The Sorceror's Revenge

by Linda Sole

  ‘What is happening here?’ The innkeeper’s voice made the father look at him and Will pricked him in the upper leg. He screamed and calling to his sons limped off, clutching his thigh. ‘Are they the rogues that drugged you last night, Will? I saw what happened but they took you upstairs and said the girl would look after you,’ the innkeeper said as he came up to Will.

  ‘They accused me of rape.’

  ‘It is an old trick,’ the innkeeper grunted. ‘You should be wary of them, my friend. That family are a nasty lot. I would have warned you last night but I did not realise you were with them until too late. Did you lose much to them?’

  ‘Everything I had,’ Will said and thrust the fork back into the dung heap. ‘Marta will never forgive me. I have no money to pay you what I owe, but I will work off the debt.’

  ‘There is no need,’ the innkeeper said. ‘Your good wife paid in full this morning, and she bought my old cart and the horse you were interested in.’

  ‘Marta bought your horse and cart?’ Will frowned for he had not thought she had more than a penny or two in her money pouch. ‘Well, I am glad the debt is settled.’

  He was thoughtful as he shook hands with the host and went into the inn. Where had the money come from – and how much more had Marta hidden away from him? He felt resentful and angry that she had not told him the truth when she gave him the three gold Bezants. It meant that she did not trust him and that pricked at him, even though he knew that she had little reason to trust him after the previous night.

  Marta was dressed. She and Mary were waiting for him in the bedchamber they had shared for the past few weeks.

  ‘There is a fair next week,’ Marta said as she saw him. ‘Now that we have the cart we can move on, Will. I think we have out-stayed our welcome here, don’t you?’

  ‘I have been ready for days,’ he grunted but he could not meet her eyes, which seemed to accuse him. ‘I have not been idle while you were sick, Marta. I have many leather articles made ready for sale. We shall soon have money again.’

  ‘Then we shall go,’ she said. ‘Mary, take these things downstairs. Our kind host will have the cart ready. I shall bring the rest down soon – when I’ve had a chance to talk to Will.’

  Mary nodded and went out. As the door closed behind her, Marta spoke: ‘You had best have the truth. I had six gold coins and I did not find them on the road. They were my brother’s and I took them from his hiding place.’

  ‘You kept them all this time. Why did you never tell me?’

  ‘You had the gold from the chain we sold and luck was with us at first. We have never needed them until now. They are all gone, Will. I have but two silver pence that Mary earned by begging. If you let us down now we shall starve.’

  ‘Do not look at me like that,’ he growled, feeling guilty. ‘I did not intend to gamble away what you gave me, Marta. The rogues drugged my ale and I was careless.’

  ‘Whatever is done is done,’ she said and sighed. ‘I am too weary to quarrel with you, Will. I do not think I shall live to see the spring. Promise me you will care for Mary when I’ve gone?’

  ‘That’s foolish talk. I thought your feet were better?’

  ‘So they are but that is not all that ails me. I am tired and sometimes I cough up blood. I have not told you, because I convinced myself it was nothing, but I believe that I am dying – and I want your word that you will look after Mary.’

  Will felt a rush of guilt as he looked at her, seeing the signs he had not noticed before. ‘You will get better once the spring comes. We shall move on and things will improve. I shan’t gamble again, Marta. I’ve learned my lesson.’

  ‘Do not make promises you cannot keep,’ she said. ‘All I ask is that you make sure Mary is safe.’

  ‘Why do you not seek help? I am sure someone could give you something for that cough, Marta.’

  ‘Most of the physicians we could afford are charlatans,’ she said. ‘There was once someone who might have known how to help me, but that was a long time ago.’

  Will felt uncomfortable. She seemed to be blaming him for her ill health and he was reluctant to accept the responsibility for the child. He had been kind to her when he thought of it, but without Marta he would not know how to care for the girl. He made no answer. Marta sighed, her eyes accusing and sad.

  ‘We should leave. We have thirty leagues to travel and the fair is in two days from now…’

  ‘If we tried, we might find something to ease you. We could visit a shrine.

  ‘I have no faith in shrines.’

  ‘Yet there might be something. I have heard that the Water of Saint Thomas may cure many ills. A London shoemaker called Gilbert was cured of a fistula not long after the murder of St Thomas of Canterbury. If we make inquiries we might find a cure for you, Marta.’

  ‘You and your tales,’ she sniffed. ‘It was listening to your tales of travelling that brought me to this.’

  ‘Give that to me.’ Will said, as she bent to pick up the heavy pack that contained all her possessions, most of them old clothes and cooking pots. ‘I will carry it for you.’

  Will felt the guilt strike as he saw how weary she was still. If he had been less careless with his money he could have found a cottage for them to live in until the summer came and Marta was easier. Surely she would feel better as the days and nights grew warmer? The idea that he might lose her was strange and disturbing. He had never loved her and yet he liked her, was used to her. She often nagged him but he had taken little notice. Now he realised that he would miss her if she died. He vowed that he would not drink or gamble again. He would work hard, and if Marta were truly dying he would find a place for them to rest and take care of her until the end.

