by Lucy Jago
“My lord, my parents will be anxious about me. I must return.”
Drax laughed contemptuously. “Even if they knew you were with me? I thought they were positively throwing you at my feet.” Amelia blushed, for it was true. She glanced toward Sir Edward, who was staring at her. She knew he was warning her not to give away Sir Nathaniel’s position. Even with that advantage, it seemed to Amelia that Drax was the most likely victor in the battle between father and son.
Gripping her arm so tightly she cried out in pain, Drax whispered into Amelia’s ear, “Now, what did you come to tell me, my sweet?”
C H A P T E R 23
Cess could hardly breathe for fear and excitement as the witches left the tunnel and formed into their coven above ground. They were armed with staves and knives, and from their girdles hung bags and vials of hallucinatory and sleep-inducing concoctions. Linen masks soaked in linseed oil were tied over their faces, which made a strange and frightening sight. They moved in silence and with ease, as if the clearing were illuminated by brilliant sunshine rather than the pale evening glow. With no perceptible signal being given, they moved off as one, out of the clearing and down the mountain toward the ruined priory.
Once they were out of sight, Cess climbed down the ladder and saw Jasper staring up at her.
“Let’s go,” she said, more confident in her role as leader than she could have believed possible. She had never before been in charge of more than a few hens. How many thousands would perish if she and Jasper failed?
Shouldering a heavy sack each, they entered the tunnel by the light of a single lantern. They quickly made their way to the bottom of the hill, turned right at the fork, and hurried to the end of the tunnel. In front of them was the smooth stone panel of a large sarcophagus. Beyond it was the priory crypt. There was just enough space between the tomb and the crypt wall for them to squeeze through.
Once in the crypt, Cess stood quietly while Jasper pulled the sturdy wooden block from one of the sacks. Into each of the drilled holes he pushed a long wooden dowel, to which were attached the paper tubes of fireworks. From the bottom of each tube hung a fuse.
“The coven is ready,” whispered Cess to Jasper, sensing that the witches were now gathered outside the dovecote. With Cess carrying the sacks and Jasper the firework block, they moved quickly out of the crypt and into the passageway. As they expected, to their right was a dead end. They walked left until they came to a junction. Ahead was the exit to the dovecote. To the right were the cells and workroom. The door was open as before, and they could hear voices. They crept as close as they could without being seen. Jasper knelt down and angled the block carefully so that all the fireworks were pointing into the room. He lit the fuses with the lantern candle, and he and Cess flitted past the door to hide behind it.
The fuses made quite a noise as they burned, and Cess and Jasper looked at each other, worried the monks would come out to investigate before the fireworks ignited. After a few moments, they did hear someone shushing the others and the sound of a bench being pushed back. Through the crack they could see a figure come to the door. The fuses were almost gone. Cess and Jasper covered their ears, which muffled the sound of the monk’s surprised yell.
Even covered by her hands, Cess felt her eardrums would burst with the force of the fireworks exploding in the confined space. The screaming noise of the rockets shooting upward was terrifying, and within seconds the workroom was filled with burning shards of paper and wood and thick, sulphurous smoke.
Some of the men’s robes caught fire, and they ran from the room, screaming. Coughing, blinded by smoke and fumes, the rest fumbled their way out of the room and up the passage toward the exit. Cess smiled at Jasper through the thick darkness. The plan was working perfectly.
Before the last monk had stumbled from view, Cess and Jasper covered their mouths and noses and ran into the workroom with the second sack. Eyes streaming, they pulled out the two petards and nailed them to the underside of the trestles.
“I’ve made short fuses—we will just have to run fast once they’re lit,” said Jasper.
“I’ll check the cells,” said Cess, leaving the room. The first was empty, the second contained two bodies. As she checked the third cell she heard distant yells and the noise of fighting echoing down the passages. She felt a stab of intense fear. Alathea was talking to her. “Get out of there, Cecily. Get out, quickly.”
Amelia stumbled into the hall and blinked in surprise at the number of faces turned to her.
