Caitlyn Box Set

by Elizabeth Davies

  I was right. When the portly friar returned, beckoning us to follow him, he led us out through the back of the chancel and across a cobbled courtyard to one of the outbuildings. He opened a door and jerked his head, indicating that we should enter. I followed Blod inside, the door closing behind us.

  Friar Dunn was a tall, thin man with sharp features. He looked in need of a decent meal to pad out his pointy bits. He was huddling over a ledger, a quill in his talon of a hand, like a hawk with its wings stretched over a vole. He did not look up.

  Blod stared intently at the top of his tonsured head. I used the time to examine the room. Bookcases lined two walls, a roaring fire sat in the hearth on the third, and the fourth held a small window and the door we had entered through. There was no sign of a locked cupboard, and no sign at all of any materials used for healing, not even a snippet of a bandage. I am not sure the goblet of wine on the table counted.

  When he looked up, I saw his eyes were at odds with his appearance. I expected a sharp gaze, but the light in them was soft and serene.

  ‘Ladies.’ He inclined his head. ‘Forgive me, but I needed to record my thoughts before they left me. My memory is not what it once was.’

  ‘I know what you mean.’ Blod’s face was crinkled into a smile. ‘Which is why I wanted to speak with you today, before I forgot why I wanted to see you at all.’

  Nicely done, Blod.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ he asked. ‘Friar Saul tells me you are a healer.’

  ‘A modest one and my knowledge is limited, which is why I seek your counsel.’

  ‘Seek away.’

  Blod pulled up the only other chair and sat in it, uninvited. I stood at her shoulder and tried to read his upside-down writing.

  ‘I wish to know the correct preparation for the Blood of Christ,’ she said.

  ‘Why?’ His soft expression was replaced by one more suited to his appearance.

  ‘I want to ensure I am doing it right.’

  ‘For what purpose?’

  ‘To drive out evil spirits.’

  ‘You should leave such things to the Church. Evil is not to be trifled with.’ He sprinkled sand across the page to dry the ink, a clear message of dismissal.

  ‘I do not trifle, but if the common folk believe it protects their souls from harm, then I see no objection.’

  He blew the sand away and closed the ledger. His fingers were stained black and he had a tiny splodge of ink on his nose. It reminded me of a wart.

  ‘How would you prepare it?’ he asked, leaning back in his seat and lacing his hands over his concave stomach.

  ‘Gather the flowers at midnight on St John’s day,’ Blod replied, without hesitation.

  St John’s day; the longest day, the shortest night, and I suddenly realised what the Blood of Christ was – St John’s Wort. Joan hated the plant and refused to have it in the kitchen garden or her herbery. Now I knew why.

  ‘And that is what we do, we pick the plant when it is at its most potent.’ Friar Dunn continued to explain how the oil was obtained, but I was more interested in where it was kept, and I scrutinised the room once more, hoping I had missed something.

  He most likely stored his medicinal supplies in the same place he treated the sick and injured.

  ‘Where do you tend to the ill?’ I asked, breaking into an animated discussion over the alteration in the efficacy of the oil if one chopped up the plant with a blade or shredded it with one’s fingers. They both stopped and looked at me.

  ‘Just wondered,’ I added, with a bright smile.

  ‘I have an infirmary. I treat them there.’ Friar Dunn’s tone was that of a master to a cheeky servant.

  Blod rose. ‘Thank you, Friar Dunn. I enjoyed speaking to you, one healer to another.’

  I do believe for a brief time the friar had forgotten he had been debating medical issues with an old wise-woman, and not an equal. ‘I hardly think you qualify as a healer,’ he pointed out, ‘although I am sure you give some small measure of comfort.’

  I thanked him and grabbed Blod’s arm, almost dragging her from the room before she said something we would both regret.

  ‘Sanctimonious, pompous, self-righteous—’ she began.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. We know the oil is prepared in the correct manner.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Blod. Be quiet.’

  Hugh was waiting for us outside the Priory gates. He looked sheepish. ‘Eva wants to see you,’ he said.

  I froze. There was something in his voice…

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  ‘I have told her everything.’

