Brave he may have been, but Ellis knew when he was beaten. A red mist closed about him and without warning he pitched forward in a dead faint.
* * *
Drojan had had the man carried to his own house, with the better part of the village following. While Drojan examined the man, Rory questioned Serine.
“I wonder why our prisoner reacted as he did,” Rory mused as he paced the floor. “It is difficult to believe that Old Ethyl’s appearance is so fierce as to send a grown man into unconsciousness.” His eyes never left Serine, for he knew her to be nervous and ill at ease. “Unless, of course, he knew her. Do you suppose that might be the case?”
“What will they do to the man if he is unable to stand before the archer?”
“It is an inadvertent admission of guilt. Unless, of course, there are circumstances of which we in Corvus Croft do not know. Are there such circumstances, Serine?”
“What makes you ask such a question?” she returned.
“Because I cannot think that a blooded soldier would faint at the sight of a one-eyed female archer, unless he had known her for a very long time and had no idea of her abilities. Such a man as might have found his way here from Sheffield, perhaps?”
Serine stared at her hands for a very long time before she answered. She knew she was putting her own life as well as Hendrick’s—as well as Ellis’s—in Rory’s hands, and she felt he had failed her in not convincing his brother that her child should be returned to Sheffield, but she had no other choice.
“There is trouble in Sheffield,” she replied. “Baneford will take back the land if I cannot take Hendrick back to claim what is rightfully his.” She handed him the missive Dame Margot had written, and waited as he read. “Ellis is the alewife’s husband. He was on crusade and only recently returned. He brought me word of Elreath’s death and Margot’s plea to return in haste with Hendrick or lose all we possess.”
“Why did you not tell me?”
“How could I say I had received a message, without exposing the messenger? Ellis had no idea he wasn’t to know where to find me. A traveler had recognized Drojan and knew where the seer could be found. It is thus they have found their way to Corvus Croft.”
“Was this Ellis planning on helping you escape?” Rory demanded.
“He delivered the message, that was all. I doubt he had but the smallest idea what it said, as he can do little more than write his name.”
Rory ran a strong hand through his thick mane of hair. “If I tell this to Guthrie the man is as good as dead. And if I do not tell my brother they will, most likely, tell Ethyl to execute him.” His head snapped up. “Does she know who he is?”
“Of course,” Serine said. “She could not help but recognize him. Ellis is well-known in Sheffield.”
“If she refuses to kill him they will execute her, too,” he said despondently. “It is the law.”
“Your laws be damned,” Serine exploded. “The man is my serf and you have no right to touch him without my permission.”
“By your own admission the man is a spy—”
“Ellis is a messenger and not subject to your barbaric decree.”
They were standing but a foot apart and screaming into each other’s face when Drojan reentered the room.
“Thank the gods my walls are thick, or you would shout them down and inform the whole of Corvus Croft of your business.”
“Is Ellis all right?” Serine asked.
“He will live, until the council orders him killed, if that’s what you mean.” Drojan nodded. “It looks as though he may have burst a blood vessel in his head. I doubt he will be able to stand for the test today.”
Serine squared her shoulders. “I will stand in his place.”
“It’s no good, Serine. The archer is not allowed to perform the test on someone she knows, for there is no certainty that personal feelings rather than the will of the gods would guide her arrows.” Rory tried to calm her, but even he could think of no good way to solve the dilemma.
“But in the cloak she could not know it was me,” Serine insisted.
“You are too short,” Drojan observed. “And the risk is too great for Rory to try. There is no doubt in my mind that she would be hard tried not to send an arrow straight into his heart should she discover he played her willing target. But there is a way to resolve our problem.” He started toward the room where Ellis rested. “Go and tell Guthrie that Ellis will be able to stand for judgment in a very few minutes.”
The door shut and Rory and Serine stared at one another for a long moment before doing as they were bade.
Chapter Nine
Swathed in the cumbersome cloak, the man again took his place before the target. He stood completely still, pausing only to flex his legs once so they would not be stiff beneath the covering material.
He did not know fear, for his faith in Ethyl was paramount. That which he did, he did for her. None would dare fault her, nor bring down her reputation as a bow-woman. He did not flinch as he saw the movement from afar that meant she was nocking her arrow.
A few seconds later he felt the tug at the crest of his hood that told him the arrow had landed true. Next a streak of fire touched his cheek and he heard a gasp from the crowd. He had been marked, but still he did not move.
The next arrows pinned the arms of his shirt, but did not touch his shrinking flesh, and the last framed his legs.
There was a cheer from the people as they rushed to crowd around Ethyl. Rory pushed his way through them to the now-vindicated man and pulled the arrows from their positions.
“You are free to go,” he said. “You have been judged innocent.”
The man said nothing, and without removing the cloak disappeared into the shadows.
Ethyl, too, made herself scarce. She graciously accepted the congratulations that were her due, listening for the voice of the man whose words would have made success complete, but they did not come.
