by April Munday
“This is the one,” he said. “See the short hair. She’s the nun.”
Another man came into the room and held a torch close to her face. “Yes, she looks like him,” he agreed. “Looks like she’s already been in a fight today. Tie her hands.”
Another man grabbed her wrists and pulled them roughly behind her back, where they were tied tightly.
“Where is it?” asked the second man, standing close enough for Eleanor to be able to smell his breath.
Eleanor was scared. They must have killed everyone, in the house. She said nothing, hoping that Henry was still alive somewhere, but knowing he couldn’t be. One of the men hit her, but she barely felt it, so great was her fear for Henry’s safety.
“Tell me where it is, or you’ll regret it.”
Still Eleanor said nothing, praying silently for guidance. His question had barely made sense to her.
A scream came from the hall. “Get out,” shouted a voice from the passageway. “There’s more of them. Bring her.”
The man behind her turned her and slung her over his shoulder and took her out into the passageway. It was there that she saw Henry’s naked body lying in a pool of blood. His hand was stretched out towards a sword that lay where it had fallen by the wall. She screamed and lost consciousness as she knew that there was no hope now for anything.
Eleanor knew nothing of the journey. She came to occasionally and her captors fed her or gave her beer to drink, but her senses had deserted her and she muttered incoherently to herself. The cart jostled for days along muddy tracks. At each inn she was passed off as the mad wife of one of the men who was taking her to a healer in the west.
None of the men tried to question her again; there was no point. They began to regret bringing her with them, but feared their master too much to abandon her on the road. They had been told to bring her and bring her they would.
When Eleanor finally came to herself many days later, she was alone in a dark room chained to a wall. The first thing she knew was despair, then sadness for the lives lost and damaged because of her. Henry and his household were dead because of her.
She wept as she remembered Henry’s body lying in the passageway. Despite all his efforts since he had taken her from the convent, the end was just as these men had always intended, except that Henry was dead. He was dead because of her. He should have left her to these men when he had found her in the convent. At least he would be alive now. Grief took her and she almost lost her wits again, but the thought of Henry dying to keep her safe helped her to hold onto her sanity.
When she roused herself from her grief she found that her body ached and she was cold, despite the cloak that someone had thrown over her. She pulled it tightly around her shoulders and began to pray for Henry’s soul, crying as she did so. She doubted she would outlive him long. Whether she revealed the hiding place of the token or not, she knew that she would never leave this room.
Eventually she dozed, but woke when someone brought her food. The man had brought a torch and she could see him easily in its light. It was the man who had said that she looked like her brother and she wondered if he was the man who had killed Philip. He sat beside her and was about to start feeding her, when he noticed that she was looking at him.
“So you’re in your right mind, now, are you? Feed yourself, then, while I tell Sir Stephen.”
Sir Stephen! Was it her cousin, then, who was behind all this? As the man was leaving the room she looked around it in the light of the torch he carried and knew it for the cellar in her old home. It was a small room that had not seen much use, except when she had been playing hiding games with her nurse as a child.
Eleanor ate the food as quickly as she could, barely noticing the rancid taste. She briefly considered allowing herself to starve to death, but that would be a sin. She had committed many sins these last few weeks, but none came close to the evil of suicide. There was, anyway, a reason to stay alive. She would find some way to avenge Henry’s death if she could. She thought about that for a while. It would be another sin. It gave her pause, but not for long. Henry was dead because of her, because of what her cousin wanted. There must be a way to take revenge.
She hardly knew Stephen. He was a little older than her and she had not seen him since she had gone to the convent. Philip had spoken a little of him, but mainly in scornful tones. Philip was brave and liked to fight, but he considered their cousin a coward and a wastrel. “He’s always asking for money,” he’d complained during his last visit before leaving for France, “but you must not give approval for him to have any.” He had reluctantly left her in charge of his estate. After he had gone his steward had visited her once a month. She’d had little idea what needed to be done, but had known Edwin since she was a child and trusted him, as did Philip. She had approved all of Edwin’s suggestions and had turned down each of the requests for money from Stephen. The tone of his letters became intemperate and she knew that he chafed at having to ask a woman for funds, but she could not disobey Philip. Edwin, who had met the man, did not bother to hide his distaste from her and she had been confident that she had been doing the right thing and that Philip would approve.
Now she was Stephen’s prisoner. The estate which had supported him for so long was now his and even this was not enough for him. All her life Eleanor had known about the Saxon gold. When their father had died Philip had taken her out to the field where it had been found so long ago and explained what the token was and how it was to be used. He also explained that good management of their properties meant it had never been used, although he had been tempted to buy more land after the Big Death. “Only two people alive ever know about it and if I die without a son then you must tell my heir.” Now Eleanor wondered how Stephen had learned of its existence. She doubted Philip had told him. For the first time she wondered why Philip had changed his mind and sent Henry to her with the token.
“Well, Eleanor, I’m glad that you could finally visit your old home.”
Eleanor was shocked by how much Stephen resembled Philip. She had not remembered this. His voice was very different, but his height, hair and eyes reminded her very strongly of her brother. One of his men stood beside him with a torch, but Stephen told him to leave them and took the torch himself.