  Chapter 28

  ‘You were going to poison me?’

  I hung my head in shame. Eva had a right to be furious and horrified and every other expression which was vying for supremacy on her face. Determination won. Her lips thinned, her chin lifted, and her eyes narrowed. She stopped pacing, turned to face me and folded her arms.

  ‘Well?’

  She deserved an answer, and, “I can’t believe Hugh told you” wasn’t the response she wanted. I would have this out with Hugh later. If there was a later. If Eva did not have me hanged, drawn, and quartered. I had seen a man die in this way once, and it had not been pleasant.

  My voice was whisper-soft. ‘Yes, you do.’ I cleared my throat. ‘I am sorry, my lady.’

  ‘I understand you still might?’ she continued.

  I shot a swift look at Hugh. He stood near the door, dumb as the village idiot, his head hanging, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. One of his was starting to blacken. Blod had an impressive fist.

  ‘If I do, it will be because I cannot help it. If my mistress…’ I trailed off, unable to say anything further.

  ‘Joan. Tell me about her,’ Eva commanded.

  What was I to say? That she was beautiful? Enigmatic? A witch? I didn’t want to rub salt in the open wound of William’s betrayal by describing Joan’s beauty, and the bonds of magic would not let me accuse her of witchcraft.

  ‘She charmed her way into your husband’s bed,’ Blod interjected. She was standing with her back to the hearth with her skirts lifted, warming her behind.

  ‘His bedding another woman does not concern me,’ Eva said. ‘He has done his share of poking tavern wenches and camp followers.’

  My startlement must have shown in my face, and Lady Eva’s mouth became a twisted parody of a smile.

  ‘Do you honestly think I don’t know what my own husband gets up to? He spends months away from me, either in the field or on some errand for the King. I do not expect him to curb his lust, but I do expect him not to put his life in jeopardy for a piece of skirt. So, tell me – why Joan?’

  ‘Because she is a witch and he could not help himself,’ Blod said.

  ‘Let Mistress Caitlyn speak for herself.’

  ‘She cannot. She is unable to say anything that might put the witch in danger.’ Blod reached across to a side table and scooped up a handful of nuts. With only a few teeth left in her head, her mouth began to work energetically, all pursed and crumpled.

  ‘Is this true?’ Eva asked me.

  I nodded.

  ‘Hugh tells me you tried to take your own life, so that you would not take mine.’

  I nodded again.

  ‘That was honourable of you.’ The look Eva gave Blod clearly stated she wished the old woman hadn’t prevented me.

  ‘Joan would have found another way to dispose of you,’ Blod said, spitting fragments of ground nuts as she spoke.

  Eva took a step back to avoid the spray. ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘This is what I cannot fathom. The woman will gain nothing by my death, unless she is so enamoured of Will that she cannot bear another woman in his bed.’ Thought replaced determination on her face. She sat down, strumming her fingers on the arm of the chair. ‘I cannot believe she would take such a risk out of jealousy alone. Even if she succeeded, Will would marry again.’ Sorrow clouded her grey eyes. I guessed she must be thinking about his nee
d for a male heir. ‘Would she poison that one, too? And the next? Hardly. From what I’ve heard, she is not stupid. She must have another reason for wanting me dead.’ Eva stared me straight in the eye. ‘Is there another reason?’

  She was getting close to the truth. I blinked, an involuntary movement. Eva jumped on it, as quick as a bird snatching a worm.

  ‘If I guess correctly, will you blink again?’ she asked. ‘If Joan wants me dead, it can only be for one reason. She has another wife in mind for William.’

  Blink. I couldn’t help myself.

  ‘A daughter of her own? But how would Llewelyn hope to orchestrate it? The King might have his own ideas on the best match for Will.’

  She studied my face. I was careful not to move it.

  ‘Not a daughter?’ she said.

  I remained impassive.

  She gasped and sat forward in her chair. ‘Llewelyn does not know, does he? He is not aware of her plan?’

  Blink.

  ‘Then why—? Oh. I see. Clever. So very clever.’

  ‘What is so clever?’ Hugh asked, animation flooding back into his face and body.

