by Mary Yarde
The clean water turned a murky red, and she recalled seeing the blood run from Merton’s body. He was probably dead by now. She wondered if maybe he would be united with their daughter in the afterlife, or if he was now loitering in purgatory with no hope of salvation. She screwed the cloth up tight in her hands and willed herself not to cry.
“At least let me look and see what damage I have caused,” Philippe said mournfully. He was standing in the doorway looking like a sorrowful puppy that had just had an accident on the floor. “I’ll send for the healer. I’ll…I would never intentionally hurt you. You have to believe that. You shouldn’t have-”
“Got in the way of your whip?” Josephine turned abruptly back around to face him. “If I had not seen it with my own eyes…if I had not felt it with my body…I would never have believed you capable of such an atrocity.”
“It was an accident.” He crossed the room and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You know I love you. And now, we can marry and be together, forever. This is a happy day for us.”
Josephine felt the anger rise in her at his words. “Carolyn, leave us,” she commanded. The maid bobbed a curtsey and silently left the room.
As soon as Carolyn had shut the door behind her, Josephine turned on him. “You think I would consent to marry you,” her voice trembled as she spoke, “after all of this?” She took a step back away from him.
“You don’t understand,” Philippe said, as his hands dropped to his side.
“No, I don’t understand. I will never understand what happened here today. I thought I knew you, but now…”
“Everything I have done, I did for us, for you,” Philippe said, taking her by the shoulders again, desperate for her to understand the depths of his love for her. “I wanted to repay Merton for all the pain he caused you. It was the only way I could make him understand. He isn’t like us. He has no concept of right or wrong. He deserves to die. And I will not apologise for wanting his death to be as painful as possible. I know that Brianna was his. I know what he did to you. I wanted to avenge you.”
“Avenge me?” Josephine scoffed. “Brianna is dead. How is torturing her father going to bring her back?” she shook her head in disgust. “You did not lash him because of me. You lashed him because it made you feel powerful.”
“You are a woman; you cannot possibly understand, so do not try to. Leave such things to us men and swear to me, you will never do something so reckless ever again. Your actions today will come back to haunt me in the future. I stopped the beating because of you. You undermined my authority in front of everybody. You made me appear weak.”
“Oh, believe me, you were doing an excellent job of that on your own.”
“I am your king, how dare you speak to me in such a manner.”
“If you are a king, then start acting like one.”
His eyes blazed with anger, and he raised his hand as if to strike her, but then he remembered himself and his hand fell back to her shoulders.
“You are still in love with him, aren’t you?” Philippe asked, with sudden realisation. “That is why you are so upset. You love that bastard. Tell me you don’t love him. Tell me…” He gave her a little shake when she didn’t answer. “Answer me, damn you.”
“I do not love Merton du Lac,” Josephine stated, raising her eyes to his.
“Good, because he doesn’t love you. He is in love with Amandine. We found her in his bed, wearing very little. It does not take much imagination to guess what the two of them had been doing,” he smirked.
“They are lovers?” Josephine asked, her eyes wide with shock and then she remembered seeing him leave Amandine’s chamber. She had not thought anything of it then, but now…
“Much more than lovers. He sacrificed his life for her. Do you think he would have done the same for you?”
Josephine gasped in disbelief. “I don’t believe you,” she said, but Merton had called her Amandine when he proclaimed his love.
“Do you know what they do to an adulteress?” Philippe continued conversationally. “Hmm? No? Well, I’ll tell you. At best, Amandine will have her head shaved, and she will be paraded around the kingdom. She will be leered at, and things will be thrown at her. At best, she will be marked as a sinful woman. She will have both her ears and her nose cut off. At worst, she will be sentenced to death. Drowning, I believe is the preferred method of dealing with such a hideous sin, although, in Rome, they tend to lean towards stoning. That is what happens when you give your heart to Merton du Lac.”
