by Linda Sole
How strange that Iolanthe should not like their sister. Sebastien thought that he might like her very much if he were allowed to, but for the moment he must cling to Iolanthe and do everything she told him.
46
Niccolai sat in his private chamber, his latest journal open before him on the board. He had been writing but he lay down his pen with a sigh, his fingers going to his temples. He placed the tips against the pulse spots and massaged in little circles. Sometimes when the pain was this bad the only remedy was to take a sleeping draught and let his mind clear. Yet there was much he needed to do, things that could not be left unattended – and he must return to England at the earliest possible time for he believed that the woman he loved might be in danger.
He rose and went into his mixing room. The shelves were crowded with jars and pots, containing many ingredients. Cassia and camphor, dried rhubarb, incense, rue, which was a strong purgative, musk, myrrh, rosewater and rare herbs jostled with tincture of digitalis and mercury, also belladonna and ground bark. He began to measure the ingredients he needed for the cure that would ease the throbbing at his temples. At times the pain was almost blinding and he cursed for he could hardly keep his hands steady.
‘Are you ill, Papa?’
Mary’s soft voice made him turn his head to look at her. ‘Why are you here, child? You should be with your brother and sister.’
‘They are quite happy without me for the moment,’ Mary said. ‘Cedric sent me to tell you that a messenger has come.’
‘I can see no one for the moment.’ He cursed as his hand trembled and some of the powder was spilled from the spoon he held. ‘Forgive me, child. I should not use such language before you. It is my stupid hand. When the pain is bad in my head, my hand shakes and I may make a mistake in the measure.’
‘May I help, Papa?’ Mary asked, her eyes dark with concern. ‘Tell me what to do and I shall do it exactly.’
‘You wish to help me with my work?’ Niccolai smiled at her. ‘Very well. This is the spoon I use for measuring. I already have some of the ingredients I need, but now I require a level spoon of the ground feverfew and three drops of this liquid…’
‘This one in the blue bottle?’ Mary said, for she could not make out the lettering. ‘Do I measure three drops into the spoon, Papa?’
‘Yes. It is made from a special poppy and often called the sleeping juice. Add it to the mortar and watch as I grind the ingredients together. Now I shall add water and leave them the ingredients to infuse for a while.’
‘Will the mixture help the pain, Papa?’
‘Yes, in small doses, but the tincture we used can be dangerous, Mary. If too many drops were used it could cause death.’
‘Oh, Papa,’ Mary looked at him in awe. ‘How do you know just what to use?’
‘It has taken me years to discover the secrets I know, Mary, and my work is hardly begun. As yet there are too many ills that we cannot cure and I fear there always will be. As soon as I find the answer I seek there is another problem waiting to be solved.’
‘Cedric told me how hard you work,’ Mary said, her eyes soft with compassion. ‘He says you will kill yourself if you do not take more care.’
‘Cedric is a worrier,’ Niccolai said and laughed softly. ‘I think you are a better cure than all my medicines, Mary. My headache is lifting and I shall not need the cure after all.’
‘When I am older, will you let me help you, Papa? Will you teach me to make the cures for you? I am not clever like you, but I would like to help people, as you do.’
Niccolai touched her head, his heart lifting as he saw the earnest way she looked at him. He knew that she was not the child of his body, but she was his in spirit, his to mould and shape as he would.
‘Are you sure you wish to learn, Mary? It is not always a happy life. You will see people in terrible pain and with symptoms that would make your stomach turn – and not everyone will thank you for what you do. Some people think that I am the Devil in human form; they fear me and believe that I am a sorcerer.’
Her eyes widened in disbelief. ‘How can people be so foolish, Papa? You are a good man and you always try to help others. I want to be just like you.’
‘Well, you may help me sometimes with my cures,’ Niccolai said. ‘Now go and tell Cedric I will come in an hour. The messenger must be given food and drink, and then I shall see him. For the moment I have something more to do.’
