by Carm Nicosi
“My sister went missing from Peggy’s?” Brant questioned, sharply.
"Aye, My Lord," Harold said, nodding in confirmation.
“The Lady Isabel is in the hall. Go get her, and escort her to my Castle, near Kings Worthy. I want you to see that she is safe, and make sure, I do not hear anything about her. How many men are with you?” Brant asked.
“About one hundred, My Lord. I was not sure that, this might not be a trap,” Harold answered.
“Take half of the men with you, to see to her safety,” Brant ordered the Knight.
Then he mounted his destroy, and rode toward the gate. Robert hurried to his horse, and followed.
When he caught up with his old friend, he said, “I do not think that was a very good idea, Brant.”
“I was told I had to see to her safety, until she reaches her majority. I did not hear any orders about how, I was to do that,” Brant said, as he passed through the gate.
Isabel was sitting near the hearth, waiting to talk to her husband, when several men entered, and approached.
“Are you the Lady Isabel?” one of the men asked. She nodded in the affirmative. The man continued, “I am Sir Harold, My Lady. His lordship asked me to get you, and escort you to his Castle, where you will be safe.”
“I need to talk to my husband, before he leaves,” Isabel stated.
“His lordship rode out to talk to the men. His sister has gone missing, so he will likely be riding out immediately, to try to find a lead on her whereabouts,” Harold said. “I am sorry, but you are going to have to talk with him, later. Right now, you will have to come with us, My Lady.”
Realizing there was no point in arguing with this man, Isabel replied, “Very well, Harold. I will need to get a few things together. Oh, and I will need my maid, as well. Give me a few minutes.”
Isabel rose, and went to the stairs. At the top, she called for her maid, Rosamund. When she reached her bedchamber, she quickly scribbled a note, and sent the maid down the back stairs with it. Isabel then placed several changes of clothing, and some grooming items, into a large duffle. When Rosamund returned from her errand, Isabel informed her that “He”, was sending her to one of his Castles. As the maid was going with her, she would have to pack a few things, to take with. With a quick nod of acknowledgement, the serf hurried out of the chamber. The serf returned minutes later, just as Isabel picked up a small wooden box, off the side table, and placed it, along with the contents of a canister, in the hidden pocket of her gown.
“Are we ready to go?” Isabel asked.
At the maid’s affirmative nod, the two women walked toward the stairs down to the hall, where their escort waited.
Outside the Castle walls, Brant stood with several of his men, listening to how Esme had gone to visit her mother, Peggy. The morning after their arrival, the girl and her maid, were missing. From about three hundred feet away, he watched as Harold, and his men, rode out of the Castle gate with two women. One of the females wore a bright yellow gunna, with a similar colored mantle, wrapped over her head, and around her shoulders. The other woman, wore the gray woolen gown of a serf, but had a gray mantle covering her head, as well. As they started off down the road, a large group of men from the meadow rode out to join them. Brant’s focus returned to his missing sister. Peggy was claiming both, lack of knowledge of her daughter’s disappearance, and grave concern for the missing girl.
When the procession on the road, moved out of sight over a hill, Brant mounted his destry, and rode back to the Castle. He entered the hall to retrieve his sword, dagger, and battle ax, that he found laying on the trestle table. He paused briefly, looking to the hearth, in front of which he had “wed” the Lady Isabel, a woman he would not recognize, if he passed her on the road.
A matronly serf entered, distracting him from his thoughts.
“Would ye like a tankard, Me Lord?” The serf asked.
“No, thank-you,” Brant answered. Then he asked, “Where would I find the serf, Alisa?”
“There is not anyone here by that name, Me Lord,” the woman replied. “Mayhap, she was from the village. A lot of the serfs, come up from the village, when it is needed.”
