“Your steward, Robert,” I say, “he mentioned a fort nearby. Said you had some guns there.”
“Yes. An old keep, out toward Maldon. The earl wanted to fortify it when the plague started. But things…everything happened too quickly.”
“Is it still defensible? Could you move your family and some of the villagers there?”
Sir Thomas leans back in his seat and breathes out deeply. “Yes. I could move my family there. Repair the fortifications and keep them safe behind its walls. We would have a lovely prison. The demons could take our lands, and we could be their songbirds, living in a stone cage until we cease to chirp.” He shakes his head. “Danbury is our home. And I won’t be driven from it. I only want my people to have faith in me. I need something to give them hope.”
He drains his cup and sets it on the table, then nudges the base of it absently with one finger. “Perhaps I could bring knights here. Warriors whose very presence signifies safety and protection.”
I sit up. Thomas is finally revealing his intent..
“The knights wouldn’t have to work,” he says. “They could live comfortably here, have rooms in the manor. Eat all the food they want. We have plenty of women in Danbury. All I would ask of them is that they make their presence known to the villagers. And that they help me keep the village free from plague.”
“These knights,” Tristan says. “They would live on your manor like prize cocks, chained to Danbury until they ceased to chirp?”
“Tristan.” I give him a look.
“No, Edward. Sir Thomas has a fully defensible fortress nearby, but he ignores it because he doesn’t want to leave his magnolias behind. The world has changed, Thomas. We have seen thousands packed into priory courtyards and castle baileys. And this keep of yours sits empty.”
Sir Thomas leans forward and drives his forefinger into the table. “Do you see plague here, Tristan? Have you seen a single blighter in Danbury since you arrived? This village is an oasis. It is the Garden of Eden. And I will not let evil claim it.”
“The Garden of Eden is under siege, Thomas.” Tristan leans back and crosses his arms. “And when someone besieges you, you fall back to your fortress.”
“But why fall back when there is no enemy in sight?” Sir Thomas’s voice rises. “Why leave the Garden of Eden when no one has thrown you out? Danbury is my fortress. And I need help defending it. Will you or will you not help me?”
“No, I bloody won’t help you,” Tristan says, his voice rising too. “You’re mad if you think plague won’t come to Danbury. Those things out there will get hungrier. And they will find your oasis. And they won’t just throw you out of Eden. They will pluck out your hearts and gnaw on them like apples.”
“And you, Edward,” Thomas says. “Do you think Danbury will fall?”
I sigh. Tristan may not have been tactful, but he has spoken my thoughts. “Yes,” I say. “You have been kind to us, Sir Thomas, and I am thankful for it. But I won’t lie. The plaguers will come. And when they do, you had best be in that fortress.”
Sir Thomas rubs his finger in a drop of wine that has spattered upon the table. He doesn’t speak for a long time. And when he finally does, his voice is barely louder than a whisper. “If none of you will help, then perhaps it is best if you left at first — ”
“I will help you,” Morgan says.
I stare at him. Tristan scoffs. “Morgan, you gave your oath to Sir Edward. Are you going to break that oath?”
“No,” Morgan says. “But I am going to help Sir Thomas. Eden is worth fighting for.”
“One man won’t make a difference here,” I say. “Not even a hundred men can defend this village.”
“You are right,” Morgan says. “But perhaps one woman can.”
He places something on the table with a clack. Tristan laughs. I take a deep breath.
“The Virgin Mary can defend this village,” Morgan says.
The church bells toll endlessly and the villagers trickle by twos and threes onto the village green. Joseph and Robert Bailey set lanterns upon posts in the grass and these lights strike glints from the villagers’ wide eyes. Women hold their children close. Men carry cudgels or knives and send glances into the darkness beyond Danbury. They don’t know why they are here, and they fear the worst.
Sir Thomas stands on a stump and smiles as the villagers gather. He couldn’t wait until morning. I suppose he doesn’t want to risk another exodus in the black of night. The church bells cease their tolling. Sir Thomas waits for the echoes to fade before addressing his people.
