by J G Lewis
As they drew closer, however, the great tower disappeared behind the cluster of thatched and tiled roofs that crowded around them. As she suspected it was almost impossible to guess the right way to turn in the higgledy-piggledy patchwork of streets.
The lad led the way confidently enough. He even blew out the lantern and stowed it behind his saddle as the misty dawn light illuminated their unfamiliar surroundings. Perhaps he’d lied about never making the journey before.
But as time went on she wondered if they were making real progress or just going around in uneven, looping circles. A bank of flat white cloud hid the rising sun, so she had no idea which way was north or south. Eventually he stopped his horse, turned to her and admitted that he had no idea which way to go.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find our way.” She wanted to reassure him. “Perhaps you could ask that good woman behind the fruit stall.”
A red-faced woman arranged rows of plump pears and damsons on a clean linen cloth. The lad dismounted from his horse and led it over. She heard him mumble something and the woman replied. Then he came back over to her and asked, “Where are we going?”
Ela couldn’t help but laugh. She gave him her mother’s address and he hurried back to the woman, dragging his broad chestnut horse along by its reins like a hound on a rope. As he gave her the address the woman shot Ela a glance of shock that turned into a look of grave disapproval.
Ela found herself looking down at her attire, which, in the stark light of morning, was shockingly dirty. She wasn’t even sure how that had happened. Probably the floor of the stinking cart followed by her ejection onto the damp earth of the countryside. She lifted her chin high. It was nothing that wouldn’t wash off.
The lad paid no attention to her grimy appearance but excitedly mounted his horse, muttering to himself. “Right at St. Peters, left at the old fish market, right again past the Abbey of St. Giles….”
Ela kept quiet, not wanting to chase the precious words from his head. Luckily, he had a good memory and his horse was steadier than his riding of it, and they soon found themselves on the wider, cobbled streets between the grander houses and better endowed churches in the environs that Ela knew as London.
Ela wanted to cry with relief at the sight of her mother’s black-and-white gables. “Hold the horses and stay here,” Ela said as she dismounted. “I’ll fetch something for you.”
The door opened before she could even knock, and a shout from the doorman brought her mother—screaming—into the hallway.
“Ela, my darling! May God be praised.” She rushed to her and clutched her to her breast. “We haven’t slept a wink all night.”
“Bill is—” she didn’t know how to say it. Couldn’t bring the horrible words to her lips.
“Upstairs in bed—against his own wishes. No sooner were his wounds bandaged than he wanted to head out onto the streets searching for you.”
“He’s alive?” She could hardly believe it.
“Only just. He lost a lot of blood. The doctor said we’re lucky help came at once.” She glanced at the lad behind Ela. “Do come in!”
“I need coin and a morsel of food and drink for this lad, who gallantly brought me to your door although he’s never been in London before.”
“May God bless you, young man!” Her mother soon had him relieved of both horses and ushered into the kitchens for refreshments.
Ela’s mother led her inside, exclaimed over her filthy garments and sent Hilda—whose eyes were red with weeping—to fetch a clean gown for her.
Alianore led Ela into the parlor and pressed a cup of watered wine into her hand. Ela took a sip and realized her hand was shaking.
“Where were you? Bill said you were abducted before his eyes! Who took you?” A barrage of questions flew from Alianore’s mouth.
Ela blinked, struggling to believe that all these events had happened in just one night. “I have no idea.”
“They stole your rings…” Alianore snatched at her hand. “And my gold belt!” She stared at Ela in horror.
“It’s a long story.”
Chapter 8
“We must tell the sheriff that you’re home,” exclaimed Alianore after Ela had swallowed a reviving cup of wine. “Bill raised the hue and cry before nearly dying.”
“The assailants left him there in the street?”
“Yes, and both attendants are badly injured, too. Young Rufus is hovering between life and death due to loss of blood. Stabbed in the gut.”
Ela crossed herself. “May God protect them. We must offer up a Mass for them at once.”
“Yes, of course, but first we must get you changed.”
Hilda helped Ela out of her soiled gown and into a clean one of soft blue wool. Alianore sent her away to bring a bowl of water, and when she returned Hilda still looked on the brink of tears. “Hilda, what ails you?”
“I thought you were dead, my lady. Like Drogo.” A sob like a hiccup shook her chest.
Ela rose and held the girl close. “God has spared me for another day. I don’t have time to die. I must look out for you and your baby as well as my children.” She smoothed away the girl’s tears with her thumb. She realized with chagrin that she was starting to feel tenderly toward Hilda as if she were her own wayward daughter. “I can hardly enjoy the sweet rest of Heaven with those responsibilities weighing on me.”
“Hilda, do fetch your mistress a bowl of oat porridge with cream and honey,” said Alianore sharply. Hilda scurried away. Alianore leaned in. “You’re far too soft with the girl. You should beat the tears out of her.”
“If anyone beats Hilda after what she’s already been through she’d simply break. If my plan comes to fruition Hilda will be mistress of her own estate and raise her child in comfort.”
“And you’ll be sheriff of Salisbury,” scoffed her mother as if it were the most preposterous thing in the world.
