by Vicki Grove
“No,” she pushed out, then gulped down a breath. “You’re in England, sir, near as far from Francia as you can get and still be upon the world and not fallen off. You’re in the hinterlands of Wessex, atop a bluff and across the bay from Wales.”
To that, he made no response. After a few moments, he lay back down, sighing a monstrous sigh, more a moan, really. A moan of some anguish, one might say.
Rhiannon made for the door, then blundered out, twisting her left foot upon the stoop and falling to the sharp stones.
She bloodied both knees, though she’d not even notice that until morn.
Mam was asleep when she limped in, soft closing the door so’s to wake no one. She didn’t want to talk of this yet. She just hoped Mam wouldn’t open an eye to check for two lights in the invalid windows, as there would be only the one of Sal’s.
She pulled off her skirt and in her shift crawled to the nether side of the pallet, wincing as she went, though still not wondering why she winced. And then for quite some time she lay curled on her side there beside Mam, awake and wide-eyed, her mind now too bedazzled for easy sleep.
This was a mystery as astonishing in its details as any other they’d come upon this week of mysteries! Not just that the sleeper had woke, but that he’d asked such a question upon waking. And why had he called her Adela, as though he knew her quite well? He’d mistook her for someone, but who? And if he thought he was in Francia, why had he not spoken the language of Francia?
And why’d he sighed that awful sigh, so heartbreaking in tone? In fact, so heartbreaking that Rhiannon’s last thought before sleep was that she’d not be easily afeared of anyone with a heart so clearly broken, be he French or English, saintly Crusader or merely wretched, bloodthirsty pirate.
Chapter 12
Rhiannon’s sore knees woke her in the morning before even Mam was up. She lay for a moment pondering that it had been only one day since they’d buried Ona and Primrose, though it seemed a month’s worth of happenings had gone on! She wanted another private peek at the French gentleman pirate before Gramp began summoning her to gather the seeds at bluff’s edge, as most surely by the time she and Gramp had finished and got back to the settlement, the man’s changed state would have been discovered and he’d have become everybody’s thing to gawk at and fuss over.
She scooted off the pallet with her legs held stiff, then limped outside. At the brook she got good springy moss to pack her hurts, tying it upon them with long watergrasses.
“Crrrr—awkk?” Gramp asked, having swooped from the chapel roof to observe close. He teetered on a flimsy branch of the yew tree she leaned against.
“The Man Who Sleeps has woken, Gramp!” she informed him. “He no longer seems quite so much a pirate. Now, he seems somewhat a gentleman, as he talks of Francia!” She winced, standing and moving stiff-legged in the direction of the man’s cot. “Of course, pirates may talk of Francia as well, I guess, but he speaks gentle, is what I mean.”
“Rhiannon!” Mam called from outside their cottage. “You’ve forgotten your seed pouch, daughter. And . . . why do you hobble along like that, and in the wrong direction?”
The jig was up, and Rhia called back, “I’ve skinned my knees is all, and Mam? You must come quick! The Man Who Sleeps sleeps no longer!”
Rhia and Mam soon enough stood together near the raised pallet, looking him over. There was nothing to show that he’d moved in the night. Even his ankles and wrists were crossed as they’d been before! Rhia, frustrated beyond easy endurance by this, lit into a description to Mam of how he’d sat up in the night, what he’d said, and how his moan had been so filled with heart’s anguish.
“Well,” said Mam, sighing. “I know not what to think.”
Mayhaps she thought Rhia’d dreamed it, is what Rhia figured. That, along with the throb of her roughened knees, made Rhia downright angry. When they’d left that cot and were on along the walk a little way, Rhia turned and ran back to look in his window, hoping to catch him in a move. But there he lay, as much as ever like some stone effigy.
“Here.” Mam took the seed pouch from under her shawl and threw it across to Rhia. “If the job hurts your knees too much this morning, you may give it up, Rhiannon.”
But Mam’s eyes held mirth as she turned to go on along, as if to say, If you can run to stubbornly prove a thing you dreamed is true, you can kneel to gather as well.