“Starting this evening, Danbury is under God’s protection.” He holds up one of the phials of Mary’s blood. “The Blessed Virgin will keep us from the plague.”
He waits for the murmurs to subside, then tells them about the phials. The villagers soak it all in. Some cross themselves as he speaks. Others weep. Some fall to their knees and raise clasped hands toward the heavens.
“Danbury is safe!” Thomas shouts. “We are safe!”
I listen to the peasants cheer. Watch them hug one another. Watch the men raise their fists in the air. Some don’t seem convinced, but they are in the minority.
Tristan stands beside me with the blonde, Lilly, on his arm. “You traded a fully barded warhorse for those phials, Morgan. And now you’re going to just give them away?”
“We got a lot more than Mary’s blood, Tristan.”
“Oh yes. You also got some poor dead man’s tiny tarse. I still don’t know why you would just give those phials away. You would have sold your own mother for those things.”
“Our Lord Jesus Christ preached that we should love our neighbor as we love ourselves,” Morgan says. “But you wouldn’t understand that. You have no respect for the words of Christ.”
“Morgan, you have it wrong,” Tristan says. “I have tremendous respect for Christ. I think religion is a wonderful idea. I wish I could have as much faith in Christ as you do, as much faith in anything as you do. But I have talked to people of very deep faith and I have talked to lunatics. And sometimes I have trouble telling them apart.”
“Then I pity you, Tristan.”
I know why Morgan gave away the phials. He has taken the words of Christ too literally; he has fallen in love with his neighbor. He told me of his feelings for Matilda after Sir Thomas left the great hall to summon the villagers.
“When did you know you were in love with Elizabeth?” Morgan had asked.
“The moment I looked upon her,” I replied.
My marriage to Elizabeth had been an arranged one. She brought wealth, and estates in Bodiam and Hollington. I brought my own wealth and estates to the marriage, and my connections to King Richard and the earl of Arundel. We were two threads in a tapestry of family obligation. I expected a life of courtesy and mutual dedication to our roles, but my expectations unraveled the moment I saw her. She smiled her impish smile and shrugged, then disarmed me for life with her first words: “You’ll do.”
Morgan stands beside Matilda and gazes at her. He has found his Elizabeth.
Joseph, Sir Thomas’s reeve, herds the villagers into a line, and Thomas gives each of them one drop from a phial.
“You will be free of plague for at least two weeks,” Sir Thomas shouts. “And if anyone is bitten after that, another drop of the Virgin’s blood will drive the demons out.”
There are one hundred and eighteen villagers left in Danbury. We estimated that each phial holds thirty drops, and Morgan gave Sir Thomas five of the six phials. This means that there is one drop of Mary’s blood for every villager, and the fifth phial can remain sealed for future use.
Morgan draws the sixth phial from his pouch as Sir Thomas anoints each of his villagers. He holds the phial out to Matilda.
“Keep it safe,” he tells her. “And promise me you will stay in Danbury until I return from St. Edmund’s Bury.”
She takes the phial with trembling hands and gives him a smile that seems to light her face. “I can do all things th
rough him that strengthens me.” I’m not certain if she is referring to God or Morgan. I turn away before Morgan can respond with his own verse.
The villagers step forward to the stump, one by one, and open their mouths. Sir Thomas taps a single drop onto their tongues. Many of his people say “Amen” out of habit, even though this isn’t the Eucharist.
For the villagers of Danbury, Mary’s blood offers more hope than any fortress or band of knights ever could. It doesn’t matter if the blood does what is claimed. They believe that it will. And that is enough.
Sir Thomas steps down from the stump and joins us after the last of the gathered villagers is given their dose. He got what he needed, and he repays us with what we need. He leads us to another chamber in his manor house, an armory, and he chooses a selection of items from the racks therein. A sword. A poleax. Three suits of chain mail. Three daggers. And a breastplate and helmet each for Morgan and Tristan. Then he takes us to the kitchens and orders the servants to prepare a sack of dried meats for our journey.
