The Du Lac Devil: Book 2 of The Du Lac Chronicles

by Mary Yarde

  “There is no one else out there. I told you. I didn’t come here to fight.”

  “Then why are you here?” Yrre asked.

  It was a good question and they all waited for Rand to come up with some outlandishly long story that would have all of them bored to tears and wishing for death within the hour. Rand was renowned, throughout the army, for his inability to yarn a good tale.

  “Stuff turned up at the camp this morning,” Rand stated, surprising them all and giving them their answer as to why he had chosen to risk it all and ask for a place amongst the condemned.

  Merton closed his eyes at the mention of Stuff’s name and when he opened them again, his gaze instinctively sought Yrre’s. Yrre shook his head in hopelessness; this was the last thing they had expected to hear.

  “We have two choices,” Merton said, addressing the men. “Fight Wihtgar and Stuff, or run and, if the gods are willing, break through Clovis’s lines.”

  “I have never run from a fight in my life,” Wann said. “But I will make an exception this one time.”

  “I would rather take on Clovis’s army than fight the united forces of Stuff and Wihtgar,” Trace said.

  “As would I,” Eadger said, stepping forward.

  “Yrre?” Merton questioned. It was Yrre’s opinion that really mattered to him.

  Yrre snorted and shook his head, which was all the answer Merton needed.

  “It is agreed, then?” Merton asked.

  “It’s agreed,” Yrre answered for everyone else. “You have our thanks, Rand,” Yrre said grudgingly, “for bringing this news to us.”

  “No man deserves to die by Stuff’s hand,” Rand said. “And besides, he hates me. He would find a way to slit my throat if I stayed.” Rand had once ridden with Stuff, but he could not stomach the brutalities of the man, especially when it came to children, so he had left in the dead of night and finally found himself at the mercy of Wihtgar. But Wihtgar was a fickle friend and he would want to keep Stuff’s favour. Whitgar would see no issue in betraying one of his own men, if, it was in his interest to do so.

  As Merton’s warriors began to pick up their supplies and ready their mounts, Rand walked up to their leader. “Merton,” Rand said as he watched Merton saddle his horse. “There is something else I need to tell you. You know my loyalties to Wihtgar have been waning over the past year. But the other night he was talking about...” Rand blew out softly, “...by the gods...there is no limit to his ambition. He told me of an island in the South of Briton. He wants it for himself. He plans to dispose of the King and take it.”

  “I know his plans,” Merton said. “And with Wessex as an uncle, I have no doubt that the people of that island will soon be calling Wihtgar, master.”

  “I don’t agree with him. I spent some time as a child under a foreign king. I remember the suffering and the starvation. I remember my mother’s tears the night the soldiers came for my father. We never saw him again. I know there is no room for principles in our line of work, but I would not wish that fate upon anyone. I am risking an awful lot coming to you — Stuff wants my head and now Whitgar will too,” he glanced back at his son. “I am like you. I have a son and I will do everything in my power to protect him.”

  “If I find out that you have lied,” Merton warned, as he tighten his horse’s girth, before turning to look back at Rand. “Then you will die.”

  Rand fell onto his knees. “I will pledge myself to your sword, right this instant, without thought or hesitation.”

  “The pledge of a mercenary does not mean that much to me,” Merton answered as he looked down upon the warrior’s bowed head. “Get up off your knees man, I am neither a king nor a god.”

  Rand chuckled nervously and rose back to his feet.

  Merton offered a smile. “Help the men with the weapons and let’s put some distance between us and those who would have our heads.”

  “Thank you. Thank you, Merton. You will not regret this. I swear.”

  “I can make you no promises, this time tomorrow…we could all be dead,” Merton said.

  “Then I will die in good company,” Rand answered.

  6

  They had ridden along the outskirts of Clovis’s army for what seemed like hours, but not once did they see an opportunity to make a break for it. They stopped in the mid-afternoon, for Merton’s son was not settling to the breast anymore, he was hungry, he needed something far more filling than milk. It was difficult having an infant in the ranks and far from ideal, but there was no other choice.

  Wann, Trace, and Vernon had volunteered to be the first to take watch, while the others ate and took the chance to catch up on a little sleep, having had none the night before.

  Merton sat his son on his lap, covering him with his cloak. He fed him mashed up pieces of cold stew that Emma had prepared yesterday. The child had an enormous appetite, much like his father, Emma often teased, but today, Merton did not feel like eating.

  The thought of Stuff getting his disgusting hands on his beautiful little boy was enough to turn his stomach. He would protect him, he told himself, and if he could not, then he would kill the child himself before he let Stuff anywhere near him.

  The boy was always sleepy after his dinner and soon he was lifting his chubby little arms up for Emma, for he wanted to suckle. Merton watched Emma as she changed the boy’s rags and then settled herself back against a tree, baring her breast for his greedy little boy.