It seemed that after he had revived his patient and sent him to be propped against the target, Drojan had stayed in his rooms, no doubt consulting the Runes as to the outcome of Ethyl’s marksmanship.
She threw open the door and entered his abode.
“Drojan? Where are you? I succeeded without your help and without your bloody Runes!”
“There was no question in my mind that you would do so.” His voice came from the back of the room, and she saw him standing in the deepest shadows.
“Hah! Had you believed in me you would have been there to share in my success.”
“I believed in you, Ethyl. On my life, I believed.”
“On your life, my foot. You believe in nothing but your silly Runes, and what have they told you?” She crossed the floor, moving toward him into the shadows. “Did they tell you of my fear? Did they tell you of the trepidation in my soul as I raised my bow to pass judgment? Did they tell you why I had to accept this position for the salvation of my eternal soul?”
“The Runes did not tell me, Ethyl, but perhaps it is time that you did.” His voice was gentle, as were his hands as he guided her to a seat of soft skins and cushions.
She sat stiffly. “Why should I tell you, old man?”
“Because you want to tell me,” he said.
She sighed. “You are right in that. I do want to tell you. It is time that someone be told.”
A tiny flame trembled in the fireplace and grew in strength as she told her story.
“They said my mother was a witch, for she dabbled in herbs and was renowned as a healer. It wasn’t until other healers came forth, trying to duplicate her herbal formula, that more harm than good was done and people became worse instead of better.
“One night the wife of a wealthy merchant died after taking what was said to be my mother’s formula. Mother had never seen the woman and did not know how she could have come by the brew, but the harm was done. The merchant brought his friends and they burned my mother’s cottage with her inside.”
Drojan said nothi
ng. He held her fine, strong hands as the flame flickered and grew.
“Had my mother not sent me on an errand, I would have perished with her. As it was, when I returned I was told I would face the test of the village archer.
“The man prepared me himself, lining me up against the tree and warning me not to lock my knees lest I faint and fall. All his arrows were spent, save one, when I remembered his warning. I bent my knees as his arrow left the bow. It struck me in the eye.
“The man took me to his home and brought me from the depths of despair. It was the archer who taught me to shoot so that I could conquer the weapon that had maimed me. I knew when I came to Corvus Croft I would be called upon to take up the gauntlet and serve as archer for the village. For this I have prepared throughout my life. My one wish was that you might be there to see my moment of triumph.”
“I was there,” he assured her.
The flame quivered and caught and from the far end of the log a second flame arose.
“You lie, seer. I scanned the crowd and saw you not.”
“I was with you in every move you made.”
“Why do you tell such falsehoods?” she demanded. “Think you I cannot believe what I see?”
“Then believe,” he said as the two flames reached out and touched tentatively before grasping one another and bursting into brightness that slashed through the shadows. She took his face in her hands and saw the love and admiration in his eyes and the wound on his cheek.
His lips touched hers. And the flame kindled.
With her index finger she traced the bloodied line. A tinge of red reflected, more vibrant than the fire. She touched the tip of her finger to her tongue.
“I could have killed you, Seer. How did you know I would not? Because you are so great a seer?”
“No,” he admitted. “Rather because I am a man, and I love you.”
“And you jest with me and make mockery of my moment of triumph. I am a good archer. My arrows fall strong and true, but as a woman I have been the village joke for two decades. I came to Sheffield a girl with but one eye. I kept to myself and, until his death, my husband covered my infirmity as best he could. Since no one saw me clearly they believed me to be old. Before my time I was called old and will continue to be until I die. There is no place in your life for the likes of me. Why would you risk all for so little gain?”
“In my judgment the gain was immense, and the possible loss even greater. I was there with you, Ethyl, as I will continue to be there for you if you will have it so.”
After years of revilement, Ethyl hesitated, savoring his words. “The fainting soldier was unable to stand his judgment, then?”
“Serine explained that the man was from Sheffield. Had his origins been revealed it would have been up to you to kill him, or yourself be killed. I could not allow that to happen.”
“So you risked your life playing target to my arrows.” Ethyl shook her head in disbelief. “What if I had wanted to kill him?”
“I can’t believe you have ever wanted to kill anyone,” he said as he raised first one of her hands then the other to his lips.
And while Ethyl knew she should challenge Drojan’s assumption, she held her silence and allowed his kisses to climb past her wrist and up her strong right arm toward her neck. She pressed him to her and realized that the quickening of his body was in direct response to hers. She reassessed her opinion of the seer, and decided that perhaps he wasn’t such an old fool after all. And, even if he was, he was her old fool and it was good and right.
For while Drojan was no longer in the prime of manhood, neither was Ethyl in the bloom of youth. If their bodies did not explode with passion at their initial contact, it gave them more time to enjoy the sensations neither had thought to know again.
The hair on Drojan’s chest was silvery, with the least hint of gold in the firelight. Ethyl slipped her hand up his chest, allowing the hair to tug at her fingers. It pleased her to know that the things that pleasured her pleasured him, also. She was delighted when he squirmed beneath her hands, beneath her lips and finally beneath her solid, volatile body, as she took from him the job of giving pleasure and assumed a share of the giving herself.
