by J G Lewis
She expected him to ignore her, but he didn’t. “He’s from the Black Coast.” His voice had a bragging tone. “All the people there are black as charcoal, and it’s said that they feast on human flesh.”
The idea startled her but she knew he’d said it to shock her. It was probably nonsense anyway. Now that his lips were loosened, she tried again. “This palace is fit for a prince. Your master must be a great man.” She could hardly believe how calm she was when this man could draw a knife from his robe and kill her at any moment. “Will you tell me his name?”
He wouldn’t kill her. He didn’t dare. She was a countess and kin to the king.
But, given those things, how did they dare to seize and threaten her like this?
“You must leave London tonight and not come back.” His voice was slightly muffled by the odd beaked mask.
“I will. I’ll leave at once.” The prospect of escaping this strange place sent a jolt of energy to her fingers and toes.
“If you’re ever found to be prying into the matter of missing children again, your own children will join them and disappear without a trace.”
A chill gripped her. “I would never endanger my own children.” Her voice trembled slightly. “Please don’t hurt them.”
His posture softened, and she could almost swear he smiled under his ghoulish mask. Her genuine fear had no doubt gladdened his cruel heart.
“Don’t move.” He took a step toward her.
She braced, much as the boy had done when she touched him. The man pulled a length of dark cloth from inside his robe and tied it over her eyes. The cloth had a strong smell of incense, and she fought the urge to sneeze as it covered her nose and mouth as well as her eyes.
Unable to see, she felt him move behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her forward like she was a horse before his cart.
The door opened before her, so there must have been someone else standing there listening the whole time.
“Watch your step,” he said in the oddly mocking tone he’d used earlier. “We don’t want you getting hurt now, do we?”
She didn’t dignify his threat with a reply but did pick up her hem so as not to trip on it. She held her other hand out in front of her to avoid bumping into walls or furniture.
He steered her along a series of passageways—different from the way she’d come in. Another door opened and the cool night air touched her skin like a kiss. She could smell distant fires and hear the barking of dogs.
“Do I find my way from here?” She raised a hand to her blindfold.
His laugh exploded out of him. “No! You’ll be taken far from here. We can hardly have you coming back here with the sheriff’s men now, can we?”
Ela’s ears pricked. What did he know of her search for the sheriff? Who had told these people about her?
She let out a small shriek as someone—not the masked man, maybe the short one—lifted her off her feet and carried her forward a few steps, then bundled her into a wagon of some sort. She was laid down on a wood floor that reeked of refuse, like a cart used to carry animals or agricultural produce. Before she had time to right herself, the cart jolted forward and she heard the clatter of hooves on cobbles as it set out with her.
She reached up to tug the blindfold from her eyes—
“Leave that!” said a voice in French as a hand slapped at hers. Then the driver’s voice, a rougher, more typically London one, scolded her. “You’ve no need to see where you’re going.”
“How will I find my way home?”
“I don’t know or care.”
Ela strained to pay attention to the movements of the cart—a turn to the right, a curve to the left, a halt while hooves clattered by in front of the cart—but the turns continued until the map she drew in her head devolved into a tangle of weeds.
The city’s nighttime sounds—the grumble of drunks, the clip-clop of a lone horseman, the occasional shout of an angry housewife—gradually faded into a thick, dark silence as the smell of cooking fires was replaced by the rich, wet smell of damp earth.
She made another conversational gambit. “Where are we?”
“The less you know, the better off you are,” was the only answer she received.
Eventually the driver up front shouted something intelligible and the stinking cart slowed to a jerky halt. The man next to her seized her in his arms like she was a sack of carrots and heaved her out of the cart.
Her shoulder hit the ground hard—before she could throw her arms out to break her fall. The coachman yelled back and berated him to have a care! He retorted with a curse that burned her ears, then the horse moved forward and the cart lurched into motion again.
She just had time to tug off her blindfold, right herself, and scramble out of the road before the horse and cart turned around and came back again toward her at a trot.
“Sleep tight, princess!” called the driver. The short man upbraided him for insolence, and their argument faded into the night as Ela found herself alone in the dark in the middle of nowhere.
Chapter 7
As the cart with its cruel occupants receded into the distance, Ela felt a powerful sense of relief. She’d escaped with her life. Next came deep unease. She was alone with no attendants and no means of transport in an utterly unknown place. Worse yet, it was night and she stood on one of the many roads leading into London where robbers and vagrants might lurk behind any tree hoping to waylay travelers.
Not that she could so much as make out a tree. A thick bank of cloud blotted out the stars and moon and made it hard to distinguish the sky from the ground.
At least she knew which direction London lay in, since the cart was now heading back there. If she could stay on the road and not be murdered by cutthroats, she’d eventually find her way back to the city and to her mother’s house.
She set out walking, which wasn’t easy, given the delicate, thin-soled shoes she’d chosen to wear to Westminster Palace. The embroidered hem of her gown wrapped itself around her ankles like a chain, and she had to repeatedly pull it loose. Then there was the problem of staying on the road, which was really two deep furrows made by a thousand cartwheels.