“Exactly.” Ela jutted her chin for a moment. “But let’s stay focused on the present task. When the sheriff is told I’m alive, be sure that he’s summoned here immediately.”
Ela couldn’t eat a bite until she’d visited Bill. She climbed the stairs to the bedroom with growing apprehension, half afraid he’d have suddenly died of his wounds. Her fears worsened when she opened the door to see him lying on the bed, pale as bone, with his eyes closed and his head sunk deep into the pillow.
“Bill!” She rushed forward and took his hand, relieved to find it warm. She squeezed it gently. “I thought you were killed.”
His eyelids flickered for a moment before opening a crack. “Ela…God be praised. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you. Who took you?”
“I’m not sure. Someone who wanted to scare me. And clearly someone who wouldn’t mind having murder on his hands.”
“You should go back to Gomeldon immediately,” he rasped.
“Like a coward running from battle?” The idea repulsed her. “That’s exactly what these evil-hearted men want. They want me to run home like a scared little mouse and allow them to go about their devilish business undisturbed.”
Bill looked like he wanted to protest, but the effort proved too much for him and he winced in pain as a cough rattled his chest.
“Have a care!” Ela put her hand on his shoulder. “You have a wound, and if it doesn’t heal cleanly it may fester. Who closed it for you?”
“The same doctor who attends the king. Your mother has friends in high places.”
“And thank God for them. But now you must rest so you can protect me next time I need you. I promise you I won’t do anything rash. And at least I should have the sheriff’s ear now.”
To his credit the sheriff arrived promptly, with a loud clattering of his entourage in the street outside. Alianore ushered him into a special back parlor she kept for private games and other covert occasions. Then she closed the door so just the three of them sat at a small table inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
Sheriff Roger le Duc was a tall man, nearly bal
d, his remaining dark hair shaved close, but with a thick dark beard that showed little silver. His tunic was dark brown, almost black, with silver trim—an unusual look that gave him a Continental appearance.
He bowed to Ela and murmured his relief at her safety.
“Sir William Talbot and I sought you all day yesterday,” she admonished. “Even to Westminster. I had no intention of tangling with these criminals myself. I’m glad to have found you at last. I’m sure that the people who took me are involved in the secret trade in children that I’m investigating.”
Le Duc blinked. “Children? What do you mean?”
Ela sighed. No one had found him and told him. “Children are being stolen from their homes and sold into some kind of slavery. My lawyer had his men look into the matter and they found a house near Westcheap—with no windows on the first floor—where at least some of these children are being kept. You must ride there at once before they can be moved.”
His smooth forehead furrowed. “What does this have to do with your being abducted?”
“I came to London to search for a girl taken from her cottage in Salisbury, and it led me into the middle of this foul trade.”
“And you were taken to this house on Westcheap?”
“No.” Frustration rose in her. “At least I don’t think so. They didn’t take me far, so the house where they hid me was near here. And a very grand residence, even larger and more luxurious than this house. But the children are in danger. Please, attend to them first before we look for whomever took me prisoner.”
Le Duc’s mouth flattened out and turned down at the corners. “Your safety is a far greater concern to myself—and, naturally, to his majesty the king—than any other crimes that have been committed. We must find the men who took you.”
“Indeed, but you must visit the house in Westcheap first.” Or I’ll ride there myself, she wanted to threaten. But she knew that would only irk him and possibly impede the investigation. She repeated the directions that Spicewell’s men had given her. “Please, I beg you. I shan’t breathe a word about my own ordeal until you’ve at least tried to rescue the children.”
“I beg you also,” said Alianore. “Or my daughter will take it upon herself. Her thirst for justice rivals that of her late husband.”
Ela felt a burst of pride and wanted to hug her mother. But she kept her hands in her lap. She had an inkling that her mother secretly wanted her to be sheriff.
Le Duc looked highly skeptical but agreed to ride at once to the house and search it. He also promised to report back. Ela watched him leave, his entourage a flurry of gold brocade and fur trim on their fine destriers.
As they rode away her heart quietly sank. “He’s not going to go there.”
“Of course he is, my dear. He said he would.” Alianore bustled about, fussing over the dirt his men had tracked into her front hall and parlor. “Why wouldn’t he?”
“I’m not sure.” Ela bit her lip. “I wish I did know. But I watched his face harden while I spoke to him. He doesn’t want to rescue the children. He doesn’t even want to know about them.”
“But why?” Alianore only half listened as she pointed out some crumbs to a maid.
“I suspect that the trade in children is run by—or for—very powerful men. Men whose interests must be protected at all costs. Even at the cost of a tender child’s innocent life.” Ela frowned. “Even at the cost of my life.”
“What nonsense!” Alianore stopped and stared. “You are a countess of the realm! Your children are cousins to the king.”
“And yet these men dared to seize me in the street, take me prisoner, then dump me out of a wagon deep in the countryside.”
Alianore’s mouth fell open. She realized she hadn’t told her mother—or the sheriff—that part. “You must return to Salisbury at once.”
“I want to return to my quiet home and my own children more than anything, but how can I face poor Alys Wheaton and tell her that her little girl is lost forever?”