He drew her close and buried his face in her firm breasts. Her lips fell on his forehead. She felt his pressure on her body intensify and wondered what delights she could set free in the perusal of a balding man’s scalp.
“What is it?” she murmured. “How is it you enjoy this so greatly?”
He drew himself from the honeyed feast he had been anticipating and replied thoughtfully. “Your kisses awaken my senses and your breath is like the heat of the sun when it touches my head. It seeps through my body and arouses the most dormant feelings, some long forgotten, long unused, but willing, nay, anxious to bend to your wishes.”
Ethyl’s laugh was throaty and Drojan thought it the most exciting sound he had ever heard.
“It is not a thing that bends that will give me surcease,” she purred.
And Drojan slid her from him, and with one last hungry look, covered her body with his own, murmuring words that came from his heart and touched her soul. Neither had thought love would ever come to them again. But it had come, and without more thought they were joined, one with the other. Their lovemaking was done with infinite care, drawing out each inimitable moment of sensual pleasure, giving all that each had ever dreamed during the long nights of aloneness. And as the fire died to its last embers, one single flame freed itself, bursting upward from the ashes of life for one last earthly glimpse of heaven.
* * *
“Ethyl!” Serine ran across the main room of their apartment. “I feared for you. Where have you been? Why did you not return when your duty as village archer had been done?”
“Drojan and I found there were matters we needed to discuss. It took longer than I had thought.” Several days longer, she recalled with a smile.
Ethyl did not meet her lady’s eyes and went toward the room she shared with Hendrick, hoping to avoid further questions.
It was not to be. Serine’s eyes glowed with unnatural excitement. “Rory is gone hunting and I have convinced Damask to allow me to take the children on an outing to help me gather herbs.”
“What herbs do you need?” Ethyl asked.
“I need no herbs, you goose,” Serine admitted happily. “I have already contacted Ellis and Short Will and they will have a boat waiting to take us back to Sheffield. We are going home, Ethyl.” Serine rejoiced. “We are going home.”
Ethyl’s heart sank. She no longer wished to return to Sheffield. She wanted to stay in Corvus Croft with Drojan.
“There is no time to waste. We must make ready. Hendrick is telling the children that they will be allowed to leave their tasks and gather herbs with us.” Serine ran on as she laid the plans for the following day.
And although Ethyl had serious misgivings, she kept her thoughts to herself and trusted in the gods who had already rendered one miracle on her behalf.
* * *
Early the next morning Serine went through town gathering the children. It was a somber group that followed her, with the younger children still yawning with sleep and the older less than enthusiastic.
“Come, come,” she chirped as she led them through the streets. “You need not work today. Instead you will spend a day of freedom.”
“All our days in Corvus Croft are days of freedom,” one of the boys grumbled loudly. He was apprentice to the town miller, and it was common knowledge among his contemporaries that he lived for market day when people from neighboring villages came in to purchase supplies. It was the daughter of the weaver of a nearby village who had caught his eye, and his youthful heart, and held both tight in the vise of first love.
Serine recognized the lad as the son of a serf from Sheffield. He obviously enjoyed his new life. But his place was at Sheffield, and, pray God, he would be well on his way to that destination before another dawn.
The other children made
no protest and took turns looking for the herbs, flowers, berries and roots Serine sought. Their search took them ever farther from the village and closer to the cliffs above the water. It was at the edge of the cliffs that she stopped to speak to them.
“Think how beautiful it must be in Sheffield today,” she said dreamily. “Your parents are probably looking up at this same blue sky and thinking how much they miss you. Your brothers and sisters are thinking how lovely it would be to have you back.”
“Aye,” came the reply, “they want me back to carry my share of the drudge work. And half their share, most like.”
Many of the older children laughed, but the younger ones blinked back tears.
Ethyl cast a baleful look in Serine’s direction. She did not see where anything good would come from working on the emotions of babes.
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could sail back to Sheffield this very day.”
One or two of the older boys began to look uncomfortable. What did their lady have in mind?
“With your forgiveness, m’lady,” Tim, a tall, tow-headed lad ventured, “I would dread the trip across the sea, and I doubt not that my family would be glad to see me again, but sorry to have another mouth to feed. I do not think you realize how it is sometimes in the village huts.”
Tim saw that he had Serine’s ear and quickly continued. “There are times when food and grain is scarce. If my mum or da became ill there was nothing to eat other than the scraps from the manor house, and it is always a fight to get those.
“Here in Corvus Croft I have plenty to eat and a warm house in which to sleep. My clothes are warm, and the material is made of new and strong yarn. I am learning a craft, as are the others here, and we are allowed to sell what extra we make and keep the money ourselves. Lady, I don’t want to return to Sheffield to be your serf. I want to stay here and grow to be a free man.”
Serine was shocked. “But Sheffield is your home. Your families are there! Surely you are alone in your opinion.”
But other children stepped forward.
Barbara Leigh Page 12