“Osbert, are you quite well?” Kate asked.
“Aye, me lady,” Osbert replied, but she could tell he was lying. His face was pale and glistened with sweat, and his eyes looked glassy and unfocused.
“I think we’d better take a rest.”
“Thank ye, me lady.”
“Was there sickness in the village?” Kate asked as they made for a copse of trees on the side of the road. Normally, she would have expected Osbert to help her dismount, but given his state, it seemed best to avoid contact.
“Not that I know of, me lady.”
Osbert dismounted awkwardly and slid to the ground, leaning the back of his head against a tree trunk and closing his eyes.
“I’ll get some water,” Kate said, and walked to a shallow stream a few feet away. She knelt, cupped her hands, and drank, then splashed some of the fresh, cool water on her face. It felt pleasant and refreshing after several hours in the saddle. Her bottom hurt and her legs vibrated with tension. It’d been years since she’d spent so many hours on horseback.
She returned to the horses and searched Osbert’s saddlebag for something to carry water to him. He had brought a bundle of food and a skin of ale. Kate decided to pour out the remaining ale and fill the skin with water. Osbert still sat leaning against the tree, his eyes closed and his hands folded in his lap, as though sleeping.
Kate walked back to the stream, rinsed out the skin, and filled it with the cool water. Osbert hadn’t woken by the time she returned. She longed to get going, but the man looked so poorly she decided to give him time to rest. She walked about for a bit to stretch the soreness out of her back and legs. After a few minutes, her anxiety began to mount. She felt exposed and vulnerable. She looked at the position of the sun, judging the time to be well past noon. They had to get going if they hoped to get back to the Grange at a reasonable hour.
“Osbert,” Kate said softly as she took the man by the shoulder. When he didn’t respond, cold fingers of dread clenched her heart. She knew with certainty he was dead. “Osbert!” she cried, but there was no one to hear her save a few birds perched in the tree.
Kate yanked her hand away from the dead man. What was she to do now? It would be the decent thing to bring Osbert home so he could be buried next to his wife, but she couldn’t possibly get him on a horse. It seemed wrong to leave him there by the side of the road, like a dead badger, but she didn’t have a choice. Perhaps her father would send someone for Osbert’s body tomorrow. She rummaged inside the saddlebag, searching for a blanket to cover him, but didn’t find one. She’d have to leave him as he was, and hope the animals didn’t get to him during the night and make a meal of his innards. The thought made her queasy and she turned away.
Kate considered taking the bundle of food and the skin of water, but changed her mind. If Osbert had sickened from something in the village, the food and drink might be tainted. But she had to take Osbert’s horse. Her father would be angry if she left a perfectly good animal. Kate used a fallen log to mount, grabbed Osbert’s horse by the reins, and returned to the road. She could still make it home before dark if she didn’t make any unnecessary stops. With only her rosary for protection, she wished she’d taken Osbert’s dagger. She’d never use it on anyone, but having it might have made her feel a little less vulnerable.
The road was deserted. Kate saw several farmhouses in the distance as she continued toward home, but didn’t come across any travelers. The sky was a cloudless blue, and the sun still rode high in the sky, but the deceptive warmth of the April afternoon began to ebb as evening approached.
She came to a fork in the road and stopped, having no idea which way to go. She’d been this way only once before, when her father escorted her to the convent, and she hadn’t paid much attention—not that there was anything to use as a landmark. It was all woods and fields. She’d passed a small hamlet about an hour since, but just rode right through, not wishing to attract attention to herself. Perhaps she should have stopped. She was hungry and tired, and the horses could have used a rest and bucketful of oats, as well as water. They were ambling along, having been on the road since early morning.
Kate remained at the crossroads for several minutes, trying to decide which way to turn, when she saw a lone rider approaching her. She experienced a moment of panic, but the young man didn’t look threatening despite the sword at his side. He looked disheveled and weary, his doublet covered with rust-colored stains that could only be blood. Kate gripped the reins, but knew she wouldn’t try to flee. She’d never outride the young man. Her horse snorted and pressed its ears back, as though sensing Kate’s anxiety.
