Finally, at the end of the second day, Deirdre had had enough. She hadn’t been sleeping well — had not been since her bereavement — and her irritability had grown too much.
“Why are we sitting about doing nothing?” she growled as the Fiend tipped his third tankard of the morning.
“The wind can’t tell me everything,” was his patient reply. “I need to know many things if I am to be a proper Gheet knight.”
“And why wou…,” she began.
“Can you think of a safer way to travel in County Blenheim, child?”
She blushed all of a sudden. He had a point.
“For what I am to do, Tuppence, I need to know things … and to draw close to people. Can you trust me?”
“I can,” she said with a nod. “But … but, what … why do you need to draw close…?”
“Child, can you imagine that not every Gheet is a monster? And that there might be some few good folk among them? People who might be useful tools and helpers in our endeavor?”
Deirdre was at a loss. Her entire being had so raged this last month with anger, outrage, and a thirst for reprisal that she could neither think nor see in any colors but those. True, in the past there had been Gheet within their community who weren’t terrible folk, but those were the same Gheet who would commiserate with Surrey farmers during their mourning and then later lounge laughing with the worst of their Gheet tormentors at an inn or tavern. They all deserved the gibbet, all of them … and worse.
“Tuppence, I don’t have a plan, not a proper one,” he said in a soothing way. “So, I need to learn. And trust me when I say, not all Gheet are monsters.”
“There sure are enough of them,” she nearly shouted. “Bloodthirsty vermin.”
“Aye,” he agreed with a faint smile. “Some of them are killers, and killers of the worst kind. But there’s a funny thing about those that love killing too much. They often are the very same folks who have a hard time telling friend from foe.” He patted her shoulder gently. “Relax and enjoy the next few days. The weather is sunny and wonderful and the breeze fine. Would you like me to have the landlady bring some more berries for your cream?”
“Yes, please,” she nodded. “And some more bread and some of the soft white cheese?”
Sir Alexis rolled to his feet to oblige her.
For the first time, Deirdre marveled at how patient he was with her. It simply wasn’t something that had dawned on her before that moment. The truth was, she’d been so busy being furious and vengeful (both of which were now fulltime preoccupations) that his deportment hadn’t occurred to her.
If anything, she may have pondered how he was a bit too amiable to be a Fiend, and several times the thought had flitted through her mind that perhaps the Fiend might not have the gusto to wreak havoc in a proper way, at least not in the way Deirdre felt it needed to be wreaked. He seemed overall too convivial. For all his alleged planning, he so far had named no victims nor given any inkling about what they might be about in their “endeavor,” as he called it.
Well, she didn’t know any other fiends, so she had to go with the fiend she had. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to come up with a few plans of her own on how best to motivate the creature when the time came, to put a little pep in his step. Such a thing wasn’t an easy task — this was all virgin territory for a Surrey farmgirl — but she’d work something out.
The next morning, the two departed Portsmouth and headed inland toward the town of New Market. Sir Alexis again was cagey about what they might find there, and Deirdre finally accepted the fact that the Fiend simply didn’t have a clear sense of what they would do. They spent most of the day chatting, him telling her how to be a proper Gheet lady and her telling him to get bent. All the while, Deirdre pondered and stewed about how best to get the Fiend into full gallop — as he referred to a horse’s fastest pace.
At some point in the afternoon, they came to a large intersection, and Sir Alexis announced the place would be an auspicious location to stop. (He said only that the wind augured well for it when she asked how he knew.) The place, which went by the name Inn of the Four Quarters, was pleasant and bustling. After taking a room and eating, Deirdre and Sir Alexis went to a pasture to join other travelers in resting and enjoying the day.
Deirdre wanted to have none of it and sat in sullen silence seething at yet another waste of time. While Sir Alexis, of all things, idled away the day playing with the local children and allowing them to pile on his courser, she sat with her back against the mount’s saddle, sulking and trying her level best not to enjoy anything of the marvelous day with which they’d been blessed.