When Brant nodded and said nothing further, the woman continued on her way. On a side table, between a couple of chairs, he noticed a half-full jeweled chalice. As he ran a finger around the rim, his mind was assailed with the memory of the small figure, in a pale green gown, that had stood beside him right here, in front of the friar. Wearing green to your wedding, was supposed to be a prayer for fertility, was it not? Brant let out a hearty laugh, and the sound seemed to echo eerily, through the empty hall.
Hearing a shuffling noise, Brant turned, to see that Robert had followed him in.
“So, now that you are armed, again, do I need to defend myself?” Robert asked.
“I have not decided, yet, how to get vengeance on you,” Brant answered. “When I do, you will know.”
He brushed past his old friend, intent upon going to the village, and Robert turned to follow him.
In the village, Brant sought out the Burgher, to ask about a maid named Alisa, who might live there. He was told there was no one by that name, in the village. In fact, there were only three or four maids of that age, and none of them, looked like the girl he described. Brant got no indication that either, the woman at the castle, or this man, were being dishonest, about not knowing the girl. He realized that though he was free, he might never see the girl, again. Richard, and Isabel, had large land holdings, and Alisa could have been brought here, from any one of them. Brant returned to the meadow where his men waited, feeling an unexpected sense of despair. There was no denying the girl had gotten to him. Was this what a broken heart felt like?
Brant had thought frequently, about gaining his release from the dungeon. He had planned to take the entertaining girl home with him, but now, he could not even find her. He recalled Robert saying, he thought Isabel, might be gaming them all. She was likely, the only person who knew where the girl was. It was not likely, that his wife was going to help him, find the woman he wanted to keep as his mistress.
As the belief that he would not find any trace of Alisa settled in, Brant issued the order to his men, “Mount up, men. I want to go home.”
Chapter 8
It was the beginning of December, and Brant was getting really frustrated. He still had not found any trace of his sister's whereabouts. He had questioned Peggy, who denied any knowledge, of what could have happened to the girl. He did not believe her denials of involvement, and was having her Castle watched for anything suspicious, but so far, there had been nothing. Inquiries to the villages near Peggy's, had not turned up any sightings of Esme, either. Furthermore, he frequently found himself thinking about Alisa, and wondering what had happened to the girl. There was no doubt, the young serf had gotten to him, he missed her terribly. He had taught her well, and now she was who knew where, likely entertaining some one else. The thought of her with another, bothered him, badly. He had wanted to keep her all to himself, which, part of his mind told him made no sense. Alisa had changed him somehow, in the few months he had been held prisoner. Now Cora, the serf who had been his favorite tart here for years, seemed brash, and lewd, even a little repulsive. He was finding himself very short tempered, and had yelled at several serfs. Everyone seemed to be scurrying out of his way, and that was irritating him, too. Always before, he had been very comfortable here, now his home, seemed empty and lonely. Brant found a good amount of his time, was spent wondering where Esme, and Alisa, were. The later, seemed to cross his mind most often.
The only slightly bright spot, was musing about what Isabel thought, of where he had sent her. It was quite out of the way, and with his people closely monitoring her, hopefully, not much better than his prison. They had said she would reach her majority, in June. In six months, he would see if someone came, to relieve him of her care.
"Riders approaching," Brant heard the sentry announce.
; A short while later, Robert and Kate entered the hall, with several other knights. Brant greeted the guests, but largely shied away from, participating in the ensuing conversation. Robert tried several times, to get him talking about one of many battles they had been in, or his youthful misdeeds, unsuccessfully. Finally, he pulled Brant aside, and confronted him.
"What is wrong with you, Brant?" Robert asked. "Everyone says you are grouching, and yelling at everybody. I hear you even yelled at Cora. You always use to find that tart amusing. Although, I never could see why you liked her."
Brant considered his friend's question carefully, before answering truthfully. That he was finding his home to be lonely, and empty. He was frustrated, that there was no word about Esme, despite the large number of people who were looking for leads.
"As for Cora, well she just seems so obscene, after Alisa," Brant replied.