  Merton leant his head back against the rough bark of a tree and closed his eyes. There had to be a way to break through…he just needed more time to come up with a solution. He knew everyone was counting on him and usually, he was good at this sort of thing. Usually, he could see a way out of even the most desperate of situations. But not this time. He tried to clear his head, because sometimes when he stopped thinking, the answer would come to him. He concentrated on his breathing and the feel of his heart beating strongly inside his chest, reminding him that he was alive. He listened to the sounds of the forest and the rain as it pattered down around him. His eyelids became heavy and he battled to stay awake…

  AD 500, in the Kingdom of Frank.

  Adèl was pretty, innocent, and everything he was not. He had not meant to use her. He had certainly never meant to hurt her. He had just wanted conversation, a bit of normality, a chance to forget who he really was for a couple of hours. They had spent the evening together, and he slowly felt himself begin to relax. She made him laugh and she was very honest. He liked her.

  Over the following sennight they had seen each other daily and by the second week, they had become lovers. But the affair was only ever intended to be fleeting, and when it was time to move on, Merton did so without a backward glance.

  But then, three months later, she turned up at the camp. He had been surprised to see her, although strangely pleased. Sometimes it was hard to be so alone. Other warriors had wives or mistresses that followed the army…he had no one. He had tried to kiss her in welcome, but she had turned her head away and his lips had grazed her cheek.

  “I know who you are,” she shouted the words at him unexpectedly, as she rubbed where he had kissed her with her hand. A few of the men, who were sitting around the campfires, turned their heads and looked at them. “You lied,” she accused, oblivious to their audience.

  In answer, Merton grabbed her arm and led her towards the privacy of his tent. He would not become gossip for bored soldiers.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you lie?” she asked as soon as they were under the privacy of canvas.

  “I never lied to you,” he said, releasing her arm. “I told you who I was.”

  “You told me your name was Merton and that you were a soldier,” she spat the words at him.

  “All of which is true-”

  “But you conveniently missed off the part that you were in fact, Merton du Lac. Do you really think I would have shared my bed with a demon? For that is what you are,” she angrily performed the sign of the cross. “You
are nothing but a murdering savage. I know what they say about you. I have heard the stories. You kill anyone and anything if the price is right. You rounded up an entire village, put them in a barn and set fire to it. You are a monster. You feed on the flesh of your adversaries and in battle your eyes glow red, showing the world who you really are. You make the crops fail and you curdle the milk.” She glanced at his hands, “You have so much blood on your hands it’s a wonder they are not stained. What made you think you had any right to come into my life?” she was crying now, hysterically so, “and why did you pretend...” She sniffed. “I thought you were someone special, but…you are not…you are-”

  “Why are you here?” Merton asked, instead of defending himself. There was no point trying to argue with hearsay because no one wanted to know the truth. It wasn’t his fault the crops failed and as far as he was aware his eyes never changed colour and as for the eating of the dead — if that is what people thought, then that is what people thought, who was he to disagree with them? The more he was feared, the more he could charge for the use of his men and his sword.

  “Because it is said that you have signed a pact with the devil and I need your help. You owe me this.”

  “A pact with the devil?” he shook his head in disbelief. ”Do you really believe everything you are told?

  “I’m pregnant,” she blurted out. “And I want you to help me get rid of it. And don’t go telling me that it is sinful to kill an unborn child…I know you have done a great deal worse.”

  “You are pregnant?” Merton asked, shocked. “Is it mine?”

  “If it was anyone else’s, I wouldn’t be trying to kill it,” she answered bluntly. “My parents have thrown me out and no one else will have anything more to do with me. They say I am unclean and that the child growing inside me is one of Satan’s own. They threw stones at me, if my Grandfather had not intervened, I would be dead. Please, help me get rid of it. I beg you.”

  “No,” Merton said, his face had lost all signs of colour and he felt sick. He did not want a child. He had no room for a child, but to hear that this woman would rather kill his child than bear it, hurt unbearably. He was sorry for what she had gone through, but he would never do anything to hurt a child of his own. And besides, even if he found a healer who was willing to give her some poison to cleanse her womb, it wouldn’t change the fact that she had lain with him. She would never be able to go home again. He couldn’t change the past, but he could secure her future. “I don’t run from my responsibilities. Adèl,” he stepped closer to her. Cautiously he touched her hand with his, she flinched and his hand dropped away disappointedly. “The stories that are told of me are not all true. I have done horrendous things, I am not going to deny that, but I am an honourable man. Marry me. And I swear I will look after you. I’ll look after you both.”

  Eventually, she had agreed when she realised he would not be swayed. He thought he was doing the right thing by her. But it turned out to be totally the wrong thing for them both.

  He would have welcomed Hell in the months that followed their marriage, for maybe there he would have found some peace. He knew she prayed daily for his death and that of their child. She made no attempt to hide the fact. She did it openly, in front of him. It didn’t bother him so much that she thought his life worthless, he had never thought it was worth much anyway, but it did hurt to think she hated him so much that she would wish his child, their child, harm.