“Are you all right, Sister?” he called out. He smiled and his face went from somber to friendly, reassuring her.
“Ah, yes. I’m afraid I’m lost.”
“Where are you headed?”
“I’m headed to the village of Belford,” Kate replied. She didn’t tell the young man that her father owned the village and everything beyond; there was no need for him to know that.
“My master is headed in that direction as well. Perhaps you can travel with us.”
“And where is your master?” Kate asked. The boy looked too bedraggled to serve anyone of consequence.
“He’s just over yonder,” he said, pointing toward a wooded area down the road on the right. “I’m Walter Coombs, squire to Hugh de Rosel.”
“De Rosel?” Kate asked. She was sure she’d heard the name before, but it might have been William de Rosel, not Hugh. And then understanding dawned. “Were you at Towton, Master Coombs?”
The boy nodded miserably. He clearly didn’t wish to speak of what he’d seen and heard. Some squires were permitted on the battlefield, so perhaps he’d even fought alongside his knights.
“Was it horrible?” Kate asked, and Walter nodded again. He looked as if he were about to cry, but managed to get hold of himself.
“I’ve never seen such slaughter, Sister, or such suffering. It was beyond imagining.”
“Was this your first battle?”
“Yes,” Walter whispered. He seemed to rouse himself from his misery and looked purposefully at Kate. “Come with me, Sister. My master needs your help.”
“In what way?” Kate balked, afraid to be alone with a knight and his squire, who’d do nothing to protect her should his master think to harm her.
“My master’s brother is grievously wounded, Sister. He’s dying,” Walter replied. Tears filled his eyes. “Perhaps you can pray for him.”
Kate turned her horse toward the boy and came alongside him. The wounded man needed her, and although she had been mercilessly ripped from her religious life, she could still offer comfort and assistance. Walter seemed relieved that she’d agreed to accompany him and trotted alongside her.
Kate didn’t ask what side the de Rosels had fought for. It made little difference to her. She’d find out once she got home. If she got home. It didn’t look as if she would arrive at the Grange this evening. Her father would be worried, and her mother would be frantic, but there was little Kate could do to put their minds at rest. She hoped that Hugh de Rosel would escort her home once his brother passed, or at least send Walter Coombs to show her the way.
Walter led Kate toward a ruin bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon. It must have been a church once, or more likely a chapel of ease, used by those who couldn’t get to the parish church in the nearest village. All that remained of the one-room structure was dilapidated stone walls, each boasting an arched opening that must have been a window once. Several charred beams were all that was left of the roof, which looked to have burned away. The path that led to the chapel was uneven, roots and grass growing unchecked between the stones.
Three massive horses grazed lazily beneath the still-bare trees, and a wagon was just visible behind the eastern wall. A body wrapped in a cloak lay in the wagon, the feet hanging off the too-short wagon bed. Kate was about to follow Walter toward the arched doorway when a man emerged, hand on swo
rd, eyes blazing.
“Who…?” He instantly dropped his hand and bowed. “I’m sorry, Sister. I didn’t meant to frighten you. I saw a shadow and didn’t know if our visitor was friend or foe. Hugh de Rosel, at your service.”
The man wasn’t very tall, but he was powerfully built and exuded strength and vitality. His light blue eyes crinkled at the corners when he greeted her, but his cordial manner was forced. He must have been around thirty years of age, but at the moment, exhaustion and distress made him look much older.
“I’m sorry I’m too late to be of any help,” Kate said. She assumed Hugh de Rosel’s brother had passed while Walter was away, and Hugh had waited for his squire to return before turning for home.
“You’re not, Sister,” Hugh replied, following her gaze. “My older brother, Baron de Rosel, died at the Battle of Towton. My younger brother was badly wounded. I would be most grateful if you would administer the sacraments to him before he passes. It would ease my mind to know that he died shriven.”