"Who is this Alisa?" Robert asked, recalling Brant had looked for her, at Isabel's Castle.
"While I was being held prisoner, I was frequently visited by a young serf. She kept me from going totally mad. I grew quite fond of her, but when I was released, someone, probably Isabel, had made the girl disappear," Brant said.
"Someone gave you a serf, for your amusement, while you were being held prisoner, by your wife?" Robert questioned, incredulously. "That does not seem like, something Isabel would do. I can ask Richard, if he knows anything about the girl, if you want me to."
"That would likely to be a waste of time," Brant said, dismissing the offer. "She was just a serf, but very different from Cora. More importantly, I can find no trace of Esme. I do not know where she is, who may have her, or even if she is still alive. That is what troubles me most. There has been no demand for anything, in exchange for her return."
Brant did not say that both situations, Esme and Alisa, were a constant reminder of the deep sense of gloom, and helplessness, that had plagued him, during his many days of captivity. He was a knight who had faced death many times without fear, yet, he had known fear, while being held, isolated in that damned cell. His life had been totally in someone else's control. They could have held him indefinitely, until he went stark raving mad.
"Well, you can not allow yourself to give up hope, Brant," Robert said. "There is still reason to think, someone may have her, as long as she has not been found dead. In the mean time, come, can't you try to enjoy the distraction of some company?"
Brant nodded in the affirmative, before the two rejoined the others.
Robert and Kate, had been there for several days, when a messenger arrived, with word from those watching Peggy. The Lady had been observed going to the postern gate, in the middle of the night, where she had met a man. The lookout nearby, believed he had heard the Lady saying, “Tell him he had better come to see me. I want to see my daughter, or I am going to tell Brant”.
Brant determined that he would be riding back with the messenger, to wait for ‘him’, to show up. Although, the early winter weather was not all that inviting, it was a relief, to finally, have some lead on Esme. He was not going to take any chance that this lead might get away. Could he finally, be close to finding his younger sister?
Robert insisted on going along, and with Brant’s mood somewhat lightened, he teased, “You would think with the new bride, you could find better things to do, than sit outside in the cold, waiting to hopefully catch a rat, Robert.”
“You would think, but the bride is with child, and suffering an inclination to wretch at will,” Robert replied, with a laugh.
Brant joined in with his friend's laughter, as the two men left the hall, to get their destries saddled for the ride.
Brant and Robert, had been biding their time, for nearly two days, waiting for any sign of Peggy’s mystery man, in a wooded area, from which they could see the postern door. There were men inside the Castle, who were loyal to Brant, also. He paid their wages, as Peggy could not be bothered, with managing her own property. The weather was quite unpleasant, however getting any information about Esme, was worth the discomfort to Brant. Robert was equally determined to wait this out, because he felt somewhat responsible, for the girl’s plight. Brant might not have allowed Esme to go to her mother's, if he had been at home, rather than a prisoner.
It was quite late at night, when the faint sound of muffled huff beats, alerted them to the approach of two men, who were walking their horses. Near the edge of the woods, one man handed his mount’s reigns to the other, before moving forward, toward the fortress wall. Brant signaled to a couple of the men with him, to move around behind the lone figure, with the horses. The others remained out of sight, until he was quietly, subdued. By that time, the postern gate was opened, and the other man had slipped inside.
Brant, Robert, and their men, ran toward the gate, to block the culprit inside. They had covered most of the approximately two hundred feet, when torches flared inside the castle wall. The mystery man pulled the gate open, to attempt an escape, but seeing his path blocked, he retreated back inside. Drawing his sword, Brant followed him in, cornering him inside the curtain wall.
In the well lighted inner bailey, Brant easily recognized Avery.
“You betrayed me to him,” Avery angrily accused Peggy.
“Nay I did not. I would not. I love you. I just wanted to see my daughter," Peggy shouted.