“Amelia, what has happened?” cried her mother. Amelia’s hair was disheveled, her clothes dirty, and her cloak gone. She collapsed into a chair by the fire, too exhausted to make sense of why Peter and Margaret Barlow, William, Joliffe and Anne Perryn seemed also to have just arrived at her home.
“Who did this?” said her father.
“Drax Mortain, Father,” she mumbled, terrified to admit to all what she had been doing these past days. She shot an angry look at William. “Why didn’t you tell me he was involved?” she spat.
Attention turned to William. He scowled defiantly. “How was I to know that you would head straight off to the great house? I asked you to get help from your father. What did you tell Drax?”
“Plenty,” said Amelia, her chin lifted. “He had a dagger at my throat. He is heading to the priory already. He left me tied up with Sir Edward.”
“So how are you here?” asked her father.
“Sir Edward’s steward released us. They are going to fight Drax, but they will be too late and too few.” Amelia seemed defeated.
“We must go,” said William, struggling to his feet.
“No!” said Goodwife Perryn, with sudden force. “No good will come of charging off in the night and interfering where we have no business. Richard,” she said sharply to her husband, “we must wait to see the outcome.”
“Are you mad, woman?” shouted Peter Barlow, red with fury. “There are foreigners in our midst murdering our children and working to kill our Queen, and you want to see if Drax defeats his father before you act?” He turned from her in disgust. “All those who will fight, let’s be gone.”
Cess’s throat dried up. Drax Mortain was close. As she peered out of the cell door she saw a tall figure stride through the smoke and enter the workroom, rapier in hand. She ran closer, noticing that the sound of fighting was growing louder.
“Drax Mortain!” yelled Jasper in warning. Through the gap between the door and the jamb, Cess saw Drax pointing his rapier at Jasper’s heart.
“You have an accomplice?” said Drax, sounding icy calm. “Ah.” His face lit up with understanding. “Where is she?”
“Who?” said Jasper.
“Don’t play with me,” Drax snarled. “The girl, Cecily Perryn.”
“Maybe dead,” Jasper said, indicating the battle sounds overhead.
“Then you have outlived your use,” said Drax calmly, hanging his rapier back on his belt and retrieving a long dagger. He forced Jasper’s head back to cut his throat.
“No!” yelled Cess, running into the room. Drax twisted around, shoved Jasper away, and grabbed Cess. She did not flinch. Drax stared at her, then slowly lowered his dagger.
“Maid Perryn,” he said, forcing her to kneel next to Jasper, his dagger poised. “We meet, at last.” Cess scowled but Drax appeared intrigued by her. “Not as pretty as your cousin, but interesting none the less. So, you planned to blow up all our hard work?” drawled Drax, never taking his eyes from her.
Fury rose in Cess’s chest that William had betrayed their plans. Many lives would be lost because of it.
“A prophecy told me that I had met my greatest foe,” said Drax, walking around Cess to look at her from all angles. She squirmed inwardly. Jasper was staring too, from Cess to Drax and back again. “It took a while for me to realize that it was a wench from the lowest orders. Why are you my enemy?” He had finished his examination and looked at her expectantly.
“You took my friend,” repli
ed Cess vehemently. “That was enough. Then I heard your plans for our Queen. How could I not fight you?”
Drax acknowledged the courage of her answer with a nod. “I thought you an unworthy opponent, witch or not. Now I see yours will be a noble death,” he said, only slightly mocking. “One last question: how came you to wear my mother’s picture?”
“I found it. I heard she could have been a very great woman but was ruined by her pride and ambition. Perhaps you will be ruined in the same way,” said Cess boldly, not sure what instinct was driving her to goad this man.
Drax’s eyes narrowed to slits, but still he stared at her intently. “Thank you for your insights, Maid Perryn. Now remove your cloak and lean forward,” he said. Cess slowly did as she was ordered and looked up at Drax with her clear, hazel eyes. “Stay still or it will be more painful,” he said.
Cess had never really thought she and Jasper would die. Jasper moved to throw himself between them, but Drax drew his rapier with his left hand, spun it in the air so that it came to rest the right way, and pressed its lethal tip into Jasper’s chest. “Do not test my skills,” he warned. “I can kill with either hand.”