“I’m sorry that it took you so long to respond to my invitation, but you’re here now and that is what matters.” He paused. “Nothing to say for yourself, sweet cousin? Never mind, you’ll talk soon enough.”
He looked around the room. “I remember playing in here with you when we were children. Do you remember?”
Still Eleanor kept silent.
“Speak, damn you!”
“You killed Henry.”
“Henry? Oh, you mean your abductor. Yes, when my men rescued you, he got in the way. Now you are safe with me and I will protect you. But first, there is one thing we must discuss. I am Philip’s heir. That means I inherit everything that was his. Everything. I have his house, his estate, his money and I will have the treasure. I know about the token and I know that you have it. Why else would that knight have abducted you? Where is it?”
Eleanor opened her mouth to deny him, but thought better of it. The token was safe and Stephen’s men had been stupid to bring her all this way without making sure that she had it on her. But then, if she’d had it on her they probably would have killed her. She knew there was no hope for her. No one would rescue her.
Stephen drew his sword and put it to her throat. “I’ve asked you nicely. Now, where is it?”
Eleanor was no longer afraid, so she looked him calmly in the eye.
“You killed Henry,” she repeated.
Stephen pressed the sword more firmly against her neck.
“Do not play with me, cousin.”
“Kill me, I will not tell you.”
He smiled. “Oh, you will tell me. If not out of fear, then out of pain.”
Eleanor shook her head slowly; she knew that she would not betray Philip or Henry by ma
king their deaths meaningless.
Stephen sheathed his sword. “I shall leave you to think about that for a while.” Then he left her alone in the dark.
Eleanor did think about it. She thought about the pain that she had known when she had been attacked in the alley in Southampton and when Edward had beaten her. Neither physical pain had been greater than the pain of being deserted by Henry and greater than either of them was the overwhelming pain of losing him.
Chapter Thirteen
Eleanor had been given food and had grown hungry again before Stephen returned, but she had no idea how much time had passed. Stephen was smiling when he came into the room. It seemed he would enjoy her pain. This was unexpected; she had not known that people could be like this. Edward had enjoyed hurting her, but she thought it had been as much a surprise to him as it had been to her. Stephen had been right to give her time to think about her torture. Earlier she had been sure that she would say nothing, now she was afraid that she would tell everything to avoid the pain.
“Now,” said Stephen standing in front of her, “tell me where it is.”
Beside him stood a man holding a torch. In its light she could see the eagerness on Stephen’s face. He had planned her torture well. Such was his anticipation that she sensed he would rather that she didn’t tell him at first, just so that he could hurt her.
Eleanor slowly shook her head, resolute that she would say nothing now. She might scream, but she knew that to engage in conversation with him would be disastrous.
“Good, I’m always happy to have the opportunity to improve my technique. Sadly, women don’t last long before they want to tell me every secret they’ve ever kept. But I only want one thing from you. The rest of your secrets you may keep.” He smiled, but there was no humour in it.
Eleanor tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. Even as she started to distract herself with the memory of Henry as he had been on the day he had given her his book, Stephen hit her in the face. Eleanor was surprised, not so much by the force of the blow, although it had been enough to knock her head against the wall behind her, but because she had expected something much worse. It seemed that she had more imagination with regard to torture than her cousin. If he was just going to hit her, she would be able to keep silent.
“Tell me!” he shouted as she slowly turned back to face him.
Eleanor didn’t bother to shake her head; she knew it would hurt.
Her silence seemed to enrage Stephen and he put his hands to her throat and started to shake her. It was only when she stopped breathing that he let go and she took in great gulps of air. Overwhelmed by dizziness, Eleanor felt as if she were falling, but knew she could not be, as she was still sitting on the floor. She closed her eyes, but regretted it as flashes of light filled her head. Her balance was lost and she opened her eyes again to reassure herself again that she wasn’t moving. Stephen caught her chin and forced her to look at him.
“How long do you think you will last when I put the stones onto your body or cut your skin?”
Eleanor shuddered; Stephen did have some imagination after all. Still she would not trust herself to speak and now she pictured Henry’s body lying stretched out in a passageway in his own house. She could not betray him; she must remember that talking would not save her life or his.
“Then we will start with the stones.” He turned to the other man, “Robert, loosen the chains, then stretch her out and put the first stone on her.”
Stephen left, but the other man busied himself with the chains, then pulled on her legs to drag her away from the wall so that she was lying on her back with her arms stretched out away from her head. He left her then, going to a corner of the room. Turning her head with difficulty, she watched him lift something and bring it from the corner of the room to her. It was a small slab, but she knew from the way he was carrying it that it was heavy. He placed it on her chest and immediately it was more difficult for her to breathe.
“There’s a pile over in the corner,” said the man, “but you’ll be dead before we use many more. Two, three at most.”
Eleanor gasped for breath, trying to stay calm. She wondered how long it would take to die in this way, having her breath slowly squeezed from her body. Days? Hours? How long would it be before they put the next stone on her? It did not matter; she would not speak. This she could bear. Then she remembered that Henry was dead.