“Then she deserves everything that is coming to her,” Josephine replied bitterly. How dare he? How dare Merton love Amandine and not her. She would make him suffer for such a betrayal. She felt a cloak of blackness descend upon her, and all she could think about was revenge. She would make Merton suffer. She would make Amandine suffer. She would make them all suffer. “I look forward to seeing her punishment.”
Philippe frowned down at her. He had been expecting Josephine to plead for her friend’s life, instead, her words and the way she said them caused the hair on the back of his neck to rise.
“Then I shall give you the knife, and you can carry out the punishment yourself.” He watched as Josephine’s eyes seemed to glitter with excitement at the thought. He let go of her shoulders and backed away from her, suddenly uncomfortable being in the same room as her.
“When shall we do it?” Josephine asked, eagerly. She would show Amandine the consequences of loving Merton. Merton was hers. He had always been hers. She would be damned if she let anyone else have him. If Josephine had known that Amandine was his lover then she would have let the soldiers do what they wanted with her. Hell, she would have stood back and watched. Encouraged them. How dare he. How dare he fall in love with someone that wasn’t her. She would cut off Amandine’s nose and then she would plunge her knife into Amandine’s stomach, where her womb lay. She would kill any child made from their coupling. She would make Amandine pay for her trespasses.
“I have a mind to let her live,” Philippe said cautiously as he edged closer to the door.
“And why would you do that? She is a traitor and a whore.”
“She was bewitched by a demon. She didn’t know what she was doing,” Philippe said. “She will be baptised with holy water. Her soul will be cleansed.”
“The only way to cleanse her soul is to purge her with fire.”
“What is the matter with you? She was your friend. Is this jealousy I hear in your voice? Are you jealous because Merton loved her and not you?” He opened the door. “I thought you were over him, but that was a lie. You will always be in love with Merton du Lac. But know this, he never loved you. Do you know what he accused you of today? He accused you of getting him drunk and seducing him. I didn’t believe him. But looking at you now, I know he was telling the truth. You will do anything to make him yours, wouldn’t you? Know this Josephine…he doesn’t want you. He never wanted you. He does not love you and he never will.”
She didn’t answer but stood where she was and glowered at him.
“Amandine is now under my protection. I will personally see to her care, and if you threaten her in any way, shape, or form, it will be you that has the nose taken off your face. Do I make myself clear?”
“You are taken in by a beautiful face. Has Amandine seduced you too?” Josephine asked spitefully.
“I pity you, Josephine, I really do. I would have made you my Queen,” he sighed deeply. “But now that I have seen your true colours, I withdraw my proposal.” He left her then, closing the door with a resounding bang.
Josephine did not move for several long minutes as she thought about what her next course of action should be. Philippe had made an enemy this day. She would be Queen of Brittany. It was her destiny. It was her duty. She smiled as a plan formed in her mind. Inspired, she reached for parchment and ink.
42
“ALDEN!”
Alden could hear Budic’s voice calling him, but it seemed so far away, so distant. It
had almost a dream-like quality to it, faint, unsubstantial, unimportant. If it had been anyone else who called his name, he might well have roused himself enough to take notice, but as it was Budic’s voice, he chose to ignore it.
“ALDEN. For God’s sake man, WAKE UP.”
Alden heard the desperation in Budic’s voice, and he knew there was a reason to be concerned, but he could not recall why. All he knew was that his head hurt something awful, and unconsciousness seemed so much more appealing than reality. Less pain for one, and it meant he did not have to listen to Budic, for another.
“Alden.” Budic’s voice roused him again. “Wake up. You are closer to Merton than I am. I cannot reach him. You have to stop the bleeding. Wake up.”
Alden willed his eyes to open. “Merton?” he mumbled his brother’s name. Yes, something had happened to Merton…what was it? The dungeons were dimly lit, a flaming torch, that hung on a rusty sconce, gave a little light. He groaned his brother’s name again and closed his eyes. Sleep. Sleep was what he needed. Everything else could wait. Merton would still be here in the morning. He could deal with whatever trouble his younger brother had got himself into then.