“The sheriff may find her this afternoon,” said her mother brightly, plucking at a piece of fluff on her gown.
“If he does, then I’ll take her back to Salisbury with me, praising God all the way.”
Her mother looked up, disturbing her white veil. “And if he doesn’t?”
Ela should have been exhausted by a night utterly without sleep, but instead she couldn’t sit still. A feverish energy coursed through her, fueled by her anxiety about Bill’s wounds, as well as the fate of Edyth and the other children.
She paced her bedroom, peering out the window at the rain-wet streets below, wishing she could ride after Sheriff le Duc. Hilda had spent a sleepless night fretting over her absence and was now fast asleep in the wooden chair by Ela’s empty fireplace. Ela pondered whether to wake her up but decided against it. The girl was pregnant and needed her rest.
She slipped out of the room and tiptoed back into Bill’s room. She vowed that if he was asleep, she’d leave him be, but his eyelids cracked open as she entered the room.
“Where did they take you?” he rasped.
Ela moved a chair up to his bedside and sat in it. “I will only tell you if you promise not to become agitated.”
He regarded her through slitted eyes. “I’ll try my hardest.”
“That’s not good enough. Your health comes before all else.”
“I vow, as a knight of the realm, to keep calm no matter what you tell me. You are safe and well, and that is what matters.”
Ela looked at him skeptically. “I shall take you at your word. A man snatched me and put a hood over my head, so I couldn’t see where they took me, but it can’t have been far from here. It’s likely a house we walk past on our way to Westminster or even going to Vespers.”
“A grand house, like this?”
“More so. Lavish, filled with unusual and rich objects from foreign countries.” Ela frowned. Who would own such a house? “A house fit for a prince or…”
“A bishop?” Bill said the word she’d been afraid to utter.
Ela did not like to cast aspersions against God’s representatives on earth. It might be different if she knew the person well—she’d had her ups and downs with Bishop Richard Poore in Salisbury—but to think evil about members of the clergy rubbed against every bone in her body.
“It is certainly the house of a wealthy person. Possibly a merchant. I’d imagine some of them are as rich as princes in these materialistic times.” She shifted, uncomfortable on the hard chair. “Or a bishop.”
Bill’s eyes opened a little wider. “What did they do to you?”
“They shut me up in a room with a small boy to watch me. I tried to quiz him about the place and its owner, but he never said a word. They may have chosen a child who didn’t speak English. He was from Africa. Possibly brought here as part of the same cruel trade in children.”
She rose, too agitated to sit still, and walked across the room. “They gave me food, but I wasn’t fool enough to take a bite.” She glanced back at him. “You’ve trained me well.”
A pained attempt at a smile hitched his mouth. “Praise be.”
“Then a man wearing a strange mask came to fetch me. I’ve heard they have haunting, fanciful masks in Venice, but I haven’t seen them so I don’t know if it’s one of those or not. It had a beak like a bird. He wore a cloak that covered his hair and body. I couldn’t see him at all, though he was tall.”
“Did he speak?”
“Yes.” She frowned again. “And his voice sounded familiar, but I can’t place it at all.”
“Did he have an accent?”
“He spoke in English but he didn’t have a distinctive accent.” She paced across the room. “I’ve been racking my mind, trying to think of where I might have heard his voice before.”
“Was he one of the men at Spicewell’s chambers?”
The thought stilled her feet. “No. They had London accents and he didn’t.”
“Someone from Salisbury?”
>
Ela turned and walked back. “No. No one that I know well.”
“Did they ever catch that strange man who seemed to be behind the murders related to the opium trade?”
“Vicus Morhees?” Ela would never forget that strange name. Not as long as he walked alive and free. She considered him at least partially responsible for the death of Hilda’s lover on her own estate. Although he hadn’t dealt the fatal blow—the man who did had been tried and hung for it—he had encouraged the killer to further his own nefarious ends. She realized she’d stopped walking…and breathing.
“He’d have motivation to want you to retire to Salisbury and never leave it again.”
Ela blinked, trying to recall the nuances of the masked man’s voice. “He would indeed.” She’d written letters to several sheriffs calling for his arrest.
Ela hurried to Bill’s side and sank back into the chair. “I can’t be sure. Too much has happened since I last heard his voice. And the masked man specifically warned me against looking into the children’s disappearance. What would Vicus Morhees have to do with that?”
Bill’s face turned pale as an attempted cough racked his body.
“Oh, you poor thing. Where did they wound you?”
“They cut me beneath my ribs but missed any vital organs.”
Ela crossed herself. “May the Lord heal you with all speed. Do your best not to move at all so the flesh can knit back together.”
Bill’s face showed his pain no matter how he tried to hide it. She resolved to go seek some herbs to soothe him and leave him in peace for now.
Ela returned with some myrrh that she’d bought at great expense, due to the distance it had to travel from the Holy Land. She’d heard it had powerful healing properties that could keep a wound from festering. You’d never be able to get your hands on myrrh in a hurry in Salisbury, so being in London had its advantages. She also bought some willow bark to make a tea for Bill to drink to ease his pain.