“The Lord brought you to Danbury to save my family and my people,” Thomas says. “I pray that he looks out for you in your travels.”
“He has, and I trust he will continue to,” I say, and I mean it. I think of all the horrors that have confronted us on our journey and I know that we have had help. Someone has cared for us. Someone has guided us through the insanity of the last few days. I say a silent prayer of thanks to St. Giles, the patron saint of madness.
Tristan holds up his poleax. “This is a fine weapon,” he says. “But I was hoping for a little bit of God’s Love.”
It takes me a moment to realize that he is talking about the ten-shot hand cannon in the gun room. I can’t tell if Sir Thomas understands, because he completely ignores the question, as he has ignored Tristan since our conversation in the great hall.
“Thomas,” I say. “Promise me that you will fall back to the fortress when the plague finally comes to Danbury.”
Sir Thomas shrugs. “This is Eden. God and the Virgin Mary will keep the plague at bay.”
I scratch at my neck and hold my tongue, but I know Thomas is wrong. Not even God could keep the serpent out of the Garden. And five phials of Mary’s blood won’t keep Satan out of Danbury.
Chapter 26
I sleep well that night until just before first light, when the pounding starts. The clamor catches me in a dream. I am with Elizabeth again, but I have committed a great crime and justice has come for me. At first, the pounding on my door is that of soldiers come to take me from her.
But it is not soldiers that pry me from Elizabeth, it is Tristan. His blows shake the oaken door and his cries hold a note of terror that wrenches me from sleep. I leap naked from the bed and throw open the great iron-hinged slab of oak. Tristan — also naked — is spattered with blood and reeks of honey mead.
He runs inside, slams the door shut and replaces the long beam of wood that bars it. He tugs on the latch to ensure that no one can get in, then falls back against the door, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His eyes are red and crusted with sleep.
“Plaguers got into the village.” His voice is loud and unsteady. “They’re everywhere. They got Lilly.”
“Lilly?” I remember Tristan disappearing with her before I retired to my chamber.
“Yes. She has plagued.” He breathes erratically and rubs at his face, smearing blood across his cheek. I have rarely seen Tristan in a state such as this. He shakes his head. “I told you that peddler was a fraud.”
I grab Tristan’s chin and force him to look at me. “Tell me what happened.”
He nods and struggles to control his breathing. “I…I slept in Lilly’s chamber last night.” He takes a deep breath. “Morgan told me not to. He said God would punish me. Brimstone and all that. But I did it anyway. We fell asleep late and when I woke up, Lilly was standing by the washbasin and the door was open. I…” His eyes grow distant and his mouth twists with horror at the memory. “I was so tired. I walked to her and put my hand on her shoulder. And I…I kissed her neck…Christ almighty, Edward, I kissed her neck!”
I see where this is heading.
“She turned to me,” he says. “And her eyes…she was…She growled at me, like… …like a cornered badger.” He runs a hand across his forehead. “She must have woken early and left the room. And something…one of those things…”
“Tristan,” I say. “How is that possible? Are you saying the plaguers got into the manor?”
“Yes! They are all over the manor. I…I had to…Lilly…she came at me…” His breathing speeds up again. “She’s gone now.” He takes several deep breaths. “Afterward, I looked out the window, and the afflicted were everywhere. Hundreds of them. It must be that pack from the willow.”
I am already donning my trousers. “Morgan is downstairs. We need to fetch him.” I gesture toward the two piles of armor and weapons on the floor; I stored them in my room for safety. Tristan lifts a padded gambeson and thrusts his arms and head into it. He’ll have to wear the mail with no trousers.
When we are armed and armored, we remove the bar and yank the door open. Tristan holds the poleax high over his shoulder as I peer out into the hallway. I see Joseph, the reeve, shuffling toward us. The morning light reflects from his eyes and I see no whites. He snarls as he lumbers toward me. I back into the room and Tristan drives the spike of his poleax deep into Joseph’s skull. The reeve twitches, then topples awkwardly. Blood leaks from his shattered skull and pools swiftly across the floor.
