by E. M. Powell
Yet to go to sleep with appetite replete, knowing her children were satisfied too, and not having to worry how they would be fed the next day, meant a huge burden lifted from her. Tom just missed his father, she was sure of it. As did she. With every moment, she yearned to see Benedict, to talk to him. To sit quietly with him before their hearth at the end of a long day. He had promised her he would return. And he had never failed her yet. She had to keep her faith, her hope, in him, though it grew harder by the day. She hurried on.
She could see the empty branches of the tree from far back along the path. She continued anyway, with a faint, impossible hope that perhaps a signal hung there and she simply couldn’t see it in the gloom.
Wait. The trunk had marks.
Theodosia hastened forward. It was not the usual signal. It could not be, for she had the linen square in her belt pouch. She stepped into the wide, moss-floored gap in the trees. Her hand went to her mouth to stifle her cry of horror.
Dead birds lay in neat heaps on the ground. The hues in their plumage showed them to be no flock: the greys of woodpigeons mixed with a crow’s ebony and the brown and white of tiny sparrows. But pestilence had not killed them. No.
Theodosia stepped forward on legs that had suddenly lost all strength.
Each small body had been cracked open and the chests were empty.
The deepening darkness seemed robbed of air.
She went closer to the tree, understanding now what marked the tree trunk. What had been ripped from inside the little bodies smeared it, with the flutter of soft downy breast feathers caught in the gore.
Bile rose in her throat. She stood bolt upright, fighting for control. But it was not only the message tree. Several others were marked in the same way.
Lord Ordell had declared sorcery and evil were afoot. His words rang true. The horror before her could be the work of nothing else. She had to leave this place. At once. What had come for the birds might be coming for her next.
Home—she had to get home. Theodosia fled through the shadowed woods, chest searing, every shadow a figure crouched to grab her. She had to tell Joan. Pray God she would know what to do!
She broke from the nightmare of the dark trees and onto the quiet of the village streets.
Sweet wood smoke from the village hearths hung thick in the air. A whistle piped a faint tune from one cottage, a baby wailed from another. Everyone had closed in for the night, with no soul abroad, no one to hear her running steps as she crossed the bridge to her home.
‘Joan. I must speak with you at once.’ She could hardly get the words out as she burst in through the front door.
Joan put a finger to her lips. ‘The children are asleep.’ Her expression shifted to concern as she took in Theodosia’s panicked state. ‘What’s wrong? Has something happened to Benedict?’
‘No. I do not know. Please. Come outside.’ Still trying to catch her breath, Theodosia beckoned to her.
Joan complied, stepping out with her into the near-complete darkness.
Theodosia checked to make sure they were unobserved.
‘What is it?’ asked Joan. ‘You look ready to faint.’
‘Lower your voice. I do not want to attract anyone’s attention.’
‘Well, you certainly have mine.’ Joan did as asked. ‘What’s going on?’
‘The woods.’ Theodosia gulped. ‘I went for a walk. As I do. To try to catch sight of Benedict coming home.’ She uttered a quick silent prayer for the lie that verged on the truth.
Joan gave a brief smile. ‘I know you do. Though I fear it’s a waste of your time, sister.’
‘I know, and I feel so foolish. But this evening—oh, dear God, this evening.’ Her breath came fast again.
‘Have you been attacked?’ Joan’s voice hardened. ‘Set upon?’
‘No. I saw no one. But I saw the work of the devil, I swear it.’ She crossed herself. ‘Birds. Dead birds. So many. Their hearts had been cut out of their bodies and . . . and crushed upon the trees.’ She swallowed hard. The grotesque sight still remained clear in her mind. ‘I only thank God that Tom and Matilde were not with me. It would have scarred them both to see such sights.’
‘As it would any sane person.’ Joan stared at her. ‘Who would carry out such a vile act?’
‘I do not know. There was no one there. At least I do not think so. I could not see very well in the darkness.’ Theodosia lowered her voice still further. ‘And I feared somebody might come upon me.’