  As for the child, he would do his best for her. He wondered if she were truly an earl’s daughter, and whether it was right to keep her from her parents. It might be that the earl would pay for news of her…

  32

  Melloria was busy in her stillroom. The bitter weather that had struck in the New Year had brought the usual coughs and chills, and several of the servants had been ill of a virulent fever. She had searched through Nicholas’s journals and found a recipe for something he had used for what sounded similar to the sickness that had struck too many in the castle.

  ‘You sent for me, my lady?’

  She turned as she heard the steward’s voice. ‘I have made some cures that may help those that are sick, Master Steward. There is a mixture that must be mixed with water and taken by mouth, and a balm that should help with aching limbs. I need a list of all those who are sick so that I may visit each of them.’

  ‘This is not fit work for you, my lady. You might take it and die. Old Sally died and so did young Timothy.’

  ‘Yes, I know, and it is for this reason that I have forbidden Rosalie to help nurse the sick. She must stay with my children and protect them. I do not wish her to take it and pass it on to Harry or Iolanthe.’

  ‘You might take it yourself, my lady.’

  ‘I shall know what to do to cure myself,’ she said firmly. ‘Do not look at me like that, Master Steward. It is my duty to care for those who serve me. It is a bond of trust between us and an unwritten law. I have not forgot my duty if others do.’

  ‘Everyone knows that my lady. You are well loved and respected for what you do.’

  ‘Then do not waste my time in talk, Master Steward. You may accompany me and make sure that none are missed.’

  ‘Very well, countess. I came to tell you that a packet of letters has arrived from your sister.’

  ‘That is a pleasure to be savoured,’ Melloria said, dismissing the news as irrelevant. ‘Tell me, how many are sick now?’

  ‘Ten of the servants, three of whom are children, and the lady Rosalie was complaining of a headache earlier. The sickness often begins with a severe headache.’

  ‘Then we shall visit Rosalie first for she may not have the fever and I would not pass it to her. After that we shall visit the servants, st
arting with the children.’

  ‘May I carry the basket for you?’

  ‘You may take that one, and I shall take this. Come along, Karl, and do not look so grim. I have always treated the sick at the castle, and as yet I still live.’

  ‘And I would keep it that way,’ he muttered but in a low voice that she could scarce hear, though she knew what he meant.

  * * *

  Melloria was tired when she returned to her own chamber some three hours later. She put off her gown, which had become stained, and washed herself in cool water. One of her women brought her food and wine. She told the girl to pour her a glass of wine and then leave her. Once alone, she lay down on her bed but could not rest immediately.

  So many were sick and she had done her best for them but she felt her inadequacy, because she knew there would be more deaths.

  ‘I wish you were here to tell me what to do, Nicholas.’

  His beloved face came to her mind and she seemed to hear his voice soothing her.

  ‘Even I cannot always heal the sick, my love. All we can do is help where we may.’

  Nicholas had worked late into the night, tireless in his research and his efforts to learn. If even he could not always ease the sick, she could not expect to do more than she had. She spoke to him, as she so often did, in her head.

  ‘Yes, I know. I remember how sad you were when there was little you could do.’

  She felt as if something touched her cheek, a caress so soft it might have been the caress of a butterfly’s wing.

  ‘Goodnight, my dearest one.’

  She closed her eyes. For a while she slept, then woke and saw that the candles had burned low in their holders. Getting up, she put a small log on the fire, watching as it sparked and took light, and then she lit a taper and touched it to a fresh candle. She drank a few sips of the wine her serving woman had poured, then crumbled a piece of bread and ate one mouthful. Her gaze fell on the packet of letters from her sister and she picked them up with a smile, breaking the familiar seal.

  Inside there was another small packet, which felt as if it contained something soft. She turned it over and, as she saw the writing, her breath caught, because she knew it so well. This letter had come from Nicholas!

  Her heart was racing as she broke the wax seal. For years she had looked for a letter like this in vain and now it had come. As she unfolded the parchment, a lock of hair fell into her hand. Its colour was a rich dark red in the candlelight, very much the shade of her own hair. Melloria’s mouth was dry and her heart thudded. Could it possibly be hair from the head of her lost child?

  She held the letter close to the flame so that she could see it clearly enough to read.

  I pray that you will receive this letter and know that I have not forgotten my promise to you, my dearest love. I know that you may never forgive me for the lies I told you, and you may be happy with him – but I have kept my word. This hair belongs to Mary, the child you have longed for. I know where she is and very soon now I shall have her safe with me. When the time is right I will come to you.

  So brief and yet so precious. Melloria held the writing to her lips and kissed it. Nicholas had not signed it, but he did not need to. She knew who had sent it and she felt her cheeks suddenly wet with tears.

  ‘Nicholas, my love. You kept your word. You kept your word to me. I should have known you would.’

  The tears were streaming down her face, because she was happy and yet sad. How she wished that Nicholas would come now and take her and Iolanthe with him.

  She read the brief message again feverishly. Her child was called Mary and Nicholas knew where she was. He would soon have her safe with him and then he would come to her.