“ALDEN,” Budic yelled.
“Stop shouting,” Alden mumbled, his head felt like someone had hit it with a mallet…a mallet? He recalled, very visually, something about a mallet. This didn’t feel like a dream anymore. Unwelcome memories of his last moment of consciousness came flooding back, and he forced his eyes to open.
“What the hell did that bastard hit me with?” Alden asked as he screwed up his eyes against the pain in his head.
“A wall,” Budic supplied helpfully. “I thought he had killed you for a moment.”
“How long have I been out?” Alden sat up carefully. The pain in his head turned his stomach, and he willed himself not to be sick.
“Not long. Can you reach him?”
Alden looked around the dungeon, his eyes falling on a bundle of bloody rags, lying prone on the dungeon floor.
“Merton?” Fear for his brother overrode the pain in his head. “Is he alive?”
“I don’t know. He hasn’t said a word since they dumped him here. Can you reach him?” Budic asked again.
“I’ll try.” Alden rose to his knees. The room spun, and he could not hold back the sickness any longer. He emptied what little contents were left in his stomach, which did nothing to make him feel any better and instead emphasises the pain in his head. He slumped forwards, trying to catch his breath.
“Alden.”
“Give me a minute,” Alden said.
“He may not have a minute.”
Alden, who hardly ever swore, did so now. He felt like all his limbs were leaded, and every movement he made brought on more nausea. He turned his head to where Merton lay. Was ever there such a distance? He took a deep breath and crawled forward on his knees. His hands were still tied together, and the wounds on his wrists felt like someone had taken a red-hot poker to them. The rope, which the soldier had helpfully tied to the wall again, grew taut and would give no more. This was just another form of torture, Alden realised. His brother was so near and yet; he could not reach him. Alden strained feebly at the rope, but to no reward. His strength was depleted, he felt as weak as an old man upon the deathbed.
“I can’t reach him,” Alden said, collapsing back down onto the floor. “Merton?”
“He can’t hear you,” Budic said. “Did you know he was having an affair with our brother’s widow?”
“What did they do to him?” Alden asked, instead of answering Budic’s question.
“Bastian smashed his sword arm with a mallet, and then Philippe lashed him.”
Alden closed his eyes for a moment. He had slept through Merton’s torture, and he felt relief that he had, for he did not think he could have stomached it. “Merton spared Bastion’s life, why could he not repay him in kind?” The dungeon was too dark to see Merton clearly, but he could smell blood. Merton was going to bleed to death, and there was nothing he could do about it.
“Merton should have killed Bastian when he had the chance. Or better still, killed himself — but no one ever listens to me, do they? The stupid bastard looked to you yet again, and this is what happens.”
Alden did not have the energy to fight with Budic. Not now, not in this moment. Seeing Merton like this and not being able to help was one of his most sacred fears. He stared at Merton, willing his eyes to see any movement. But Merton lay as still as the dead. Alden could not even tell if he was breathing.
“Philippe said Merton needed to be purified. He said that the devil had corrupted his body. Pius hypocrite.” Budic’s voice held none of its usual arrogance.
“There is no devil in him,” Alden whispered the words under his breath. “The devil is in me.” If it had not been for him then Merton would have journeyed on an altogether different path, he would have had a different life, and now it was too late. Too late for Merton. Too late for him. He hung his head in shame. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he always seemed to fail those he loved the most. Just a few days ago the future had seemed — for the first time in a long time — secure. Bright. He had dared to hope. But now there was nothing. He would not see his beloved wife or children again. He wouldn’t see the baby that Annis carried in her stomach. And he would never get to see Merton’s face — in this life at least — when he told him the wonderful news. What use was a mine full of silver now? The initial excitement that Alden had felt when he learned that the mine at Madron, in the far west of Cerniw, had found silver, was now overshadowed with the knowledge that for them at least, it had come too late.