At a bell past midday, things went from bad to worse. About that time, a tall and regal woman with the telltale dark hair and olive complexion of a purebred Gheet emerged from the brush and made her haughty way toward the inn. It might have piqued Deirdre’s interest that the woman had arrived afoot, but before she could think of it, the woman was standing beside her, looking down with the most desperate eyes.
She spoke in a strange accent, one that might have marked her as neither Gheet nor Surrey. “Please help me,” she said in a voice that trembled. “Those men aim to harm me. I’m alone and afraid.”
The woman began to cry.
The Foundling
In ordinary times, nothing would have frightened Isabel more than turning to complete strangers for help, but these were no ordinary times. The terror she felt at knowing that her life was not her own and that she no longer was the strong and independent woman she was in her life in Savannah left her numb and humiliated.
This indeed was a strange and mercurial land, and she could not stand alone in it. Without friends and without supporters, her hopes of keeping her freedom and her life were scanty or none. And even that security was illusory in ways she never could have imagined in her past life. The alacrity with which Utrecht’s friends, all save one, literally had turned and walked away left her stunned.
And now de Margot was mere yards away, and she was standing friendless in an open field near the Four Quarters Inn. She’d never been so scared in her life.
“Please help me,” she again implored in the local tongue. The sullen young woman with the luscious red hair looked up at her with what may have been surprise. It should have been no wonder. The Gheet long had treated the young woman’s people with wanton brutality, and Isabel had the raiment, hair, and complexion of one of her oppressors.
“Are you in need of assistance, m’lady?” It was the voice of a man, the very same who moments before she’d seen making merry with a group of local children. He led his horse, now sans children, to where Isabel stood near the woman, regarding her carefully all the while.
Isabel turned to speak, and nothing came out. The man’s appearance was that of one of the northern Surrey, with tawny hair and close-cut blonde whiskers, an appearance that had become common among the Gheet as they and the Surrey had intermarried in northern Albion. Though he spoke with a dialect common between Gheet and Surrey, it was clear to Isabel that this was yet another Gheet knight. She at once suspected speaking had been a mistake.
Before she could run, he spoke again.
“I’m Alexis de Vere,” he said before gesturing to the ruddy lass. “And this is my ward, Tuppence.” By that time, he’d come within arm’s reach, and his voice had disarmed her. “Are you well? Is there something we can do?”
“I …,” she began with a swift glance toward the gate where the five knights, boisterous and loud, were dismounting. “That man there means me harm.”
The knight with whom she spoke regarded the men but briefly. “And who are these knights?”
“I don’t know them all, but the one with the short hair is Sir Etienne de Margot. He murdered a friend of mine and now means to make off with me.” For just the briefest of moments, Isabel saw what she thought was a smile light the face of Alexis de Vere, but the look was gone so quickly that she wasn’t sure she’d seen it at all.
The knight nodded
. “He’s a well-known and powerful baron, this de Margot.” There came a gentle smile then twisted lips, and he gestured to the blanket spread before his saddle. “I forget myself, m’lady. Our table and board are meagre, but sit and refresh yourself. I’ll allow no harm to come to a guest.”
It occurred to Isabel as she sat and took an offered slice of bread that though often short on mercy, the Gheet were obsessive about form and manners. Hospitality was the cornerstone of their ethos. Though but a blanket in a field, where they now sat was Sir Alexis’s home, and he would defend it against all comers. What might happen an hour hence she did not know, but for the moment she was safe.
Still, she made a point of sitting in such a way as not to be obvious to de Margot and his companions, who stood laughing and joking with several other newly arrived knights not fifty yards distant.
It was only after several minutes of polite but nervous conversation with Sir Alexis and his ward, who’d by then gifted Isabel with several grudging smiles, that she felt safe enough to explain her circumstances. She made only short reference to her origins — how to explain that? — saying just that she was from Evaria, a land across the sea to the south. She told them of her being stranded, of her rescue by Sir Utrecht, and of the murder of her protector. Those last words were the hardest.