Ela hitched her skirt to her knees, grateful for the darkness, the better to stride forward. She now covered ground rapidly and soon, over the top of a small rise she saw the glow of a light in a window and smelled smoke rising from a hearth.
If it was a house, perhaps she could ask the occupant to shelter her until daylight. Or if it was an inn, she could hire a horse and attendant to take her home.
Except that she had no money.
The thought hit her like a sudden rain shower. Riding around Salisbury she always kept a purse of coins on her, for buying small items or offering alms. For her journey to the palace, however, she’d seen no such need. Bill and her attendants carried money to tip the pages or buy small notions on the way.
Her heart ached at the thought of poor Bill. She couldn’t believe he was dead. It was too much to bear. She’d felt the same way when her husband died—ready to argue with providence and insist that he was still alive…somewhere. Both Bill and her husband would be horrified if they knew that she was alone and friendless out here in the dark without a coin on her person.
She did have her mother’s gold-link belt, though.
How odd that they hadn’t taken it from her. It must be worth a good deal of money, and she was surprised that the man in the wagon hadn’t relieved her of it without telling anyone else. No doubt he was too afraid of his master to commit a theft that might draw the attention of the authorities.
And his master must have told him not to molest her. She still had all her rings as well. Perhaps she could trade one of those for passage into London.
Ela’s heart beat faster as she approached the building. It sat right alongside the road, and the windows glowed with candlelight from within despite the late hour.
Ela realized she had no idea what time it was. Certainly the wee hours o
f the morning. Who would still be up at this time? Apprehension clawed at her as she lowered her hem back to the ground. Was she about to introduce herself into a den of thieves?
A cold drizzle dampened her skin and gown and drove her to hurry toward the lone building. As she approached she could hear the muffled sounds of horses in the stable nearby.
“Who goes there?” A voice shouted out of the darkness.
Ela, Countess of Salisbury! “A traveler seeking shelter,” she managed.
“Oh, really?” The mocking tone of voice made her conscious of the French-inflected accent that distinguished herself from the common people. Perhaps she should have tried to disguise it. On the other hand, she still wore the rich attire she’d donned to visit the king so she could hardly pretend to be a dairymaid lost on the road to market.
“Is this an inn?”
“Aye.”
She still couldn’t see the speaker. The ground right outside the inn was slippery from the rain and the passage of many feet, and she lifted her hem slightly to keep her footing.
“You have money?” The harsh voice maintained its mocking tone.
“Um…” Ela wondered how to explain that she had valuables she could trade.
“If you’re a likely lass you might not need money,” the voice wheedled.
“I’m a mother of eight,” retorted Ela quickly. “And not at all likely.” Part of her wanted to turn back onto the road and keep going, but the rain grew heavier and soon she’d be wet through and chilled to the bone. She might be hours away from her mother’s house, especially since she didn’t know the way. There was no point surviving an abduction only to catch a chill and die.
She approached the door, and the dark figure of her interlocutor emerged out of the shadows and opened it for her.
Ela stepped into the gloomy interior, which reeked of damp earth and something like parsnip and bacon pottage. She didn’t see anyone eating. In the flickering light from two stinking tallow candles, she could make out eight or nine men gathered in two small groups. Why were all these men awake in the middle of the night? Dressed in rough clothing and clutching wooden cups of ale, they hardly seemed the type to be waiting for Matins service to begin.
A portly older man approached her, his hair in a tonsure similar to a monk’s but shaved by nature. “How may I help you?”
“I seek passage back to London.” She glanced around. “I…I fell from my horse and got lost on the road.” She didn’t like revealing that she was vulnerable and alone, but there was no way to explain her lack of attendants.
She could have told them what really happened, but for all she knew, her kidnappers frequented this place and she’d be digging herself back into danger.
“Come, take a seat and sip a cup of ale.” He gestured to a bench on the far side of the small room.
“I’m not really hungry or thirsty,” she protested. She itched to leave this place as quickly as possible. Were there no women here at all? Not even the innkeeper’s wife? Maybe she lay safely abed upstairs. Ela had a sudden urge to cross herself, but she kept her hands firmly at her sides. “I’d like to hire a horse and carriage for the journey.”
“We don’t have a carriage.” An odd smile lifted one side of his mouth. “And we can hardly discuss your needs while you’re standing wet and cold in the doorway!” He placed a thick hand on her arm. Ela stiffened. “Come pull up a chair by the fire.”
“Then I’d like to hire a riding horse.” Ela reluctantly allowed herself to be led across the room. The floor was strewn with foul-smelling, dirty straw. She perched on the edge of a wooden chair, which lurched because one leg was shorter than the others.
“I’m afraid we don’t have a sidesaddle.” The man cocked his head.
“I can ride astride.” She spoke quietly. He was trying to intimidate her. It was working. For all she knew the men who dumped her by the road could be among those gathered around the guttering candles.