“And the people chose him over me,” Budic snorted in anger to himself. “He will bring a plague on to my kingdom. He has brought a plague,” Budic corrected himself. “And when I find out who is behind this, I swear…” He growled low in his throat. “I was surprised by Bastian’s treachery, but I never thought he would…twice, he brought that mallet down on Merton’s arm twice.” Budic spat on the ground beside him.
“Merton,” Alden tried one more time to reach out to his brother, but the ropes gave no mercy. “Why didn’t Philippe just kill him?” Alden’s voice was desperate as he strained against the rope again.
“Who says he hasn’t?” Budic returned.
The sound of the door opening at the top of the stairs stopped the conversation.
“Prepare yourself,” Budic murmured. “This day hasn’t ended yet.”
A moment late the door to their cell opened, and light flooded the room. A man stepped into the cell, his coarse robes brushing the filth on the floor. In his arms, he carried a torch and a large wicker basket, which he immediately set down next to Merton’s seemingly lifeless body.
“Can you hold this?” The man turned his attention to Alden as he held out the torch.
“Sampson?” Budic said, recognising the young monk. “Why are you here?”
Alden took the light from the boy. Sampson did not answer Budic. Instead, he bent over Merton’s body.
“Is he dead?” Alden asked, his voice catching on the words.
“He is close,” Sampson replied as he extended his right hand over Merton’s head. “deus, Pater misericordiárum, qui per mortem et resurrectiónem Fílii sui mundum sibi reconciliávit et Spíritum Sanctum effúdit in remissiónem peccatórum, per ministérium Ecclésiæ indulgéntiam tibi tríbuat et pacem et ego te absólvo a peccátis tuis in nómine Patris et Fílii et Spíritus Sancti.” Sampson hummed the words in a way only those from a religious order can.
“NO,” Samson said with force, snatching his hand away. “You are not going to die. God has plans for you. I am sure of it.” Sampson took out a cloth from his basket and laid it on the floor. He then took out the instruments of a healer and put them on the cloth.
“I feared this…” Sampson turned to Alden as he spoke. “My Lord, if your brother is to have any chance of survival then I need to take his arm. I am sorry, but it cannot be mend
ed. The damage is too severe. But even if I take it, I cannot promise that he will survive…” His words faded away as he set to work. He tied a piece of cloth tightly around the top of Merton’s shattered arm and then gave a brief prayer to God for guidance.
“I will burn the wound shut and maybe that way we will be able to avoid a fever. ”
“No,” Alden said, surprising both the monk and Budic.
“What do you mean, no?” Budic demanded to know.
“I mean, no,” Alden said, and this time his voice was more forceful. “Let him die. I’ll not have you save him so Philippe can torture him again. I won’t allow that.”
“Philippe won’t torture him again,” Bastian said as he entered the cell carrying two battle-axes, whose blades were glowing red-hot. He knelt down next to Sampson. “I thought you might be needing these,” he looked at the glowing blades as he spoke.
“Yes,” Sampson stated with relief, for this would save precious time that Merton didn’t have.
“Get away from him. Don’t you dare touch him,” Budic shouted, straining against the ropes that held him. “You bastard. Look what you have done. Look-”
“I know what I have done,” Bastian returned tight-lipped. He raised his head so he could look in the eyes of his once King. “I know. And I am trying to atone. Do you think I wanted this? I thought Philippe would wait…I didn’t expect him to…”
“What? Take my throne without any casualties? Without any loss of life? You of all people can not pretend naivety.”
“Untie me,” Alden said, holding out his hands, they did not have the time to debate about Bastian’s wrongs. No man is perfect — that is what his father used to say. Although if his father were alive, then Alden was pretty sure that Bastian would now be a corpse.
Bastian hesitated for a moment. If he were Alden, then he would seek revenge.
“This is not an easy task, my Lord, the more hands, the better, and those blades will soon grow cold if we do not get them back under that flame,” Sampson urged.
“Bastian, let me help. He is my brother. I am more concerned with saving his life than taking yours.”