Kate nodded. She wasn’t qualified to administer last rites, but in situations where no priest could be found, any pious and God-fearing Catholic could step in. And this ruin had been a church once, so the dying man rested on sacred ground.
Kate made her way into the chapel. The man lay on a coarse blanket spread over the stone floor of the nave. His eyes were closed, and his skin had a greenish-gray tint, even in the golden light streaming through the empty windows. His black hair was matted and damp, and his dark stubble contrasted with his sickly pallor. The dirty rag that had been used to bandage his arm was soaked with blood and pus, and a terrible odor wafted from the wound.
“The wound’s festered,” Hugh de Rosel explained unnecessarily.
“Have you done anything to treat it?”
Hugh shook his head. “We bandaged it the best we could. We should have remained at the battle site. Someone might have been able to help Guy, but I wanted to get William home,” he explained. “A body won’t keep long, and my brother must be buried at home. He deserves that much. I thought Guy would pull through. He was coherent after the battle, but his condition has worsened in the days since.”
Kate bent over the dying man and touched his forehead. He was hot to the touch and his skin felt papery and dry. He opened his eyes for just a moment and looked at her, but his eyes, a deeper blue than his brother’s, were unfocused, and Kate was sure he didn’t really see her. She unbound the filthy bandage and looked at the wound. The skin was sliced cleanly, most likely with a blade, but the wound was oozing blood and gore, and the arm was grotesquely swollen and burning hot.
“Do you have any honey?” Kate instantly felt foolish for asking. Of course they didn’t, but maybe Walter could procure some before nightfall.
“No. I sent Walter to the village to get us some food. We’ve barely eaten since the battle. Guy hasn’t had anything other than some wine.”
“I got some mead,” Walter piped in. “It’s made with honey.”
“Do you have a clean cloth?” Another foolish question. The men were filthy and didn’t have anything with them save their armor, which she’d seen next to the corpse in the cart outside.
Kate exhaled audibly. She had clean cloth, but taking off her veil meant exposure. As long as she was decently covered, Hugh de Rosel saw her as a nun, but as soon as she took off her veil, she would become a woman—a woman alone with two strange men. But she couldn’t allow Guy de Rosel to suffer, so she unwound her veil and tore it into several strips.
Both Hugh and Walter stared at her, their faces instantly transforming from expressions of reverence to obvious male interest. Kate kept her hair shoulder length, since it was uncomfortable to wear pinned-up plaits beneath the veil, but it was freshly washed and fell about her face in all its auburn glory.
She ignored the men and dipped a piece of fabric in the upturned helmet filled with water. She began to wash Guy’s face. The cool water would hopefully revive him long enough to administer last rites. Guy moaned, but didn’t open his eyes again.
“Give me some mead,” Kate said to Walter, who was hovering just behind her. She cleaned the affected area with water and then dabbed a generous amount of mead onto the wound. Honey was often used to combat corruption, so she hoped that the alcohol content mixed with the honey’s healing properties might help, although she was fairly sure the man was too far gone. He had the same sickly look Osbert had had just before he died.
“He took a mace to the head,” Hugh said. “The helmet saved him from certain death, but he isn’t right in the head,” he added sadly. “He spoke normally enough just after the battle, but then he seemed to go barmy and started talking pure guff. He said something about falling backward into a river of blood and turning to stone.”
Kate nodded. The poor man was better off dead, but she fervently believed in the sanctity of life and would do everything in her power to help him. She pulled open one heavy eyelid. The blue eye stared back, unseeing. Guy de Rosel was beyond reach, but he’d opened his eyes before, and he might again.
“Sister, please, you must administer the sacraments while there’s still time,” Hugh pleaded as he leaned over her shoulder. He smelled of sweat, blood, and damp wool, but his bearing was that of a nobleman, even under the circumstances. Kate briefly wondered about the de Rosels’ background. Hugh had referred to his brother as Ghee, but he was clearly English, his pronunciation clear and crisp, without any trace of a French accent.