“I presume you’ll rest here until morning. We do have a bed upstairs that—”
“Oh, no.” The prospect of staying here among these strange men appalled her. “I need to ride at once. There are people awaiting my arrival. They’ll be looking for me.” She knew that much was true.
“Our horses are well tired. They’ve worked a hard day and need their feed and rest.” He sighed. “But I suppose I can find one if you have the right coin.”
“I don’t have coin but I have—” Ela glanced down at her rings. The belt was too valuable for such a purchase. One ring should be more than enough for payment. She bent her head and started to work a finely wrought gold ring off her middle finger—then she stopped with a start as her blood ran cold.
Her belt was gone.
She knew she still had it on her after her fall from the cart. She could almost swear she’d felt its reassuring weight about her waist as she’d walked the last slippery steps to the door into this God-forsaken place. Had someone snatched it off her as she walked across the room? She’d heard tell of thieves who could steal your eyeballs out of your sockets without your noticing.
She realized she’d stopped breathing. She wasn’t in any position to accuse them of theft. A woman alone among strangers in the dark of night. She’d never—ever—been abroad at night without an attendant. Although her gut instinct was to rise to her feet and loudly threaten to bring the law on them—without an entourage of armed knights…
She worked her ring off. “I can pay with this ring.” Her first priority was to get out of here and back to London in one piece.
She put the ring in the tavern owner’s greasy palm. He raised it to his mouth and bit it, which made her flesh crawl. “It’s just brass.” He peered at her, and she could swear she saw a question in his gaze. He dared her to argue with him. She suspected that if she rose to the bait she’d end up stripped of all her rings and with no horse.
She looked down at her hands. She had three more rings, one with a large emerald and another with three small rubies. “Would one of these do instead?”
“This one—” He held up the one in his hand. “And the green one.”
Ela’s heart sank. The emerald ring was a gift from William on their tenth wedding anniversary. But William would value her life above even the most precious gemstone. She eased it over her knuckle.
The innkeeper snatched it, and she heard it click against his yellow teeth. “I’ll send the lad to get a horse ready for you. For the ruby ring as well you can have the lad ride along with you…for protection.”
His voice had an odd edge to it. Would the “lad”—who might be a man of fifty for all she knew—be more likely to protect her or to harm her? Or was the offer of protection a threat that if she didn’t buy it, she’d soon regret it?
Fear trickled down her spine as she weighed the two unappealing options. “Would he ride all the way to my destination?”
“Aye, and bring the horse back. Otherwise you’d have to bring it back yourself tomorrow.” Ela would have had a servant do the latter, of course, but a guide all the way into the city held a lot of appeal. The outskirts sprawled in a maze of streets, and it would be easy to lose her way and end up in a dangerous quarter.
“I’d like the lad to attend me.” She pulled off the third ring. Her mother had given it to her for her birthday last year. Hopefully it would buy her the right to see another birthday. She handed it over and averted her eyes as he stuck it in his mouth. She looked up in time to see him grin and shove the rings in his purse. Their true value could probably buy this whole establishment, but worth was circumstantial.
She refused all food and drink, wary of being drugged or poisoned. For all they knew she might ride back to civilization and accuse them of theft and extortion. After what seemed like an hour the innkeeper gruffly shouted that her horse was ready. Ela hurried outside, anxious to get as far away from this place as possible.
The pitch darkness of the night hadn’t abated. The lad—who was indeed a lad, of about eighteen—hel
d two horses in one hand and a crude lantern in the other.
“Take your pick.” One was a wide-eyed, sturdy chestnut and the other a tall, spindly bay.
“Which one is easier to ride?”
“Both the same.”
Both horses looked sleepy and unimpressed by their new task. Ela chose the bay because it had a kinder eye. The lad looked relieved, which wasn’t encouraging. She took the reins and managed to climb on while the bay sidestepped away from the boy and the lantern.
Once she was safely astride she turned the horse in a circle to let it know she was in charge. Thank goodness it knew at least basic commands. Perhaps it had even been a fine horse at some point in its earlier life.
They set out on the road, with the lad holding the lantern aloft to light the ruts and puddles of the path. “Have you done this journey before?” she asked, after she’d had time to settle into her mount and decide it didn’t want to kill her.
“Nope.”
“You’ve ridden into London.”
“Nope.”
Ela did quickly cross herself. “What do you usually do?”
“I just started at the inn this week. I wash the pots and cups and feed and water the horses.” He turned to her with a bright grin. “I’ve only been on a horse twice in my life. I’m glad you picked the tall one!”
Ela prayed that both horses would be quiet and that nothing would happen to startle them. This poor lad would be next to no use once they reached the busy streets of London—surely it would be dawn by then—and would likely have trouble finding his way home.
Still, that wasn’t her problem and he seemed happy enough to go on this adventure.
The first glow of dawn revealed the roofs and church towers of London in the distance. Cottages and hovels of all descriptions hunkered against each other in sprawling suburbs outside the city walls, and thin whiffs of smoke rose from bakeries and cookshops. Through the thin dawn mist she could make out the tall shape of the White Tower, and the sight of the familiar landmark made her want to weep with relief.