Mary left him obediently. Nicholas went to the fire. Taking a pinch of the black powder from a pot on the mantle, he threw it into the flames. It flared blue and cold and in the centre of the cold flame he saw a man and a woman. Robert Devereaux was with her. He was threatening her. Had the fool learned nothing?
Niccolai felt the pain return, but he would not seek the rest his cure would give him just yet. He needed to concentrate his mind, to propel his thoughts through time and distance, over water. The reprimand from King Henry should have been enough to keep Devereaux in check until he was ready to move but it seemed the man was more of a fool than he had believed.
‘You bring your fate on yourself, Devereaux,’ Niccolai murmured. He took some purple powder from a second pot and threw it into the fire; this time the flames were dark crimson and burned with a fierce heat. ’Let it begin since you will have it so…’
Niccolai closed his eyes, concentrating, bringing a picture of her beloved face to his mind.
‘Be brave, my dearest Anne. I shall be with you soon now and then you will be safe with our children.’
* * *
Melloria sighed for her eyes were tired from too much sewing. She tucked her needle into the intricate embroidery. The tapestry she was making could be used to cover a table or as a wall hanging, and such fine work would bring several shillings at York market. The nuns would send it together with work they did themselves and it would purchases candles and perhaps flour or some other commodity needed for the winter.
She glanced up as the door opened and her sister entered. Immediately, she was aware of Beatrice’s apprehension and rose to her feet, her stomach clenching.
‘What is it, Beatrice?’
‘Your husband is here, sister. I told him that I was not sure you would see him but he demands to be heard. You have not answered his letter so he has come in person.’
Melloria clasped her hands together to stop them trembling. She was dressed soberly in a dark gown, her glorious hair covered by a plain white wimple, as behoved her in a house devoted to God.
‘Very well, I shall come to the meeting room,’ she said. ‘Do not fear for me, dearest sister. Robert will hardly try to ravish me here.’
Yet once before he had claimed a kiss here in the abbey and she had commanded him to leave her, but her power was stronger then. She felt unable to command him as she had once for he had shown her that his will was superior when he abused her so violently at the castle.
Her heart was racing as she followed Beatrice through the long shadowy corridors. The abbey was always cold even in summer. She shivered, holding her head high as she fought her apprehension. Robert should not see that she feared him.
‘I shall stay with you, Melloria,’ Beatrice told her as they reached the door. ‘If he threatens you, I will summon the monk who tends the forge and brother Joseph from the garden.’
‘You need not come in with me, but if you will stay close in case I call.’ Melloria breathed deeply. ‘I do not think Robert means to attack me. He must know that I would not return to him then.’
‘Are you thinking of it?’
‘I never wish to live as Robert’s wife again, but he may try to command me.’ She hesitated, then lifted the iron latch and went into the room kept for visitors, leaving the door slightly open so that her sister could hear what was said. Robert was standing before the fire, staring into the flames. He seemed mesmerised by something he saw in the deep glow of the fire and did not turn as she entered. ‘Robert? You wished to see me?’
‘Have you ever felt that
you were being drawn into the flames, that your whole body was on fire?’ Robert asked without looking round. ‘Sometimes I think I am being dragged into Hell and I feel the fire scorching my skin. The demons scream and tear at my flesh…’ He turned slowly to face her. ‘I know what it feels like to die, Melloria, slowly, piece by piece. One day I shall go to Hell for my sins.’
‘Robert? What foolish talk is this?’ Melloria was startled, touched by the haunted look in his eyes despite herself. She had been determined to remain detached, cool and unbending but the man she saw now was no tyrant, just a soul in torment. ‘It is the nature of God to forgive. If you repent and ask the priest to give you absolution you may avoid the fate that you fear.’
‘Do you truly believe that?’ he asked, his gaze fixed on her face. He looked feverish, dark shadows beneath his eyes, as if he had hardly slept for weeks. ‘Would you forgive me if you were God, Melloria? Would you let me through the gates of Heaven or would you cast me back into Hell?’
