3 The Outlaw's Tale

by Frazer, Margaret

  “You come of good family?”

  “Good enough they wanted to see no more of me after I’d disgraced them. And seen no more of me they have. I was a stupid boy and I did stupid things, and have maybe grown only marginally wiser with the years. But yes, I come of good family. Good enough I’d be no disgrace to Margdalen.” He broke off with a groan as Frevisse pressed the now-folded towel hard over the wound.

  “I have to stop the bleeding altogether,” she said. “If it goes on, you will die.”

  Evan jerked his head in acknowledgment but did not try to speak. There was only the burble of the stream and a dripping from leaves around them as Frevisse tightened the strip of his hosen holding the towel over the wound.

  When she finished his face was gray as clay. She let him lie quietly a few moments. How much truth was in what Evan had said about himself? He clearly had better than a peasant’s manners or speech about him. So maybe there was some truth to his claim of better birth.

  But whether there was or not, it was not her concern. She was out here, at risk of her reputation, because Magdalen had asked her help; and having once begun to give it, Frevisse found she could not stint it.

  She said, “You’ll never make it so far as Nicholas’ camp. And by now Master Payne probably has all the countryside roused to hunt you as Colfoot’s murderer.”

  “I didn’t kill him.”

  Frevisse let that go unanswered. Instead she said, “No one is likely to come this way soon. It’s nearly time for supper, and their minds will be more on that than you just now. You can lie safely among the downed trees rather than crawl back into your hole and risk loosening the bandage. I’ll come back for you.”

  Evan raised his face from his hands to look at her disbelievingly. “You can’t come back! You’ve risked too much already. Tell Magdalen I’m all right, that the wound is nothing. Tell her…”

  Frevisse gripped his shoulder. “You haven’t a prayer of going far enough to be clear of the hue and cry. You move much at all with that wound and it will open again and you’ll be dead by dawn and whether they hang you up at the crossroads or not, Magdalen’s heart will grieve her to her grave.”

  Wincing a little under the force of both her grip and her words, Evan nodded.

  Unrelenting, Frevisse went on. “Then listen to me. I don’t think you killed Colfoot. But Master Payne very desperately wants us to believe you did. We must keep you alive and clear you or no one will ever look for the true murderer. We can’t keep you alive out here.” Not with more rain coming. Not without shelter and warmth and food.

  “If Nicholas knew, he’d come for me.”

  “I’ve no way to send him word. Do you?”

  “No.”

  “Then that’s no help. For now, let me help you back among the trees.”

  Evan took the pain and effort of moving in grim silence. But when he was lying among the trees on the slanted fall of bank, hidden well enough for now, he said, “This is odd repayment for the trouble I brought you into with Nicholas.”

  Frevisse had not thought of it as payment or repayment. She hesitated, surprised, then answered, “You said you were a stupid boy. Let’s suppose that I’m a stupid woman, and so here I am. Stay alive until I come for you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The heavy overcast would bring early dark, hopefully at supper time when all the household would be gathered in the hall and kitchen. That would be her best chance for bringing Evan into the house. She already knew where she would hide him, but in the meanwhile there was the rest of the afternoon to go through, her own muddy dress to be explained, and Sister Emma to be considered.

  Her dress was no problem. “I slipped in a muddy place and fell,” she said, first to the servant Lovie, meeting her as she came in the door, and then to Sister Emma, awake and upright in the bed. Bess wanted to have the dress off her, to clean again; Frevisse, aware that she was only going to dirty it again, insisted a simple brushing would be enough for now. Bess did not press her, but Sister Emma, interrupted only by her frequent coughing, chattered on about how inconvenient it was to become ill while traveling and wasn’t it a wonder none of her family had come yet to visit her and…

  But it was for another reason Frevisse asked Bess if there were any more of Mistress Payne’s poppy syrup to hand.