We walk cautiously into the hallway. A woman — from the kitchen staff, by the look of her apron — crouches by the open stairs, feeding upon a man whom I can’t identify. She hisses, then stands and runs at us. Red boils pepper her face and neck. I hold my sword in two hands and swing sideways, slicing through her neck and spraying the hallway with blood. She tumbles to the ground. Her head bounces and rolls along the wooden floor until it comes to rest against a wall.
“You fool.” Tristan’s smile has returned. “Who’s going to cook now? You need to think things through more carefully, Ed.”
I peer over the carved wood railing, down to the foyer, and see blood smeared across the floor. Someone screams in the distance.
I shout for Morgan as we run down the broad wooden steps. The seeds of a horrifying thought bud in my mind. I pause on the stairwell. “Tristan, you said that Lilly was plagued when you woke up?”
“Yes.” He smiles again. “And I thought waking up next to Emma Corbin was as bad as it would ever get.”
It is nice to see that his humor is back, but I am certain what I say next will drive it from him again. “How could Lilly have plagued so quickly? It takes hours for humans, doesn’t it?”
“She probably…” He trails off and frowns. “She must have woken very early.”
Shuffling footsteps echo below us. One of the servants lurches across the limestone floor of the foyer. It is the fat one who carried the swan pastries to us when we first arrived at the manor. She walks with hunched shoulders; her head lolls to one side.
I look into Tristan’s eyes. “So Lilly walked outside the chamber, got bitten, escaped her assailant, then returned to the bedchamber? You are saying that Lilly waited in the chamber without waking you until she turned?”
“No…Well, maybe she…”
“Was she bleeding when you found her? Was she bit?”
As Tristan thinks about this, the kitchen servant spots us and staggers toward the stairs. I run down the last few steps and kick her in the chest. She falls backward, sprawling on the floor in a mass of jiggling flesh. I crush her neck with my boot.
“I don’t recall her bleeding, now that I think on it.” There is no humor in his face. I know he is entertaining the same thoughts that I am, now. And I know he is fighting that conclusion just as hard. “Maybe some blood splashed onto her. From the willow.”
“Maybe,” I say. But it has been more than twelve hours since the willow. Too long for t
he affliction to set in. And Tristan’s reasoning doesn’t explain the other plaguers in the manor and outside.
I study Tristan and think about how he spent his night. And another dark thought comes to me. So dark that it quickens my breath. I look at him closely.
“What?” Tristan asks.
“Nothing,” I reply. “Let’s find Morgan.”
I run along the carpeted long gallery, leaping over the body of Ralf the burgher, until I reach Morgan’s chamber. The door is open. No one is inside. “God’s blood.” I tear the blankets from the bed to make sure he is not there. Tristan enters the room slowly. Beneath the visor, his eyes have a distant look to them. He is no doubt coming to the same realization that I had moments before.
“Ed, do you think…Do you think she was plagued already? When…when I was with her?” His voice sounds small and uncertain in the helmet. I think about David Lords and his brothel of plaguers.
“No,” I say. “I think you’re right about the willow. I think she probably got blood in her mouth or her eye. Maybe it takes longer to plague when you aren’t bit.”
“Yes,” Tristan says. “Maybe.” But his eyes are still distant.
I run back along the gallery, the new mail scrishing against my breastplate, and I open the towering front door of the manor a crack. My gasp echoes in the great helm.
Satan has come to Eden.
Plaguers shamble past the manor house. Scores of them. And there are many more in the distance. They lurch among the fields and cottages. A scattering of Sheep lie dead in the manor’s fold, and dozens more of them bleat and huddle against the fence. Plaguers feed upon carcasses and fall upon the living lambs. There are many of them, but they are not numerous enough to be the ones from the willow.
I recognize many of them. Too many. I saw these plaguers last night on the village green. I watched them take one drop each of what they thought was the blood of the Virgin Mary. They trusted it would protect them. But whatever was in those phials has done the opposite.
The Scourge (Kindle Serial) Page 14