‘How can I answer such a question?’ Melloria was uneasy as she looked into his bloodshot eyes. ‘What has happened to you? You were never thus, Robert?’
‘I am haunted by dreams that give me no rest.’ Robert’s hands clenched at his sides. ‘What I did to you was unforgivable. I beg your pardon, Melloria. I believe I must have been mad. I do not know what drove me to behave as I did.’
‘Do not expect me to cleanse you of guilt, Robert. You have treated me ill, taken all that was mine, abused and betrayed me with a village girl.’
‘All I took is restored to you.’ Robert’s neck flushed dark red. ‘I shall have your things sent to Devereaux and you will find most of what you left behind there.’
She raised her head. ‘You will restore everything to me if I return to you – and if I do not? Am I to remain penniless, a burden on my sister? You took from her the farms you promised when you thought me dead and you withhold all that is mine by right. And then you expect me to return to you.’ Melloria looked at him coldly, her moment of weakness gone. ‘What will you do next time I refuse you, Robert? Will you beat me and imprison me? Perhaps in the oubliette next time?’
‘Do not look at me so,’ he said, his eyes dropping before hers. ‘I came here to entreat you to return to me. I will beg for forgiveness on my knees if you wish it.’
‘An empty gesture that you would regret. Restore that which is mine to me here and give me time to think. Perhaps I may learn to forgive you if you are patient.’
‘I waited years for you to forgive me but you were always so cold…so remote.’ Robert moved in closer. ‘You are my wife, Melloria. The King commands that you return to me. I am no longer his champion. He was angered by what...happened and he insists that I take you back and treat you respectfully. I give you my word that I will never force you to lie with me again.’
‘The King commands it? Did His Majesty command you to give up the whore you took in my place? How long will it be before you take another, Robert? Instead of searching for me when I was lost, you married again. Harry is proof of that union. Does your whore also bear your bastard?’
‘No…she is dead…she died of a fever,’ Robert said but his eyes veered away as if he lied. ‘Can you never forgive me?’
‘It is more what you did not do that I find so hard to forgive. I might have died had my welfare been left to you. I tried to do my duty but I could not love you, Robert. After what you did that last night…I can never live as your wife again.’
‘I beg you to reconsider.’ He moved towards her, his powerful body menacing as he looked down at her. Then his hand shot out, imprisoning her wrist. He drew her to him, caught her about the waist with his right arm and pulled her against his body. For a moment his eyes burned into her and then he lowered his head, taking possession of her mouth. His kiss demanded. Angry and passionate, he sought to take what she would not give. When she remained cold and passive in his arms, he gave a cry of despair and let her go, turning away with a groan. ‘Damn you! Why will you give me nothing? Alfreda was a whore but she loved me. I am not such a devil that no woman can love me. Tell me, why do you hate me so?’
‘I do not hate you,’ Melloria said softly. ‘I would have loved you if I could. I tried to be a dutiful wife in all things save one. You gave up the right to my love when you put duty to the prince above your wife. Let me go, Robert. Let there be peace between us. I shall go away and you will forget me.’
‘I shall never forget you,’ he muttered. ‘If you will not do your duty, you will not see your daughter again.’
Melloria’s eyes darkened with fear, her heart thumping. ‘Do you have Iolanthe? Have you taken her to Devereaux?’
‘She is with your women at Craigmoor…’ Robert’s gaze narrowed as he saw her face. ‘What? Are you saying she is not there?’
‘Mistress Rosalie came here to tell me that Iolanthe was stolen as she slept,’ Melloria said, and she crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘Beatrice thought you might have taken her.’
‘No! Damn it,’ Robert said, his mouth tight with anger. ‘If she is stolen I shall find her and take her back. What of Harry?’
‘He is still at the castle.’
His eyes darkened with temper. ‘Malvolia! He has the girl. He has taken her to make you return to him. I see it all now. His hand was behind all this…the King’s disfavour, the nightmares - I know it was Malvolia who arranged these things.’