  To deliberately drug Sister Emma insensible was a desperate measure. Frevisse tried to convince herself that if everything were carefully explained to her, Sister Emma would hold her tongue. But when Bess brought the drink of poppy syrup mixed in warm, spiced wine, Frevisse took it and set it by the bed. “Here’s your medicine, sister. No, wait. Shall we say Vespers first?”

  “Oh, no. Let me take it now. Never put off till tomorrow what can be done today. This cough wakes me, you know, every time I’m almost asleep. No, I’ll have the medicine. The drink will stop my coughing for Vespers, and when we’ve finished I can sleep.”

  Frevisse gave her the drink. Sister Emma drank deeply and with enjoyment. Then they crossed themselves and began Vespers’ opening antiphon. “Deus, in adjutorium meum intende.” O God, come to my aid; make haste, O Lord, to help me.

  The office was brief but Sister Emma was asleep well before the final psalm. Frevisse, rising from her knees, turned to find Bess waiting behind her and said, “Find out where everyone is and how long they’re likely to be there.”

  Bess looked at her with barely held curiosity but only said, “Yes, my lady,” and left.

  When she was gone, Frevisse carefully smoothed the blankets over Sister Emma and drew the bed curtains. Then there was nothing left to do but pace the room with her own thoughts, go to the window to watch the gray evening thicken toward darkness, and listen for Bess’s return.

  By the time she came, Frevisse had begun to sicken with worry. She tucked her hands up her sleeves to hide their trembling as Bess entered, a little breathless with haste, carrying three suppers on a tray. “I had to wait to bring this,” she explained. “I said you wanted to stay with Sister Emma and had asked me to keep company with you, but I couldn’t think why I shouldn’t wait to bring this back. That’s what took so long. Everyone’s going into supper now, except Adam is keeping watch on Magdalen in the solar.”

  Then everyone was safe enough out of the way for a while. Frevisse prayed to God it would be for long enough.

  “Bess, there’s something we have to do.”

  * * * * *

  It had the elements of a nightmare. The silent escape from the house into the glooming twilight. Finding the way back through the orchard and along the stream. And always the fear that Evan would not be there.

  But he was, though chilled, damp, so stiffened he could hardly rise even with their help, and barely able to hobble when they had him on his feet. The return to the house seemed to go on forever, with the danger that supper would end before they reached there. Or that Evan’s strength would give out and they would be unable to carry him.

  They reached the back door at last, unseen so far as they knew and with Evan still on his feet. Leaving him sagged against the wall, Frevisse cautiously opened the door to the screens passage, listening for every sound until she could see there was no one there. Subdued talk from the hall told her supper still went on; but anyone might pass at any time – from the kitchen with another course, or from the hall with empty dishes. Tense with fear and the desire for haste where there could be no haste, she and Bess brought Evan into the passage and to the shadows at the foot of the stairway.

  His strength was nearly gone by then. He fell forward onto his hands and knees on the steps, Frevisse grabbing him under the arm only at the last instant to break his fall and stop him from landing noisily.

  “You have to go up,” she whispered, pulling on him. “We can’t carry you. You must go up.”

  He did, with agonizing slowness, Frevisse beside him – she seemed to be perpetually helping someone up these stairs – Bess behind, pushing as best she could. Near the top they paused to listen, but there
was no sound.

  “The door,” Frevisse gasped. Evan was leaning nearly his full weight against her now; she could do nothing more than hold him. Bess squeezed past them to open Magdalen’s door, shivering with her own nervousness, then came to Evan’s other side to help bring him in. Hardly believing they had done it, Frevisse ordered, “Close it,” but Bess already was doing so, gasping out a thankful prayer that echoed Frevisse’s silent one, as that slight barrier closed between them and immediate danger.

  “The truckle bed,” Frevisse said. “The one along the wall.”

  Because the great bed stood so high, the truckle bed on its far side was hidden from the door. Unless someone walked well into the room, anyone lying there would be unseen. And if there was no way to prevent someone coming in, the truckle bed with Evan on it could be shoved under again. So long as he was quiet, he would have some degree of safety, at least for a little while.