‘You were right to flee. If such a man is abroad in the woods, you too could’ve been in mortal danger.’
‘I did not run for that reason. I ran because I could not afford to be found there,’ said Theodosia. ‘Lord Ordell and his wife already suspect me of sorcery.’
‘They would see sorcery at the end of their own noses. But you’re right to take off. Women are often accused of all kinds of wrongdoing where a man would be above suspicion. And it won’t be long before the sight is seen by another.’ She put a hand to Theodosia’s arm and patted it in comfort. ‘Fear not. We’ll keep this between us.’
‘And what of he who has done it? What else might he commit?’
‘Until he is found, we’ll make sure we can defend ourselves.’ Joan tweaked her apron aside to reveal a knife stuck into her knotted belt. ‘I have used one of these before on my journey here. I would do so again.’
‘As Benedict has done.’ And so had she. But with a much, much bigger blade. And never again. Never. Theodosia shook her head. ‘I could not.’
Joan gave an impatient click. ‘Not even if your children were in jeopardy? I can understand if it were only birds—’ She stopped dead and clutched hard at Theodosia. ‘Birds. We still have a couple of eggs, a few broken eggshells in a bucket.’
Theodosia’s stomach lurched. She never would have remembered.
‘We can’t have those used against us,’ said Joan. ‘Wait here. I’ll fetch them.’ She darted inside with a quiet step.
Theodosia tipped her head back and offered a silent prayer of thanks. Us? Joan’s kind pretence that the bitter-souled lord would spread blame touched her. Yet she knew he would be only too happy to heap it on Theodosia alone.
Joan reappeared, bucket in hand. ‘You keep watch while I bury these.’
Theodosia gave a grateful nod, and Joan set to her deft, quiet work. Yet Joan could not cover up the savagery she had seen.
Evil stalked her world.
‘How does your enemy taste, Stanton?’
The feasting folk in the great hall at Woodstock laughed and cheered and clapped at Geoffrey’s taunt of the young messenger.
Sat at table on the dais, Palmer too raised a smile and a much-drained goblet at the shame-faced Stanton sitting below him.
The hall was crowded full, as the chapel had been. But instead of the quiet of worship, the high-ceilinged, high-arched room echoed with music and talk and feasting and drinking. Light from scores of candles lit the deep reds, blues, greens and golds that coloured the walls and ceiling, and added to the heat from the huge fireplace. The rich scent of roast boar still hung in the air.
His instruction to join the high table had surprised Palmer. More surprising, that he’d been seated alongside Geoffrey, with Rosamund beside him to his right. Any of the fine-clothed nobles who made up the table would spit their fine wine out if they realised they shared their position with a man who worked a plough and lived in a poor cottage.
Palmer helped himself to another strip of fatty crackling from the remains of the boar’s carcass before him. Salty and savoury, it couldn’t be further from his usual fare of bland vegetable pottage. He wished to his boots he could bring a bag of it home, see Tom’s face as he tried such a treat for the first time. Enjoy Theodosia’s pride that he could provide so well.
To hell with the nobles and their finery. He’d swap their wealth f
or what he had any day. In the meantime, he’d help himself to more of their good wine. Much more.
Geoffrey hit the table top with his fist. ‘Pray, silence!’
The room quietened.
‘I trust you’ve all enjoyed the rewards of the day’s hunt?’
Loud cheers broke out.
‘God save Geoffrey!’
‘Huzzah, huzzah!’
Geoffrey waved the room back to silence. ‘It was not the purpose of our riding out today. And I don’t need to tell Hugo Stanton that.’
A fresh wave of laughter broke over Stanton. A lardy man at his table made two tusks with a couple of chewed bones and jabbed at him to more mirth.
The messenger clouted him away.
Geoffrey smiled. ‘I have found animal tracks and fresh blood several miles away.’
Found them, did you? When I bloody showed them to you. Palmer emptied his goblet again and signalled for more. The wine did a fine job of dulling the pain from his head wound. Helped take the edge off his irritation at the King’s son too.