"He is here, waiting for me. You helped him trap me, you witch," Avery shouted back.
"You promised if I helped you, you would kill him. There he is, kill him,” Peggy yelled, giving Avery a small push toward Brant.
“Shut-up, you stupid slut,” Avery shouted, outraged by her damning comments. "You disgust me."
"I have done everything I could to help you. Where is Esme? You promised you would keep her safe. What have you done with her?" Peggy yelled, in rising hysteria.
“Shut up! I say,” Avery yelled back.
In desperation, to stop her from divulging all she had done to aid him, Avery slashed at her with his drawn sword, cutting a long gash in her neck. The men surrounding them stood frozen in shock, watching as Peggy slowly crumbled to the ground, with blood gushing from the mortal wound.
While the others around him, stood transfixed in horror as Peggy drew her last rasping breaths, Avery turned his rage toward Brant. He swung his sword wildly, as he advanced on his enemy. All the while, continuing his tirade, now aimed Brant.
“She was supposed to be loyal to me, and to help me kill you,” Avery shouted.
With that, he took an enraged hack at Brant’s head, which was easily deflected. There was no way out of this, Avery knew. He would either be killed, or imprisoned. But it would be satisfying, to take his enemy to the grave, with him.
"He was supposed to be on my side, and help me best you," Avery yelled, continuing his verbal assault. “He double-crossed me, and took your damned sister."
In his anger, Avery was leaving himself exposed to Brant’s sword. He could easily have eliminated his enemy. However, he wanted information out of the man. Avery lowered his sword to hack at Brant’s leg. Brant quickly blocked the swing.
“Who took her from you?” Brant asked his furious opponent.
“He told me he sent your sister home to you,” Avery replied, with a bitter laugh. “It looks like he crossed you, too.”
In the background, a child began screaming “mama”, as she tried to run to her mother’s lifeless body.
Avery laughed, in disgust, “Peggy always wanted me to claim that little bastard.”
The disclosure that he was Hannah’s sire was telling for Brant. He always suspected that Peggy was involved in the ambush on his father. He had been certain that Avery or his sire, actually perpetrated the crime. Now Brant knew his suspicions were correct.
Avery took several more incautious hacks at Brant, leaving his torso exposed. He was trying to merely defend, against Avery's aggression, to keep him talking. However, after a few minutes, Brant noticed that Avery seemed to be calming down. He was becoming more focused, on tr
ying to do injury to his opponent. Brant was forced to swing his sword in offense, attempting to injure his angry enemy.
Avery turned, and lunged forward, at about the same time, yelling, “Damn your whole family to hell.”
Unable to quickly alter the direction of the heavy weapon, Brant’s sword plunged deep into Avery’s chest, and he froze in mid motion. His sword dropped to the ground, and Avery slowly sank to his knees, before finally falling sideways, to lay prostrate on the cobbles. Seeing his enemy collapse, Brant moved to his side.
“Who took Esme?” Brant demanded. "Who betrayed you and took Esme? Who?"
But the only sound was the child still screaming “mama.” Avery was dead.
Realizing his enemy would not be answering, Brant rose, wiping the blood from his sword, before sheathing it. He turned to where one of his men, was restraining the screaming child, with one arm around her waist.
“Robert, take a couple of men out, to get the man who was with the horses,” Brant said, offhandedly. Then, he picked up the child, and walked to the hall, consoling her with, “I am Esme’s brother, Brant. She has told me a lot about you. Esme likes to visit you, very much. Do you know that, Hannah?”
By the time Robert entered the hall, Hannah was curled up in Brant's arms, sniffling weakly. The serf who normally helped care for the little girl, could not be found. She, like most of the other serfs, were either hiding, or had slept through, the horrific events of the night. An old woman, who was filling tankards of ale, for the knights who had entered the hall, seemed to be the only one about.
Robert informed Brant, "The one in the woods, is just a youth, and they knocked him out cold."