  ‘Joan’s plan,’ Eva said. ‘She intends to wed Will herself, brother.’

  I don’t know what shocked him most, Joan’s plot, or that Eva called him brother. He spluttered, opening and shutting his mouth, his face turning pale.

  Eva gave him a gentle smile. ‘Do you think I didn’t know? My father is not skilled at hiding such a secret from my mother. She told me of it, thinking the knowledge might benefit me one day. Lord Marshal has sired several other children out of wedlock, but none have affected him quite like you.’ She sighed. ‘Why do you men never learn to keep your cocks in your breeches?’

  Why indeed? Bastards caused no end of problems. Take the most famous one of all – my William, William the Conqueror. Although Duke Robert, his father, hadn’t had much in the way of choice in the matter of what he did with his cock. And how could I forget King John and his illegitimate daughter – Joan herself. But then, John hadn’t entirely been responsible for his own actions, either.

  Eva turned back to me, an intense expression on her face. ‘Joan kills me, kills Llewelyn, and marries Will. Dafydd inherits Wales, but she is not concerned because she has Will’s lands, and although Dafydd might be Llewelyn’s son, he is her son, too. Besides, she will be one step closer to the throne. Now that Pope Honorius III has issued a papal decree declaring her legitimate, she is no longer considered by law to be a bastard child of King John. She now has a legal claim to the succession to the English throne, and with King Henry not yet wed, and with no children…’

  Blink.

  ‘She intends to murder King Henry, too?’ Eva was incredulous.

  No reaction from me. If this is what Joan intended, then she had not shared these particular plans with her cat.

  The silence was a long and pregnant one, broken only by Blod and her damned nuts, as each of us pondered Eva’s deductions. Even I, who was privy to most of the story, was in awe of Joan’s plotting. It was bold, reckless, and dangerous, and my mistress might just pull it off.

  ‘We have to stop her,’ Eva said.

  ‘We intended to do exactly that, before Hugh squealed like a wounded piglet and you summoned us to your chamber.’ Blod shot her grandson a look of disgust.

  ‘Hugh did what he thought was right,’ Eva countered.

  ‘Hugh could have jeopardised everything,’ Blod said, her mouth finally empty. Eva moved the remaining nuts out of Blod’s reach.

  ‘Hugh does not want to kill Caitlyn,’ Hugh said, his voice loaded with sarcasm. ‘There has to be another way.’

  We all looked at him. He blushed.

  Blod said, ‘My grandson and cat woman are betrothed.’

  ‘We are not!’ I said.

  ‘Hardly!’ said Hugh. ‘Just because I don’t want to kill her—’

  Eva raised her eyebrows at Blod, who nodded and grinned.

  ‘They protest too much,’ Blod said. ‘It is as clear as day he loves her, and she loves him.’

  ‘I do not!’ I said. Hugh rolled his eyes.

  ‘Congratulations, brother,’ Hugh’s sister said. ‘We shall discuss your matrimonials later, after the witch has been neutralised. Explain your plan.’

  Hugh and Blod spoke at once. I stayed silent. No matter how many times we went over our idea, I would end up dead. One way or another.

  ‘Quiet!’ Eva cried, over their raise voices. ‘Do I understand you intend to steal this Blood of Christ from the Priory, and use it to strip Joan of her powers?’

  ‘Yes,’ Hugh and Blod chorused.

  ‘Then I shall procure it for you,’ Eva said. ‘You do not need to steal it. Once her powers are removed, she cannot harm me or mine. But there is something I don’t understand. Why must Hugh kill Caitlyn?’

  ‘Because Caitlyn will still be bespelled,’ Blod said, fanning her skirts and sending sparks flying. ‘Her allegiance will transfer to a new witch upon the demise of the old one.’

  ‘Lady Caitlyn can only be released by death?’ Eva turned her bright, curious gaze to me.

  ‘Yes.’ Hugh’s voice held enough pain in one single word to fill all of Wales.

  ‘Why wait? Kill Caitlyn now and put her out of her misery. I can call the guards,’ Eva offered.