Geoffrey went on. ‘They are definitely from the leopard.’ He gave a proud smile. ‘My faithful Talbot stood watch over them until I came upon him.’ He handed a large bone down to his tired-looking, muddy dog. ‘The leopard must be wounded badly enough to die soon. Scaled down patrols will continue to search for its body.’
Another round of cheers greeted his words, as did the sound of large crunching from the floor. His smile broadened.
Then Palmer heard his own name in the cheers.
‘Sir Benedict has finished it off !’
‘He fought it with his hands, by God!’
‘And saved the life of the lady Rosamund!’
‘Hail, Sir Benedict Palmer!’
Geoffrey’s smile dropped, and he received the cheers with a set jaw.
Palmer raised a hand in acknowledgment, a grin breaking through from the wine.
Rosamund leaned forward, the curve of her high breasts clear in the pale silk of her tightly laced gown. She raised her own goblet to Palmer. ‘Hail, indeed.’ She drank deep, hazel eyes wide over the rim of the gold goblet. ‘I gave my favour to the right man, did I not?’
‘Thank you, my lady.’ Palmer tried and failed to keep his gaze firmly on her face. ‘It was my duty. Nothing else.’
At the edge of his sight, he noted Geoffrey drank too, but with a look that he supped sour milk.
‘Carole!’ A drunken shout to start the dance came from the hall.
Geoffrey snapped his fingers.
The minstrels reacted immediately, swooping into a fast, stamping rhythm. Revellers left their seats to form a long, snaking line of handholding pairs.
Rosamund set down her goblet, her lips moist and red from the wine. ‘And when the creature’s body is found, I shall ask his Grace for a cloak to be fashioned from its fur. What do you think, Benedict?’
‘I’m sure his Grace will grant your wish.’ Palmer nodded and hauled his attention from her to the dancers.
‘Let me lead!’ An unsteady man pushed his way to the front, holding a giggling woman by the hand.
The man set the chain of dancers in motion. Their feet stamped loud and fast on the stone floor. The couple at the back of the chain grasped the man and his wife, turning the chain into a laughing, spinning circle. The dance ended on a final stamp and applause.
Rosamund clapped hard and turned to him. ‘Benedict, I demand that you dance with me now. In celebration of our victory over the beast.’ She stood up to fresh cheers from the floor of the hall.
Though Palmer would rather plunk her back in her chair as he had sat her on the tree trunk in the forest, he got to his feet. He had to. His head buzzed from wine, but he knew every eye rested on him. Especially Geoffrey’s. The other nobles at the high table rose for her too.
Palmer stepped from the high table platform and turned to help her down. ‘My lady.’ He bowed in swaying courtesy as he took her hand. They stepped forward as one, taking rapid double steps to lead the dance.
Couples fell in behind them, and voices rose in loud song.
‘I like to think of the day that I will have the fur warm on my skin,’ murmured Rosamund, ‘as I like to think of you on my skin too.’
‘Unwise to think such things.’ Palmer’s hand dropped to her small waist to spin her round. ‘Thoughts.’ Faith, the wine made him blather.
Her loose gold hair fanned out wide. He spun her back to him, and she closed on his chest with a delighted shriek. Her scent met his nostrils: roses and fine oils and the sweetness that was her skin.
‘I don’t care.’ Her body moved against his in time to the music.
His groin tightened. Forcurse the woman. Forcurse the wine, more like.
The spread of her smile told him she felt him. ‘And I believe you share those thoughts.’
Thoughts he’d have acted on in a heartbeat before. Palmer took three quick steps forward, lifting her along with him. Before Theodosia. He spun Rosamund round once, twice. Did so many times. Thrice. But no more.
The dance ended on a shout and another stamp, and she landed into his arms again.
No more. Theodosia had his heart now. Palmer parted from Rosamund with a firm bow, applauding hard with the other dancers. He bowed again and went to lead her back to her seat. ‘If you’ll pardon me, my skull troubles me from the animal’s strike.’