The man sat down on the floor next to the door and they waited together.
After another stone had been added to the first, Eleanor knew that she could not last long. For some time she had not been able to concentrate on anything except breathing. She had forgotten where she was and why she was here. The only thing that mattered was sucking in as much air as possible, but each breath was shallower than the one before and each hurt more than the previous one. Once she had caught herself thinking it would be better to give up and stop breathing. The pain would end and she would sleep. Dimly aware that this would be a sin, she had taken another breath and then another. Now she was so tired that the thought of giving up seemed very attractive, but she was certain that she would not give up of her own accord. Perhaps she would sleep soon and eventually grow too tired to breathe.
Then she was aware of a breath that was less painful and took less effort. She took another that was easier and then another. Almost weeping, she remembered why she was here, why she was being tortured. Then came pain and she almost passed out. Whatever they were going to do to her next she would not tell them what they wanted to know. It took a moment for her to remember what her secret was, then her eyes filled with tears as she thought again of Henry. She would not speak; she had survived this torture and she would not give in.
As she breathed she became aware of how much her body hurt. Breathing was easier, but only if she continued to take very small breaths. Gradually she realised that the stones were gone and someone was doing something to the chains around her wrists. She stiffened, afraid that her torturer had found another, more terrible way of abusing her body. If there was a way of making her feel even more pain, would she talk? Would she be able to stop herself? Someone was chafing her hands and wrists. As feeling returned to them, so did pain.
Two large hands engulfed her own and slowly moved her arms so that they were no longer stretched out. She groaned.
“Shh.”
Her torturers no longer wanted her to speak? Shouldn’t they be glad that the pain had finally moved her tongue?
She took a deep breath and regretted it as sparks flashed in her head and her ribs felt as if they were going to burst from her chest.
She groaned again, this time there was silence from her captor, but a calloused hand stroked her cheek with the tenderness of a mother touching her baby. Opening her eyes she looked into Henry’s face.
“I’m dead, aren’t I?” Her voice was cracked and her throat dry.
Henry bent down and whispered in her ear. “Close to it, but not quite at the doors of heaven. I’ll help you to sit, then you can drink, but you must make no noise.”
Henry raised her up so that she was leaning against his chest. The pain brought fresh tears to her eyes, but she made no noise.
“You’re dead,” she whispered after she had taken a few sips of beer from his water skin. It took her a great deal of effort, but she reached out to stroke his bearded cheek. Surely dead men did not grow beards. He was warm; he was alive. He was alive and she had not betrayed him. Her tears of relief flowed freely.
“I, too, was close to it, but Maud saved me. We must leave here quickly, Eleanor, before they find the men I killed.”
Eleanor looked towards the door where a body lay sprawled on the floor. More people had died for her today.
“Philip’s murderer,” said Henry, guessing her thoughts as he always had. “I vowed he would die the next time we met. Can you stand?”
“No. I have been chained to this wall as long as I have been here.” Talking was a little easier now, but she was afraid that sh
e had little control over how loud her voice was. How far away was the next man that Henry would have to kill to save her? Had he already heard her voice? Would Henry hear him coming?
“Then I shall carry you. We do not have time to look after your injuries now, so I will cause you more pain. I’m sorry.” With her hand still on his cheek Eleanor could feel, if not see, the sorrow in his face.
“I did not think I would leave this room alive. Even if it means dying on the other side of that door. I am content.”
“That’s not part of my plan.” Henry’s voice was grim. “Put your arms around my neck and we will stand.” Eleanor slid her hand away from his cheek easily enough, but Henry had to help her with the other arm, which had little feeling in it. She held on as tightly as she could, but knew she would not be able to be quiet if the pain was too great.
Henry stood as slowly as he could, but Eleanor cried out, burying her face in his tunic to muffle the sound. Then Henry lifted her onto his shoulder and she passed out.
They were halfway across the courtyard when Stephen caught them. Eleanor was still unconscious when Stephen shouted, “Well, sir, do you abduct my cousin a second time?”
Henry lowered Eleanor carefully to the ground; his sword was already in his hand. The cold brought Eleanor to herself and she listened to them as she struggled to move herself so that she could see them.
“Abduct?” repeated Henry. “No, I do not take her against her will.”
“But I am her closest relative and I am her guardian. I say she may not leave.”
Eleanor had managed to move herself so that she could see the two men. She also saw the three men who came out of the house. To her surprise one of them was Edwin, Philip’s steward.
“Then you will die,” said Henry.
“I am unarmed,” Stephen held up his hands to show that this was the case. Stephen had gauged his enemy well. Eleanor understood then that her cousin must have known a lot about Henry. His men must have watched Henry’s house for some time waiting for her to turn up. Henry had been right that his house was not as well-protected as his father’s. They could have had no hope of taking her from Abbot’s Ridge, or from Edward’s house where the watch patrolled the streets and neighbours would come to one another’s aid. Even attacking her on the road would have been an uncertain venture, but Henry’s house with no gate or wall offered them no hindrance.