Drax put his dagger to Cess’s throat, but then he paused. She could see that a thought or question had been nagging at him since she entered the room, and that he could not bear to kill her until he had the answer. Suddenly his eyes widened, and he pulled back, the color draining from his face.
“You are thirteen?” he asked abruptly. Cess nodded, nonplussed by the question. “Jesu in heaven!” mumbled Drax, rubbing the edge of the dagger against his chin and staring at Cess like she was the Angel of the Annunciation.
“What?” asked Cess, encouraging his strange change in mood but looking all the time for a way to escape.
“Do you not know? Really?” he said, seeming to will her to see what he could.
Cess was bewildered and shook her head.
Drax looked at her, clearly weighing up what to tell her. He let out a short bark of joyless laughter that made Cess and Jasper jump. “Can you not see it…? I am your father.”
For a moment, Cess could hear nothing. Her world was silent. She stared at Drax Mortain as if he had breathed fire rather than spoken. Then a wave of nausea engulfed her, threatening to knock her over.
“No,” she whispered in horror, looking desperately at Jasper to tell her it wasn’t true.
But Jasper was nodding. “It’s true, he is your father. You look like him. That is your power.”
Cess pulled herself to her feet, but was trembling so violently she had to hold the edge of the workbench. She stared at Drax and knew that Jasper was right. That was the power she possessed that had been foreseen by the witches. It was the power of her blood, the same that ran in her enemy’s veins. That was her way into his seemingly impenetrable heart. That was his vulnerability. His tremendous belief in himself would extend to any that came from him, to his children. Images and snippets of words from the whole of her life fell into place. This was her father.
Before anything more could be said, footsteps clattered down the passage and Bartram Paget burst in.
“My lord,” he said breathlessly, “your father’s men-at-arms have arrived, led by Sir Nathaniel. Sir Edward is here too.”
Drax turned to stare at Cess. “What witchcraft have you done to make this so?”
Cess was shaking so hard she could barely reply. “It is not my doing, Father.” She used the word deliberately, for she knew it was the key that would open his head and heart to her. Everything she had learned from Edith and Alathea flowed into her at that moment, every surviving witch was willing her on, the power of Nature and the strength of Mother Earth were at her call. She could see him recognize in her all the features he had possessed as a young man. Her innocence and bravery, her faith in justice. Here was a product of his own seed, a girl of outstanding courage who had caused him so much trouble.
“So much for your prophesying, Paget. Meet my daughter,” drawled Drax. Paget’s goggle-eyes bulged so alarmingly, it looked as if they would pop out of their sockets. “Get back up there. I hope to God you’re a better soldier than you are a sorcerer.”
Paget ran out and Drax moved closer to Cess but did not touch her. She could feel his emotions as clearly as if they were her own. Even his dreams flowed through her. She would be his heir and ally, the most powerful woman at court, daughter of the King. What a life it would be! Indeed, her own heart was wrenching at its bonds. A part of her was thrilled to know her father at last. She wanted to embrace him and be embraced in return. Cess looked into her father’s eyes and saw feelings he had denied for two decades fighting to emerge once more—feelings of belonging and protection.
Jasper, seeing his chance, darted as quick as a ferret to a torch on the wall. He dived under a trestle and lit the petard’s fuse, then rolled to the second and lit that. The salty tang of burning saltpeter filled his nostrils immediately.
Drax jolted himself out of his reverie, but Jasper had already seized Cess, and they were pelting out of the room. Cess’s heart was pounding so loudly she could not tell if her father was behind her or not, and she dared not stop to look back. They were just beneath the hatch to the dovecote when the blast threw her against the wall, and her ears were filled with a tremendous roaring. She crumpled to the ground, and as the noise faded, she could see and feel nothing.
C H A P T E R 24
Alathea fell to her knees as the ground shook beneath her, and witches and soldiers alike paused in the fighting. For a brief moment, they all feared the ground would open up and swallow them. Sir Edward was the first to recover.
“Attack!” he yelled at his men, who raised their swords and advanced.