“Fly slow, please, as I’m some disabled,” Rhia grumbled to Gramp. She went slow and hobbling, then, especially back past their own cot and also past the bees, who stopped their raucous morning buzzing. They got a good notice of her injury, at least, though it was hard to tell how much sympathy they felt.
Once she and Gramp were arrived at bluff’s edge, Rhia could not manage to hold on to her peevish mood. It was such a perfect day, with the breeze from the south and all kinds of seeds for the taking. There were already several small boats out upon the water, pleasure boats and fishing boats, some coracles as well. You saw big boats bringing trade all year long, but small boats were only usual in fine weathers. They made a good sign that spring had really come to stay.
Her knees did hurt when she knelt for long, so she took breaks to lollygag. As usual, she falsely assumed Gramp was lollygagging because she was, when in fact he was hard at work at all times they were near the bluff’s edge, protecting her from mischance.
In fact, during one of her own rests that morning, she went so far as to enlist Gramp in a game she’d just then dreamt up, feeling he had leisure for it because she did.
“You be tallystick like Reeve Clap carries to count the crops each farmer owes as tax to Lord Claredemont, will you, Gramp? I’ll mention a thing we must puzzle out, and you dip your great beak and make a scratch upon your holed rock perch as Reeve Clap makes a cut upon his stick. When I’ve said all the mysteries I can think of, we’ll count the scratches and have our tally of important things that must be untangled.”
Gramp hard-eyed her and raised his shoulders a bit. It was actually a register of the insult he was feeling at being considered a tallystick, but Rhia took it as a go.
She lay clear back to look up at the sky, folding her arms to make a pillow for her head. “All right, first scratch is, we must watch that heartbroken French pirate and find out why he played as he did when Mam was present. Why’d he deceive her into thinking he still slept exactly as before?”
That seemed quite interesting, as she’d not realized he was purposely deceiving Mam until she’d heard herself list it. There was also some small chance, of course, that Mam’s hunch had been right and Rhia had merely dreamed him waking.
So after a moment’s consideration, she added, “And Gramp, if it please, you must somehow contrive to take that scratch away tomorrow if it turns out I’ve mistook his wakefulness, though I’m sure I’ve not.”
She squinted hard. “Here’s another scratch. We must make such preparations as necessary for the new folk in the wood, but first we must know their needs and we must plan, as much as we’re able, our own safe practices.” She sighed. “Most of that’ll be left to Mam.” Thanks be to God, as it made her head hurt just thinking of it.
“Yet another scratch would be what must be figured and done about Jim Gatt and his predicament. In fact, this is the most urgent and important task at hand, Gramp. And add a scratch for finding if there is indeed an ancient dragon trapped beneath the grove of colored stones. Wait, that scratch should be for figuring some way out of joining in Maddy’s party on Beltane Eve with the earl’s son and his cronies.”
Every time she thought about that, her stomach flopped and she got hiccoughs.
She sat up. “Give ’em each a scratch, Gramp, the dragon and the party, too.”
But Gramp wasn’t even turned in her direction, let alone playing this silly game. He was peering out at the bay, and suddenly he started flapping his wings something fierce.
“Crrrrawk! Craaaaa-awk-awk-awk!”
Rhia scrambled to her feet. “Gramp,
what threat do you perceive?”
Soon she spotted the cause of Gramp’s concern. In one of the small boats were two monks, one rowing and the other standing. The one upon his legs was jigging a bit to stay balanced, and also looking straight up at their spot on the bluff with one hand shielding his eyes. He pushed back his cowl and his long brown hair blew wild.
“It’s Thaddeus, Gramp!” Rhia moved close as she dared to the edge of the bluff and began waving big-armed waves toward the little boat.
Soon enough, Thaddeus caught that and waved back. He brought his two hands to cup his mouth, and called, “Rhiannon, can you hear me?”
She bounced on her heels with excitement. “Yes!” she called. “I mean, no!”
With this she gave a large-armed gesture toward a place below where Thaddeus’s rower might safely bring the little boat in closer to the bluff. When the monk nodded that he understood, she ran and dove into the bracken at the trail’s start, slip-sliding down the path until she reached the place in the trail that was directly above that small secret harbor. She watched them drift closer until they were just beneath her perch. She might have jumped right into their boat, though it would have been a long and daring leap.