  He tried to make the marriage work, he had even picked her some flowers once, much to the amusement of his men, but she had thrown the flowers in the fire as soon as he had given them to her. He had bought her gifts, things that he could not really afford. He made sure that she was never hungry or cold. He tried to be the perfect husband, but whatever he did, she rebuked him and she never missed an opportunity to tell him how evil he was. She believed every rumour she heard and she would throw these stories at him like poisoned arrows. He tried not to listen, but sometimes her words would hit a mark, and he would have to leave her presence. He knew what he was, but he didn’t need someone constantly reminding him that his soul was beyond saving.

  Then she started hurting herself. She used his knife and cut shallow lines in her arms. He had once had to stop her from plunging his knife into her own stomach. After that incident, he considered it prudent to tie her hands together when he was not about to watch her, which made her hate him all the more, but he was at a loss as to what else he could do.

  Her labour, when it came, was difficult and long. Hilda, Rand’s wife, who was travelling with the army at the time, said she was making hard work of it and that she was her own worst enemy. She was fighting against the contractions rather than working with them. She wouldn’t listen to instructions and oh, how she screamed. Hilda told Merton to brace himself for the worst.

  “I don’t care what happens to her. Just save the child,” Merton had replied to Hilda’s concern. Hilda had looked at him in shock, but by God, by then, he meant every word. Any feelings he may have once felt for her, she had destroyed, and now he hated her as much as she did him.

  The child, a boy, came into the world screaming. When Hilda tried to put the child in Adèl’s arms she had shied away from him and screamed that he was a demon. She had begged Hilda to take the baby outside and drown him and cursed her loudly when she did not.

  Merton had held the screaming little scrap of humanity in his arms and could not understand why his wife did not instantly fall in love with the little man — because he had.

  “You must find a wet nurse,” Hilda had informed him briskly, several hours later. “Or the child will soon be dead.”

  “And where am I going to find one?” Merton asked, panic in his voice. “Have you seen where we are?” he looked around at the boggy, bleak terrain as he spoke. “We are in the middle of nowhere.”

  “We could restrain her, I suppose, make her feed him. But she fears him, Merton. She thinks he is…” Hilda shook her head. She had seen some strange things in her time, but she had never witnessed what she did now with Adèl. She was pretty convinced the woman had been inflicted with some sort of curse, for she was not acting rationally. She was about to suggest that maybe a good beating would cure her of her mysterious disease, but one look at Merton’s face showed her such a suggestion would be unwelcome.

  “What about Emma?” Hilda asked, suddenly struck with inspiration.

  “Emma has just lost her baby, she won’t want-”

  “But her milk hasn’t dried up yet. It is worth asking her. He will die if you do not.”

  “I cannot ask that of her.”

  “Then he will die,” Hilda said softly. “I am sorry, Merton. I don’t know what else to suggest.”

  He held the child throughout the night, wishing they were near a farm or a village. The child cried, the sound small, like a frightened kitten and he knew that he could not watch his son die of starvation. Out of sheer desperation, Merton had approached Eadger and sought his permission to talk to Emma. Eadger shrugged his shoulders and walked away. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at Merton’s son.

  Merton watched his friend walk away from him and he knew he was asking too much, but he didn’t have a choice. His baby was hungry and he was getting weaker by the minute. Not pausing to think, he lifted the tent flap and walked inside. The inside was a mess, so unlike Emma for she always liked everything just so. He saw her in the gloom, curled into a ball, against the canvas wall. He approached her, kneeling down next to her and whispered his request. He had never begged before, but he did so now. Emma said not a word, but slowly she uncurled herself and sat up. She did not look at Merton; instead, she focused on the baby. Merton had never seen so much pain in a woman’s eyes before and he knew what her answer was going to be.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked,” his voice broke on the words. Emma was his last hope. Tucking the blanket more securely around the child, he made to rise, but Emma placed her small, trembling hand on his arm.


  “Please, help him,” Merton begged one more time. “Please…Please. He will die if you do not.”

  With tears silently falling down her face she took the baby from him and bared her breast. Merton had sat back on his heels and breathed out with relief as his son latched on and suckled greedily.

  Adèl had recovered quickly from the birth, but her hate for her husband festered inside her like a terminal disease. She wanted him to die. She wanted the baby to die. But the baby thrived in Emma’s care and she hardly ever saw Merton for he was always where the baby was. Jealousy consumed her. She had given birth to the beast, yet no one came to see how she was doing. The baby had become the darling of the army. But then he would be, the devil always takes care of his own.

  The weeks passed by and Merton stayed away. And with each day that passed her hatred grew and she found herself daydreaming about how she could hurt him. She fantasized about taking his knife and stabbing it into his sinful heart. She would watch the life drain out of him and then songs would be written about her and there would be a special place in heaven set aside for her, for she would have rid the world of the devil. But, she knew she would never get close enough to her husband to hurt him. She could pretend she loved him, she supposed, she could let him touch her. She spent long hours contemplating the perfect seduction, which would ultimately end in his death. However, she could not hide from the fact that the chances of her succeeding in ridding the world of a savage were very slim. He was ten times stronger than she was and he knew what he was doing with a knife. Besides, he would never allow her to get close enough to seduce him, let alone kill him. She would have to think of something else, but it would have to be something indirect that would tear his heart in two. She wanted him damaged, as he had damaged her.