  Together, she and Bess lowered him onto the bed, ignoring what his filthy, bloody clothing would do to the sheets. Evan lay back, unable to hold in a heavy groan as finally he let his body go limp. Bess went to light a lamp. When she brought it back to hold over the bed, Frevisse finally saw him clearly and was appalled by his pallor, the gray around his shut eyes. He had lost far too much blood. He needed food, but more than that, he needed liquids. And the strength to drink them. A strength she was not sure he had.

  Praying silently for God’s help and mercy, she managed wine in him first, holding the cup to his lips and encouraging him to drink. She hoped that wine did a wound as much good from the inside as it did from the outside. At least it brought a trace of color back to his face, and she said to Bess, “Bring me the ale from the supper tray, and Sister Emma’s broth.”

  With her help Evan drank the ale, but when she tried to spoon some of the broth into him, he turned his head away with a groan.

  “Hush!” Frevisse whispered fervently. “You’ll be heard!” She regretted that she had given all the poppy syrup to Sister Emma. And she did not know what they could do for bandages; blood was soaking through her makeshift one. But that could wait a little while; she had to keep Evan from slipping into death from sheer weakness.

  “Eat,” she hissed at him. “Magdalen doesn’t want to find you dead beside her bed. Eat this.”

  She forced the spoon against his teeth and he roused enough to make the effort. A little of the broth went down him, and a little more.

  When there was more color in his face – not much but better than the deathly gray he had had at first – she turned to his wound. Rather than disturb it by taking off the soaked towel, she folded another and put it on top of the other. She was only half finished tying it in place when the door latch rattled. Panic and her heart leaped into Frevisse’s throat. She and Bess sprang to their feet, looking frantically for something they could do to seem natural and yet keep themselves between the bed and the door.

  But Jack barely glanced at them as he came in and held the door wide for Magdalen to enter.

  “I’ll be outside all night,” he said to her, a little shame-faced but definite. “You know you’re not to leave. I’d have to stop you, and tell Master Payne if you try.”

  With her quiet dignity, Magdalen said, “I know. He made it very plain. I won’t give you any trouble.”

  “That’s all right then,” Jack said. He ducked his head at Frevisse. “You can come and go as you choose, of course, my lady.”

  “Thank you,” Frevisse said, forcing a smile, her voice only a little strained.

  “Well, then,” said Jack. He found he had nothing else to say under the unwavering regard of three women and retreated, shutting the door behind him.

  “Oh, my lady!” Bess burst out, hurrying toward Magdalen, who held up a hand to ward her off.

  “If you’re kind, I’ll begin to cry, and once I do, I won’t be able to stop,” she said. Then her gaze fell toward Bess’ feet. Her eyes widened and she looked sharply toward Frevisse’s. “You’re both all muddy. How did you come to be all muddy?”

  “Magdalen–“ Frevisse began warningly.

  But Magdalen had been running the narrow ridge between hope and despair for too many hours. Her control was finally breaking. Keeping her voice low, she demanded in pain, “Did you find him? Is he alive? Where is he?”

  Frevisse moved toward her, ready to cover her mouth if she cried out any louder. “He’s here. He’s hurt just as you thought but he’s…”

  Magdalen was now far enough into the room to see past Frevisse to the truckle bed. With a great indrawn breath, she rushed to fall on her knees beside him in the narrow space between bed and wall. He lifted a hand to her weakly. She grasped it in both her own and bent over him, speaking too low for anyone but him to hear, but looking between laughter and tears with gladness and fear.

  Evan raised his other hand to stroke his fingers gently from her forehead down her cheek. “It’s only slight,” he said softly. “It will mend.” Magdalen buried her face between his neck and shoulder; he slid his arm around her shoulders, holding her as best he could.

  Frevisse let them have their moment, then said, “The wound needs to be cleaned. He needs to be gotten out of those filthy clothes and warmed and fed. Can you help us do that?”