Sir Alexis nodded comfortingly throughout. “It’s the way of things in Albion, Lady Isabel. When a man is challenged, honor demands he accept. Although it does escape me why a fight to the death was necessary, both men were equally armed and armored. It’s tragic, but it’s our way.”
“Was….” She hesitated, knowing the answer to the question, but a flicker of weakness and uncertainty hit her. “Was I wrong to flee?”
A look she couldn’t decipher crossed the face of the knight. “I don’t know this Baron de Margot, not personally. But I knew a cousin of his in the Holy Land, the same Everett Dupuis of whom you speak … or at least I believe so. It’s a common name. I never saw Dupuis as a kind or goodly man, but both he and de Margot are men of wealth and influence and would provide well for any lady they chose to take as ward.” He raised his hand and gestured to the blanket on which they reclined. “Certainly, they could provide better than the castle made of wool Tuppence and I have to offer.”
Isabel shook her head. “The man frightens me. I don’t think he intends me well.”
There again crossed the knight’s face an inscrutable look. “Well, I don’t know Brian Mayfield, but I’m acquainted with the reputation of the family. They are a fine and generous folk. And if I’m not mistaken, their estates lie three days journey past New Market. But … Lady Isabel, Tuppence and I are on an errand that entails some danger….”
“Sir Alexis, I’ve come four days alone. I can travel another four.” In truth, she was torn. The idea of trusting this kind and fearsome knight was seductive, but something told her she needed to proceed by herself.
“M’lady, it speaks well of you and your valor that you’ve travelled this far, but even in the best of times a young woman is not safe to travel unaccompanied.” Again, there was that look on his face. “I don’t mean to gainsay your feelings, but allow me to speak with Baron de Margot on your behalf. It may well be that his concern for you is sincere and he would be willing to see you safe to Mayfield.”
“Sir Alexis … I can’t. There’s no way for me to explain, but a woman knows.” Isabel glanced to Tuppence, who gave Sir Alexis a knowing nod and a shrug.
The knight for a moment was lost in thought, and Tuppence maintained her dour silence. He spoke at last. “If you intend to travel on alone, I’ll ensure that de Margot and his men don’t search for you further … at least not today. Travel as you did before, away from roads and people, and when you come to New Market, find a man of god named Ainsley. I knew him as a pilgrim in the Holy Land. He will help you.”
For a moment she was overwhelmed. The knight and his ward had done little, but that mere dram of kindness had filled her with hope. “Thank you.”
The knight stood and began to prepare his chainmail, which he’d recovered from the ground near the saddle. “No need to thank for a duty, Lady Isabel. Stay here for a time with Tuppence. She’ll give you provisions for your trip. I go to introduce myself to de Margot and his lot.” He gave her a wink. “Perhaps I’ll show the baron to the tilting yard for a few lessons.”
She felt the breath suddenly leave her and opened her mouth to protest.
“Calm yourself, m’lady,” he said with a smile. “Like as not, we’ll retire to the alehouse. The moment we’re out of sight, you take your leave. Tuppence will give you anything you need.”
With that, the great knight turned and strode to the gate of the inn. Within moments, voices were raised, and it seemed there might be violence — she couldn’t bring herself to look in that direction — but soon after, the bullying tones were replaced with barks of laughter and, so it seemed, Sir Alexis repaired himself to the alehouse, de Margot and his knights in tow.
When Isabel rose onto shaky legs moments later, Tuppence already had a bag prepared for her. The dour young woman seemed as if she might speak and after a brief hesitation turned to a bag near the saddle and recovered a long dagger in its sheath. This she handed to Isabel. There was a look of compassion on the young woman’s face that had not been there before.
“Good luck, Lady Isabel, and be careful.” They were the first proper words Tuppence had spoken since Isabel had arrived.
After a short and impulsive hug, Isabel turned and fled the way she’d come.
The Barrow Boy
Deirdre wasn’t angry with Sir Alexis. His sympathy for beautiful young Lady Isabel earlier in the afternoon was understandable — the woman truly seemed in desperate need of succor, even if she was a Gheet — but to Deirdre, it was yet another sign of the Fiend’s sappy and tender underbelly. If this was what passed for a fiend, Deirdre should have saved herself the trouble and sought the assistance of a barnyard kitten.