‘But I want to dance on.’
‘Then fortune smiles.’ Palmer waved a hand to one of the other nobles, the man clearly delighted at the chance. ‘It seems this gentleman would be honoured, my lady.’
Rosamund accepted the man’s hand with an unhappy pout.
Palmer gave a last courtly bow and went back to his seat as the next loud, fast dance started. He took his seat next to Geoffrey and called for more wine.
‘I wonder about you, Palmer.’
‘Oh?’ Palmer focused on the dance floor, willing his drunken, foolish loins to cool.
Stanton had managed to get in the mix of dancers to snag Rosamund.
‘About your “feet that be swift in running to mischief.” ’
The odd remark made him look at the King’s son.
‘It’s from the Bible, Palmer. One of the deadly sins.’
Palmer drank again. ‘My sins are my own business.’
‘Not if they include wrongful desires.’ Geoffrey kept his tone low, tight. ‘Desires that include the King’s mistress.’
‘Any desires I have do not include the lady Rosamund.’ The truth. Though her flesh had called clear to him, knave that he was.
‘That would not appear to be how she sees it. She seeks you out, time and again.’
‘I have no interest in her.’
‘A young man like you’—Geoffrey pushed his point—‘free to follow your lust. And yet the most beautiful young woman in the King’s court has no effect on you?’
Palmer shrugged and drank. ‘Perhaps I have different desires.’
Geoffrey snorted. ‘Not for other men, I hope. I would have to dispatch you to hell myself.’
Palmer ignored the clumsy goad.
‘My father has had many mistresses,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Including my mother. They catch his interest briefly, and then he is on to another.’ He drank. ‘As used whores go, you could do worse than Rosamund Clifford. I’m sure the King will seek out a man willing to take her on when he tires of her.’ Geoffrey leaned towards Palmer and pinned him with a look. ‘But until Henry frees her, you will stay away from her. Understand?’
‘Every word.’ Some practices of court life made him sick to his stomach. He could never be part of this. ‘I tell you, she is not for me.’ He grinned at Geoffrey, keen to goad back. ‘But maybe you warn me off because you want her for yourself ?’
‘I am a bishop, Palmer. I have set women asid
e.’ He scowled at the bottom of his drained glass. ‘The King’s very generous reward for the bastard son of his whore.’
Palmer didn’t reply as Rosamund came back to her seat. Her face was flushed from her dancing, and her pulse jumped in the pale skin of her bare neck. He rose quickly as she sat down close to him.
The hall quietened.
A troubadour dressed in flowing robes of green and yellow stood next to the minstrels. ‘I have a new song, specially composed for the lady Rosamund at the King’s request.’ The man picked up an ornate lyre. The opening notes rang stately and measured; then his voice rose in song: ‘A beauteous bird brought dawn to the night, her delicate wing and bright eye did delight.’
Rosamund lowered her eyelids in false modesty, keeping her gaze on Palmer beneath her long lashes.
Palmer didn’t care. He usually favoured a good spoken tale to fancy singing. But the man’s song brought Theodosia to mind as clearly as if she stood before him.
The troubadour sang on. A proud eagle appeared, falling in love with the songbird, winning her heart with powerful, soaring flight before carrying her off for his own.
Rosamund pursed her lips and nodded her appreciation.
‘And the heart of the eagle was lost in love. Blessings to both showered down from above.’
The song finished, and the singer bowed to loud applause and whistles.
Palmer clapped and blew sharp reports between finger and thumb. The man had brought back every battle Palmer had fought for his Theodosia.
Rosamund applauded too, but with a frown creasing her brow as she stared at Palmer. Using the cover of the noise, she whispered so only he could catch her words. ‘Benedict, I wish to thank you properly for saving my life. Come to my room later. I have paid the guards to look the other way.’
Palmer clapped on.
Rosamund’s mouth tightened along with her jewelled fingers as she clutched his arm. ‘Come,’ she whispered. ‘You must come.’