  Her heart longed for that moment and yet her head warned that it would not be so easy. She was still Robert’s wife and he was not likely to let her go. If she did escape him, he would come after her – and this time he would make sure that both she and Nicholas were dead.

  As a mother she ached to hold her lost babe, yet she was afraid of what Robert would do when he knew that Nicholas was still alive. It would make him so angry to learn that Nicholas had succeeded where he had failed.

  Was it sinful of her to think that she would rather live in poverty with Nicholas than be the mistress of this fine castle? Nicholas was a gentle loving man, a healer not a soldier. If she went to him it might seal his fate.

  ‘Oh please, God, let Nicholas find a way for us to be together.’

  Melloria sank to her knees and prayed but she was not sure what she was asking. The only way she and Nicholas could live together would be if Robert were to die.

  * * *

  Niccolai paused in the act of pouring water into the mixture he had been preparing. So many people were sick and he had exhausted much of his store of the cure for the fever and sickness that was in almost every house at the moment. As yet he had not put a name to the infection, but he knew that it passed from person to person, either by the touching of hands or on the breath. He glanced round at his shelves, taking note that he would need to purchase more of certain elements and precious oils. It might be that he needed to visit England very soon. Some of the rare ingredients he required were easier purchased there than in France.

  He thought that when he visited London he might also visit the woman who was so often in his thoughts. If his spies told him truly, Devereaux was from home and not expected back for a while. It was a chance to see Melloria without bringing retribution on her head. Niccolai knew that he must take great care when entering and leaving the castle, for if he were seen Robert might punish Melloria.

  He believed there was a way to slip unseen by the guards, though he was not certain the principle would work in practice. Thus far he had used the power of his mind only to banish pain by suggestion. Whether it would serve to help him pass the guards unnoticed was something he must discover. Yet the guards might be lax while their master was from home, and the castle was open to many travellers, for peddlers and villagers mingled as they went about their business. The castle needed a huge amount of produce and craftsmen to survive, and the buildings that grew up around it to supply its needs were a thriving industry. With a little slight of hand and some willpower, he might enter and leave without being noticed.

  Before he took ship for England, he must make certain that Mary was safe and well. He had been given a report that seemed to suggest Marta had had enough of travelling. Niccolai wanted to be sure that wherever she went he could find her, and when the time was right he would bring his daughter here.

  He wanted the woman he loved here too. Anne, his wife, not Melloria Countess of Devereaux. In his mind they were two different women. He must see Anne, speak to her, and make certain that she wished to live with him, and then he would put the last stages of his plan into action.

  Nicholas knew that Anne was desperately unhappy. She spoke to him often in her mind and he heard her weeping in his dreams. He had learned to concentrate his thoughts so that he could reach her and comfort her, but the effort was tiring and brought on one of his headaches.

  Amongst the ancient writings he studied, the one concerning the power of the mind had given him much thought. If the mind could be harnessed to control the actions of others, as the writer claimed; to perhaps create an illusion not just in one mind but in many - the thought conjured up such images!

  In the wrong hands power of that magnitude would be terrible indeed. Nicholas knew that to dabble in things that bordered on sorcery was risky for he might be drawn too far down the slippery path to damnation.

  Once he had been haunted by the Devil’s laughter but he had rid himself of the Book of Secrets. Yet still he was tempted by the knowledge of the ancients. He had come a long way. What more might he achieve if he dared?

  33

  It was beautiful in the meadows behind the castle. Above their heads the sky was a pale blue with fluffy clouds. In the distance they could see the sweep of the Downs, beyond which lay the sea. Melloria, Mari
a, Alfreda and the children were all sitting in the early spring sunshine.

  ‘Now you are Queen of the May,’ she said, pleased with her work.

  ‘Thank you, my dearest.’ Melloria smiled at her. ‘Though I think that title should properly belong to the prettiest girl in the village when the queen is chosen next month. Be careful not to pick the blue speedwell, my love, for that brings you out in a rash. Do you remember when you picked wild flowers once before and felt very ill?’

  ‘Papa gave you something to rub on me to ease the itching and pain,’ Iolanthe said and wrinkled her brow. ‘Where is Papa? Why do we never see him?’

  ‘Because we live here with the earl,’ Melloria told her, looking away so that her darling child should not see the sadness in her eyes. ‘He is your true father – Papa was just someone who loved us very much.’

  ‘I would rather live with Papa. You were happier then.’ Iolanthe crawled into her lap as she sat on the dry grass, looking up at her. She touched Melloria’s cheek. ‘Would you rather be with Papa?’

  Melloria longed to tell her the truth but she knew she must not. Robert had been away for some weeks but he might return at any time, and she could not risk Iolanthe blurting out something that would anger him.

  ‘Have you picked enough flowers, my darling?’ she asked. ‘Perhaps you should run and play with the others now.’

  ‘Harry is so mean to us,’ Iolanthe said and her mouth drooped. ‘He says the bow and arrows are his and he will not let any of us try to shoot the arrows.’

  ‘Well, play some other kind of game. Ring a roses or running and jumping.’