Thaddeus looked over both his shoulders then to see that others weren’t likely to receive the news he was about to give. Their detour had put them well out of range of other likely ears, yet he checked again.
“Rhiannon,” he called up, “there’s much afoot regarding Jim Gatt! He’s now sought and received sanctuary within the church. Have your mother come down if she can!”
Rhia cupped her own hands and called back, “But . . . aren’t you coming up to give us the whole news of it? Or is the reeve?”
Again, Thaddeus checked uneasily over his shoulder. “We neither one dare leave town while this churns. In fact, Brother Silas and I have just rowed out to give you this news and must now hasten back to the church. You see, Jim Gatt has confessed to the murder!”
Rhiannon felt turned to stone at this impossible news.
“Tell your mother to come quickly, Rhia!” Thaddeus called again. “And if she can’t, ask her if you may come in her stead! You must hear the whole of it!” He sat back down, taking the oars from his fellow and turning the boat back toward the open water.
Rhiannon shook her head. “Oh, Gramp,” she breathed, as Gramp now sat nearby her. “Let’s get home fast, as a confession from Jim was the last thing we expected!”
They four—Granna, Mam, Rhia, and Daisy—tried with all their combined brains to puzzle it out, sitting glumly around the firepit not much later.
“I don’t understand how he could have reached sanctuary to begin with, seeing as how he was already in prison and Guy Dryer guarding him,” Mam murmured. She was leaned forward, her skirt hitched up and her elbows on her white knees. She stared into the fire hard with her eyes squinted, frowning.
Granna took her pipe from her teeth and shrugged. “Well, Guy’s been known to purposely let a pickpocket or two slip through his fingers, as he has to feed his prisoners from his own pocket.”
The small wooden gaol where common prisoners were kept was very near the ale-tasters’ establishment, thus Granna knew such details from her cronies, though the average citizen would have probably assumed the law was more airtight than that.
“Well, if he did escape the gaol, he’d have only had to get as far as the iron latch upon the church door,” Mam mused, tapping her chin as though she were seeing these things in the fire, which, of course, was Granna’s territory. “Once he had a hold of that church latch, none could lay hands to take him back to prison. Still, the church is halfway through town, and Jim could not go fast.”
“And he could not pass unnoticed,” Rhia added sadly. “Not with his missing leg so apparent, setting him apart.”
“Know what I say?” Daisy piped, all straight-backed and sassy. “I say he got help!”
The other three looked at her.
“Why not?” she insisted, raising her thin arms. “I would have helped him reach the church, had I been nearby! Queen Tildy and I would have garbed him in a costume what covered up his bottom half so’s he’d not be recognized as he went!”
Queen Matilda was herself costumed just then, wrapped in rags and flowers.
Mam smiled at Daisy and bent to reach her hand, giving it a squeeze. “Well,” she said to them all, “this is only guesswork until we hear it straight from Almund. At least Jim has somehow got sanctuary, so now he’ll have forty days to ready his soul with prayer before he goes to God. Had he languished at the gaol, his punishment would likely be . . . near immediate.”
Rhia gulped and felt her fingers go cold at the idea of Jim hanging on Gallux Hump. “I just can’t believe he confessed to doing any such a thing,” she whispered.
None of them could, she could see it on their faces.
“Do you see anything bearing on this in the flames, Mother?” Mam asked quietly.
Rhiannon was shocked, as Mam scolded Granna constantly for her heathen habit of flame-watching.
Mam played casual. “Do you, Mother?” she repeated.
“Well, it’s hard to say, daughter.” Granna peered into the fire in the same way she had been peering all through this discussion, no harder and no easier, as the sights came or they didn’t. “I see nothing at the moment, but when I rose this morn I followed my usual routine and looked into the flames to see what the day might hold. And at that time, I saw churchmen opening the door for a fellow churchman who knocked with the iron petitioner’s ring. I figured the fellow clutching that latch to be some cowled brother here with the new bunch. But I suppose it might have been Jim I saw.”