The “ferocious and diabolical” Sir Alexis, as Deirdre sullenly came to think of him, spent the balance of the afternoon and much of the evening hoisting wine, beer, and ale with Etienne de Margot and a handful of the baron’s knights. As Alexis had promised, he kept the crowd busy, so busy that the warriors forsook for a time their search for the “spritely hart” and indulged themselves with their new boon companion.
Deirdre was dejected. Sitting alone at a table in the corner, she passed the evening nibbling away in an orgy of gustatory extravagance that at any other time in her life would have left her delirious. Time and again, it came to her how Fiona would have reveled in such an evening, a memory of her sister so painful and bitter that it stole away even Deirdre’s tears.
Of course, de Margot was every inch the vicious swine Isabel had described — what else would a Gheet baron be? A half dozen times throughout the evening, the baron had leapt to his feet at some imagined slight from Sir Alexis, whose only reaction to de Margot’s threats of violence was to throw up his hands and speak words of appeasement and peace. On those occasions, the only thing that stopped de Margot from giving Alexis a good and hard clout was the timely intervention of one of de Margot’s companions, a hirsute and bulky knight she’d several times heard called de Bois-Guilbert.
She’d ignored the occasional taunt from the men that spoke of Alexis’s ‘Surrey wench,’ but instead sipped mulled wine and nibbled tarts and cherry jelly. The food was delightful, but it was getting her no closer to justice. She wanted to hate Sir Alexis … she wanted to hate the Fiend. He was just too amiable. So, she abided the evening, alternating between fury and sulkiness and eventually falling asleep with her head on the table she occupied in the corner.
Deirdre awoke from a troubled slumber the next morning in the softest bed in which she’d ever lay. The Devil only knew how she got there. Her clothes were still on, and the small satchel with her belongings was placed carefully on a table near the door. From the look of the sky, it was just before dawn, and neither
the Fiend nor any of his effects were to be seen. Likely he awaited her at the stable. (She remembered him saying something about an early start, but there was still a bit of wine in her head.)
Making a quick toilet, she checked to see if she had all her belongings and headed toward the stable. Several of the baron’s men were passed out in the great room’s various nooks and crannies, though there was no sign of the nobleman himself — just as well that. In the stable, she found the blacksmith and his assistant stoking the day’s fire. The only other person present was a lone barrow boy of about ten years with a barrowful of produce, who looked to be beginning his day.
Before she could round the building and look in the pasture, the lad spoke up.
“Come along, Tuppence. We’ve an appointment to make on the road to New Market. It’s miles to go before we rest. I have your breakfast here, so we can eat on the road.”
She stared at the lad, a fresh-faced youth and one of the prettiest creatures she’d ever seen. She moved to open her mouth.
“Tuppence,” said the boy with a sweet smile and a hint of mock exasperation, “I thought the barrow would be a dead giveaway.”
part II
The Seven
“Ye may read all the learn'd treatises, tracts, and monographs ye want, but t'end of the day, e'ry right-minded soul, thru 'is own wit and commonsense, knows there's things from which ye' need refrain. Stay the Hell away from sin!
… unless ye must.”
—The Venerable Wooster, Vicar of Curmudge
Lust
“From a purely academic standpoint, I've always favored lust.”
—De Diabolicum, author unknown
The barrow boy was a pretty and pleasant lad who appeared to be about three or four years Deirdre’s junior, and over the course of the next few hours, she and the now pint-size Fiend ambled down the High Road to New Market, hawking his produce, chatting with passersby, and making their leisurely pace westward. At any other time, it would have been a delightful day, but as in the preceding days with Sir Alexis, they were getting nowhere. And it hadn’t escaped Deirdre’s notice that she was no longer in the company of an armed and armored Gheet knight. These were dangerous times, and they trod a path not too many miles distant from where monsters had stolen everything from her beloved sister.
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