Kate was about to explain that the sacraments could not be administered to a man who was not conscious to confess his sins or receive communion. She could, however, administer Last Unction and anoint the dying man with whatever was to hand. It would ease Hugh, but Guy de Rosel would not be fully shriven if he died. Perhaps this wasn’t the time to mention this.
“Would you have any oil?” she asked.
Hugh shook his head. “Use the mead. It’s the only thing we have.”
Kate nodded and began. Both Hugh and Walter stood by Guy’s side, their heads bowed as Kate anointed Guy’s head with mead and prayed. He did not wake up.
“You both look exhausted. Perhaps you should rest,” Kate suggested. “I will keep watch over him.”
“We’ll eat first. Please, share our meal, Sister.” Hugh gestured toward the food Walter had brought back with him.
Kate gratefully accepted some bread and cheese. She hadn’t eaten since she broke her fast at the priory that morning and she was famished. They drank water instead of the mead, which Kate was saving for Guy’s wound, should he live through the night. The meal was a silent one since no one felt much like talking with Guy fighting for his life only a foot away.
As soon as they finished eating, Hugh folded up his cloak to use as a pillow and went to sleep, but Walter went outside. He planned to sleep by the cart, his sword at the ready should anyone try to help themselves to the armor or anything of value on Baron de Rosel’s body. Kate felt sorry for the boy, but understood the necessity. And it was Walter’s duty as a squire to look after the armor of his lords.
Kate positioned herself close to Guy, pulled up her knees, wrapped her arms around her legs, and rested her back against the wall, sitting in that position until the sun went down and the little chapel grew completely dark. She was tired, and shivered in the cold despite her woolen cloak. She looked up, staring past the charred beams at the sky above. It was vast, the stars and half-moon obscured by thick clouds. Kate hoped it wouldn’t rain since there was nothing to shelter them inside the ruined chapel. She pulled the cloak tighter about her body and snuggled deeper into its folds, all set to keep her vigil.
She glanced at Hugh’s silent form, thankful that he hadn’t asked her any questions about herself or her family. He must be too tired and worried about his brother to wonder what a young nun was doing alone on the road to Belford, and she hadn’t volunteered any information. A lie would sit heavily on her conscience, but she had no wish to tell him who she was, as he’d instantly realize that her
relations fought for the opposing side.
Chapter 11
During the night, the sky cleared and the wind that moved stealthily through the trees died down. The clouds parted like heavy drapes, allowing Kate a breathtaking view of the starlit sky. Moonlight streamed into the roofless chapel, painting the walls in a silvery hue.
Guy de Rosel had settled into an uneasy sleep, his eyes moving rapidly beneath his eyelids. He moved his head from side to side, as if trying to escape the grip of nightmares, but the fever had a hold on him and wouldn’t set him free, one way or the other.
Kate dabbed his brow with her damp veil and tried to get him to take a drink, but the water just ran down his chin instead of entering his mouth. She pulled out her rosary and resumed her seat. Her lips moved in silent prayer as her fingers moved from one smooth amber bead to the next. She prayed for Guy, who was in such agony, and for Osbert, for whom it was already too late. And she prayed for Hugh, who’d lost one brother and would most likely lose the other before long.
Kate fell asleep eventually, and woke as the gray light of dawn crept into the ruin. A dewy coolness had settled over the stones and what was left of the wood. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill.
A few more weeks and summer would be upon them, that brief, glorious season of sunshine and warmth. She’d spent the last two summers at the priory, working from dawn till dusk, with breaks only for meals and prayer. She’d enjoyed working in the vegetable garden and picking fruit in early autumn since the chores gave her a chance to spend some time outdoors. What would she do with all the empty hours of the day once she was back at home? Well-bred ladies didn’t work in the garden or spend days pickling and stewing fruit and vegetables for the coming winter. Ladies sat in their solars, applying themselves to endless needlework and idle chatter, reluctant to step out into the sunshine for fear of ruining their milky complexions.
The Forsaken (Echoes from the Past Book 4) Page 6