“I told you!” Daisy squealed. “It was Jim in the costume of a churchman!”
Rhiannon stood and turned to her mother, throwing up her arms in exasperation. “You have to go down, Mam! We have to know and not just guess! I can’t bear it!”
Mam dropped her head. “I just cannot, Rhia. There are the new folk to think of now. They must have bread and drink and medicinals, and I must see if I can talk with one of them today, regarding some sort of . . . arrangements.”
“What is rangents?” Daisy piped. When no one answered, she picked up Queen Matilda and started dancing that gaudily bedecked reptile about on the reeds.
Rhiannon, meanwhile, paced, trying to work up the nerve to ask if she herself might go down in Mam’s stead. She’d gone alone to market many times, but just to take some seed packets and their honey to be sold.
When Mam had given her charge over the group that went down to the laying of hands, the dire result had been sure proof that she was not up to anything beyond selling a little honey and buying a bit of salt. She’d lost Jim! No, Rhia felt sure Mam thought she was the last person to be trusted with this further mission regarding their friend.
“Rhia, you go down in my place,” Mam suddenly said. “Tomorrow is weekly market day. Go then and you’ll not so likely be deemed suspicious as you seek to find some answers. The crowd will be roiling, and everyone bent upon their own business.”
Rhiannon went plain speechless, so grateful did she feel for this second chance.
“Once more we’ve let the morn slip away, so now to our work.” Mam slapped her knees and stood, all business. “Mother, will you help me fix our meal? Daisy, you go to the bees and see what honeyed comb is ready for Rhiannon to take to market on the morrow. Rhiannon, fetch the gruel pot, as the invalids surely grow hungry.”
Very soon all were bustling about, doing as she’d ordered. Rhia crouched beside the firepit, tilting the large gruel kettle upon its fire-hook while she carefully poured a steaming portion into the smaller pot so she could feed the invalids. But then all of a sudden she felt Mam standing behind her, waiting for her to finish her task.
Rhia reluctantly stood and turned to her, dreading what Mam had to say. Surely she’d thought more and decided against entrusting Rhia to venture down tomorrow.
“Daughter,” Mam said
quietly, and the next thing Rhia knew, Mam had taken the small elmwood cross she always wore about her own neck and slipped its leather thong over Rhia’s head. The cross felt light and cool upon Rhia’s skin, and when she looked down upon her chest, it glowed as though it were golden. She looked up, beaming, to give Mam thanks for such a precious thing, but Mam was back at work as though it had not happened.
Rhia dropped gingerly to her sore knees beside Dull Sal in her little cot. She stirred the steaming gruel she’d brought, then spooned a large portion to Sal’s bowl.
“Sally, tomorrow I go to town alone, to find what I may about Jim!” she confided. “And Mam has given me her own cross.” She held the graceful little cross out from herself by its cord, so’s Sal might better see it.
Sally looked at her and smiled. “Three fish,” she said. “I’ll have three of those fish.”
And right then Rhiannon had a sudden thought she’d not had before about Sally. It just came to her out of the blue, as will happen sometimes when you’re thinking of something else, and it made her feel queasy with its awfulness.
She put down the bowl and placed her hands on Sally’s shoulders.
“Sally, is that the last thing your bad brother said to you before the cuffing?” she asked, her mouth gone dry. “Did he want three fish to eat, and did he think you were slow bringing them and deserved such foul treatment as to have your head smashed?”
“Three fish,” said Sally, her blue eyes wide and empty. “I’ll have three of those fish.”
That had been it, then. Rhia would’ve sworn it. And she could scarce see her way to Sally’s mouth with spoonfuls of gruel for the sick feeling she had. The cost of beautiful Sally’s good life had been so little! It was even sadder than if Sally had stolen coin, or taken some other thing valued high by her horrible brother.
This was positively the worst thing Rhiannon had ever heard of. She had been light-heeled with excitement coming to Sal’s cot, but she was dragging her heels as she went to the other one, her heart awash with grief for Sally, valued so low. In truth she was so upset by it that she forgot to brace herself as she pushed open the pirate’s door, slouched across the threshold, and went to ladling gruel into his bowl.