dirty old and not-so-old men that had followed her every move from the moment she entered the place. ‘Argh! I’m telling you, next time I have to go into that vile joint to sort out their dodgy taxes I’m taking you with me, so you can slam the head of anyone who looks at me funny against a hard surface. You are good at that. And on the subject of vile filth: can we get out of this seedy alley, or have you not finished cowering yet?’

  ‘Let me have a look…’ He inched along the alehouse wall until he was right near the corner, then stuck his head out furtively, carefully scanning left and right. ‘Looks like it’s clear now.’

  While she queued impatiently behind, he ventured out slowly, searching the crowded marketplace with the alertness of a hawk. But no sooner was Sir Richard out of the alley, when there was a loud commotion and a massive runaway hog swept him off his feet as it tried to charge between his legs. The sheriff disappeared from view as he reached for an overhead beam laden with the wares of a stall selling pots. Rowena then heard a loud, tinny dong followed by a string of expletives from Sir Richard.

  She crept out of the alley, looking rather furtive herself now.

  ‘Damn, cursed beast!’ she heard him swearing furiously from behind the hanging wares of the cooking-pot stall.

  She cautiously made her way over. When things were not going well for him it was generally wise to keep clear.

  She found Sir Richard rubbing the top of his head crossly and cursing under his breath. ‘Sometimes I’d swear God was playing a practical joke on me!’ he
muttered savagely. ‘I mean, who the hell expects a damn hog to come at them like that, and for these bloody things to be in the way too!’ He gave the large cauldron hanging level with his head an angry shove that set it clanging loudly against its neighbours.

  This proved to be the last straw for the already upset young stallholder, a pretty young girl with wheaten hair tied back in a red handkerchief. The suntanned face puckered up, and tears overflowed the forget-me-not blue eyes and rolled down the freckled cheeks.

  ‘Now look what you’ve done!’ Rowena hissed at the hapless perpetrator.

  But before he could respond, Sir Richard was forced to hurriedly flatten himself against the pot stall and wait while the hog’s owners rushed past in hot pursuit.

  The three stocky, red-faced farmers puffing after it were swearing even more lustily than Sir Richard had been. Rowena had heard plenty of bad language from the men at Eaglestone Castle, but the obscenities coming out of the mouths of the pursuing farmers made even her wince. After dodging around the basket of apples spilled by the fleeing hog, narrowly avoiding tripping over a stray mutt, and pushing a frail, haunch-backed old woman into a stack of wicker chicken coups, the foul-mouthed farmers were gone.

  After shouting a few good wishes such as, ‘May you rot in hell, you loathsome oafs!’ and ‘I hope you get the black plague ten times over, dung-face!’ after the farmers, Sir Richard looked first at his unimpressed clerk, then at the weeping young stallholder.

  He shrugged helplessly at Rowena. ‘What am I supposed to do? Women are better with crying; why don’t you do something?’

  He received a withering look in reply.

  A rather shame-faced sheriff turned back to the sobbing girl. ‘Forgive me, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ he offered uncomfortably.

  But this only seemed to make the wheaten-haired girl cry more. ‘N-nothing I ever do is right,’ she wailed. ‘I try so h-hard to do things right, but I just g-get scolded!’

  ‘Don’t cry,’ the sheriff pleaded rather desperately. ‘It was not your fault I hit my head, it’s mine for being so tall.’