  “Yes,” Magdalen said fervently. “Yes.” She straightened, wiping tears from her eyes. “There’s food here. Good. And there’s a shirt of Edward’s I was mending that he can wear. And we can use the linen I have for a new underdress for bandages. Bess, warm me as much more water as we have and there’s ointment among my medicines in that chest over there.” With Evan in her care and her worst fear lessened, she was her confident self again. “Dame Frevisse, I know this isn’t work for you. Will you pray for us while I do it?”

  Frevisse forbore to say that the bandage on Evan’s thigh was her doing and that she had helped Dame Claire tend to hurt men from the village more than once. She simply nodded and went to sit on a stool near the door. Better that even for this little while Magdalen be too busy to think about how much in danger they all were, and most especially Evan.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Bess was as deeply asleep as Sister Emma, and all sounds through the house except the rain against the window had stopped a while ago. Frevisse had no way to know the hour, except that it was late, or very early, but sleep was not come yet to her or Magdalen; and now that Evan had roused from one his brief rests they were talking close together over things that had to be said.

  They had put out all lights in the room but a single low-burning lamp near the foot of the bed where Bess slept. With food and Magdalen’s care, Evan had recovered strength enough to lie propped up against his pillows. He was clean now, and cleanly clad in Edward’s shirt; the lamplight gave a golden color to his face, and almost he might have looked well. But he lay with the sunken stillness of the very ill, and Magdalen sitting beside him never let loose his hand, as if afraid she would lose him if she did.

  And very well she might, whether she held on to him or not.

  Frevisse thought that if the wound did not infect he would heal well enough. He required only time. But he would never have that time if he were found here.

  “If there were some way to convince Oliver that Evan is innocent,” Magdalen said. “Or if we could smuggle him out of the house, now that his wound is tended.”

  Frevisse doubted Magdalen believed any more than she did in the chance of persuading her brother to spare Evan once he laid hands on him. Oliver Payne’s fury had been too deep, his determination too certain. As for spiriting Evan away, only driven necessity and good luck had enabled them to bring him here. They could not depend on those again. And even if they could, any movement would risk re-opening the wound, and Evan could not lose much more blood and live.

  “If there were some way Nicholas could know what had happened, he might come for me,” Evan said.

  “And convince Master Payne to free you?” Frevisse asked quellingly. “Does he even know you’re one of Ni
cholas’ men?”

  Magdalen made a small, quickly-checked movement, as Evan answered, “No. It seemed better that Nicholas be the only one of us Payne knew. That way I could keep some watch on what was toward with Payne’s own concerns without him knowing I mattered.”

  Softly, urgently, Magdalen said, “Dame Frevisse, you know what Evan is?”

  Startled, Frevisse realized she had assumed Magdalen was innocent of what Evan was; and apparently Magdalen had assumed the same of her. “You know?” she echoed.

  Magdalen laughed quietly. “That he’s an outlaw? Yes. That his family cast him off for a foolishness he readily admits, and that he was a peddler and then fell in with outlaws and is their spy? Yes. He told me all that when we first began to be in love.”

  Pain from deeper than his outward wound showed in Evan’s face. “I came here with no intent but to find the best way to coerce her brother to our use. I never expected her. And when I’d found her, I didn’t want a lie between us. Even if it meant I lost her afterward.”

  Magdalen’s smile had all the pleasure of heart-held memories. “We met by chance in the yard one day, when he was persuading Lovie that Mistress Payne would find his sewing needles the finest to be had. I had lost all but my last needle and we fell to talking. The talk went past needles to other things, and I found him to be more than he appeared. When he came again I made reason to talk with him more. When next he came we went into the orchard, to be out of the way of the come and go of the yard. He came more often after that, and we arranged how he would let me know when he was near, or we would set a day and time. I had often walked in the orchard alone before then. I don’t think anyone even suspected I had more reason to walk there then.”

  Drawn into her memories, Evan said, smiling with her, “Though winter made it difficult. No leaves on the trees to hide us.”