‘You alone were responsible for your own downfall. Everything you did was of your own volition, Robert. Nicholas would never seek to force me to do anything. If he has my children it is for their protection and my peace of mind.’
‘Children? He has found Iolanthe’s sister?’ Robert glared at her. ‘You have seen him. Has he been here?’
‘No, he has not been to the abbey, but I believe he has my children safe. Mary no longer cries in my heart.’
‘Mary?’ Robert moved towards her. He lifted his hand as if he would strike her. Then, as she looked into his eyes, it fell to his side. ‘Your eyes would strike a man down, Melloria. ‘Tis no wonder Montroy fell ill of a seizure when you cursed him the night he took Devereaux and cast you out into the snow. Your eyes haunt my dreams. They will follow me to my death. I fear your hatred more than all the demons of Hell.’
‘I am sorry for your torment, Robert. If I could give you what you want I would, but I can never be the wife you would have me be. The woman you married died years ago alone on the moors on a snowy night. The woman who rose from her ashes is a different person – someone you would not even want if you knew her. Put me from you, Robert. Let us torment each other no more.’
‘Never!’ His eyes seemed to burn her with their fire. ‘You are mine, Melloria. I shall never let him have you. If you go to him I shall hunt you down – and then I shall kill you. I shall kill you, your lover and your children. Remember that when you lie in his arms. You will never be free of me – unless I am dead. You will see your children die, hear their screams ringing in your ears as I take your life.’
‘Do not make me wish for your death, Robert,’ she said, feeling all hope drain from her as she accepted his terrible threat. He would never let her be happy. If she went with Nicholas he would destroy her but first he would kill all those she loved. ‘Please leave me. I shall never forgive you for what you have just said. I hope you dream of Hell tonight and every night of your life.’
Turning her back on him, she left the room, her head high. Once the door was closed she fell into Beatrice’s arms weeping.
‘Did you hear what he said?’
Beatrice nodded, her expression hard and unforgiving.
‘May God forgive him, sister, for I never shall.’
47
Rosalie had been walking for more than eight days. Her feet had begun to blister and she was hungry. She had eaten all the food the Abbess had given her and though she had bought some bread from Lincoln market she had not dared to spend more of her slender purse. As yet she had not come to even one of t
he abbeys or monasteries the Abbess had marked on her map since leaving Lincoln. She thought she must have taken the wrong turning somewhere for even though she had asked her way once or twice she had not been able to find a place to rest as dusk fell. She had spent most of her nights on the road, hiding in the woods and lying wrapped in her cloak, shivering and terrified of every sound. Once she had thought she heard a wolf howl but it did not approach her.
Her feet were so sore. Sitting down at the side of the road on earth that had been dry for several days now, Rosalie took off the boots she had been wearing the day she took shelter at the castle. There were holes appearing in the soles of both.
Hot tears scalded her cheeks as she thought of her predicament. Despite the map the Abbess had given her, she had no idea where she was. For all she knew, she might be going round in a circle. She was supposed to follow the shrines and abbeys, heading always south, but she might be going north for all she knew.
Her feet were swollen and there was a blister under her right big toe. She touched it carefully, wincing with pain. What ought she to do now? Her water supply was low and she dare not use it to bathe her feet, but they felt so hot and tender that all she wanted to do was sit here and weep.
Hearing the sound of wheels on the dusty road, Rosalie looked up. Hours had passed since she had seen anyone and she was beginning to think she was alone in all the world. The driver had seen her. He was stopping his cart, getting down to come to her. Her heart thudded. She was a woman and defenceless. If he tried to attack her there was little she could do. She stood nervously, looking at him as he approached her.
‘Are you in trouble, mistress?’ he asked. He had a gentle voice and his clothes were similar to those adopted by the pilgrims she had seen just after she left Lincoln. They had been travelling north, but had pointed her in the direction she must follow; somehow she had lost her way missing the turning that would have taken her to an abbey. ‘Your feet are swollen. Let me bathe them for you, and then you must ride with me.’