Alathea looked around. Despite the gathering darkness it was clear that the battle was going against them. Drax’s men-at-arms outnumbered Sir Edward’s, and the coven members were not equipped to battle trained fighters. Alathea silently commanded the witches to fall back to the woods. Three had been killed by Drax’s men, who had arrived sooner than Alathea had hoped. She had wanted to flee but sensed that Cess and Jasper needed more time to execute their part of the plan.
“Cecily needs help,” said Alathea urgently. “Now that Lord Montacute’s men are here, we can go to her. Who is uninjured?” Only three lifted their hands. “Two of you, come with me.” Pulling their hoods over their faces, the three witches ran swiftly across the field to the dovecote. The small building was filled with smoke, and Alathea had to crawl her way to the hatch. Peering down, she saw Jasper struggling to climb out with Cess’s limp form. The three witches helped him out as quickly as they could, for the tunnels looked close to collapse, and there was a risk of infection from the shattered experiments. Between them, they carried Cess away from the dovecote, skirting the fighting men.
“They’re losing,” said Jasper, looking anxiously at Alathea. Drax’s men-at-arms were inflicting heavy casualties on Sir Edward’s men. Through the gloom, Jasper recognized Bartram Paget on his horse, a poor fighter but seemingly a good tactician. Beyond the clashing men he saw Sir Nathaniel and Lord Montacute, mounted, surveying the scene and occasionally shouting orders. As he watched, Sir Nathaniel spotted Drax’s page. He spoke to Sir Edward, who nodded. Then the steward plowed valiantly through a group of Drax’s men toward Paget. Sir Edward also seemed unable to remain a bystander. He swung his sword arm a couple of times, then spurred his horse into the morass.
Jasper helped lay Cess, still unconscious, on the floor of the wood.
“Stay and tend to those hurt,” Alathea ordered an unwounded witch. “You, come,” she said to the other two.
“I shall come too,” said Jasper, grabbing a stave from one of the wounded witches.
“You are injured from the blast,” said Alathea, looking concerned by the blood running from a head wound.
“No matter,” said Jasper. “It does not hurt.”
“That’s what worries me,” she said, smiling at his bravado. She picked up h
er stave and several poisoned sticks, and ran back to the fight. It was a near suicide mission, Jasper knew, but he could not sit idly by while Alathea and her witches were slaughtered.
As they neared the battle, another sound could be heard above their panting. Shouting and banging.
“What now?” groaned Jasper. But as he drew closer, he saw a crowd of villagers running from Abbey Farm toward them. “It’s Joliffe!” he shouted wildly.
Armed with smithy tools, farm implements, and the occasional old sword, the villagers crashed headlong into the fray, attacking the guards in Drax’s livery with tremendous force if not great skill. The women encircled the battleground and used pitchforks to push back any of the enemy who tried to escape.
Jasper laughed. He could see defeat on the faces of Drax’s men, pulled from the jaws of victory by a crowd of untrained villagers. Bartram Paget faltered. Sir Nathaniel was closing in and Drax had not emerged from the cellars. With the villagers attacking from every side, Paget looked suddenly isolated and fearful, his own life at risk.
“Desist!” he shouted from his horse, pointing his sword downward. “Desist!” The soldiers around him stopped fighting, and those in Drax’s livery pointed their swords down warily, alert for any last-minute parries. Across the battlefield came the sound of swords being dropped in surrender. A cheer rose up from the victors.
Paget, glancing left and right, suddenly raised his sword and slammed it down into the back of the soldier who had grabbed his mare’s reins. As the man collapsed screaming to the ground, Paget dug his heels into his horse and cantered away into the darkness.
She was on a ship, rolling on a gentle swell. She had dreamed such things, and now it was happening for real. She could see the mast against the light. Edith was beside her. Cess knew Edith had been keeping her company for a while. The rolling was getting worse, but there was no breeze. The smell was strange. There was no salt or tangy weed, just lavender and woodsmoke. It was not a mast but a bedpost. Edith was backing away, smiling. Cess moved her head. It was not Edith but her mother.