  Hugh blanched and took a step forward, his fists clenched, and murder in his eyes.

  ‘Halt, brother. I don’t intend to harm your beloved. I merely wanted to test the depth of your feeling. You love her and will risk anything to protect her. That is how it should be.’

  Hugh unclenched his hands, wariness replacing murder.

  ‘You can drop the pretence, Blod.’ Eva turned her attention to the crow in skirts, still intent on setting her petticoats alight. ‘I see straight through the mad, old crone to the woman hiding underneath. Come out and tell me your plan to save Caitlyn.’

  Blod nodded once, a slow, considered move of her head. She let go of her dress and straightened her shoulders. The slightly foolish expression she usually wore disappeared, to be replaced by a face steeped in wisdom and moulded by knowledge, her arts as ancient as the mountains that spawned her. Power radiated from her, the very air humming with it.

  I knew of her kind as “dderw”, the Welsh word for oak, their sacred tree. Christians called them druids and the Church burned them for heresy. No wonder Blod hid her true self.

  ‘Your intuition serves you well. You are right. I am more than the Blod I present to the world. My name is Blodwen, and I can trace my ancestry to Boudicca.’

  Hugh and I had our mouths agape, but Eva portrayed no surprise. I was more shocked at Eva’s knowledge and acceptance of what Blod really was, than of Blod’s revelation.

  ‘Caitlyn needs to die to break the spell,’ Blod continued. ‘The magic will dissipate at the moment of her death, and the spell will no longer have any power over her. I intend to bring her back to life. There is a very short time after the heart stops and before the soul leaves the body, when life might be restored. But only if the injuries are not too great.’

  Eva accepted Blod’s statement with nary a quibble. ‘My husband has spoken of this. He has seen it himself after a drowning, when someone who appeared dead began to breathe again. Do you intend to drown her?’

  Did I get a say in the matter?

  ‘No. I did consider strangulation, but there is too great a risk of damage to the wind-pipe. It will have to be done by suffocation.’

  ‘Hugh is good at that,’ I said.

  Three pairs of eyes stared at me. They had forgotten I was there.

  ‘Will this take place before or after you remove Joan’s powers?’ Eva returned to practicalities.

  ‘Ideally, it will be before. I want Caitlyn free of Joan’s influence before we tackle the witch. Of course, she will realise immediately that her familiar is no more, but I am hoping she will not think Caitlyn’s death is from foul means.’

  Blod had it all thought out –
but I still had to die. My heart dropped to my boots. I had toyed and flirted with death for so many years, and now that the end of my life was a very real possibility, I found it frightened me.

  My eyes met Hugh’s. I had much to live for.

  He smiled, a small and tentative smile, but it was filled with a love so great it seared my soul with its intensity.

  ‘Would you like to borrow Lady Eva’s bedchamber?’ Blod asked us, her old self coming to the fore. Blodwen must have played her for so long, that she found it hard to suppress her.

  ‘When do you plan to leave?’ Eva asked the old woman.

  ‘As soon as I get my hands on the Blood of Christ. Princess Joan will not be expecting us in the depths of winter. We intend to sneak into the castle and do what needs to be done, before she suspects anything.’ Blod’s face creased. She was hiding something.

  Eva saw it too. ‘Tell me,’ she urged.

  ‘Joan will know when her familiar is close by,’ Blod explained. ‘She will sense it. I cannot think of a reason for Caitlyn to leave Abergavenny in defiance of her mistress’s direct order. It might raise her suspicions.’

  ‘Let her think Caitlyn has carried out her task,’ Eva suggested. ‘You do not need to sneak. Hugh can accompany her openly, to report my death to Llewelyn. He can say that William is anxious for Isabella’s and Dafydd’s marriage to still take place.’

  ‘It may work,’ Blod mused, slowly.

  ‘It will work!’ Hugh cried.

  ‘I can say I took the opportunity when I saw it,’ I added, ‘and that several of your women were also struck down. I will say it was blamed on bad meat or fever, and I told William that I wanted to ride north with Hugh to visit my homeland, with Blod acting as my chaperone.’

  ‘Then it is settled,’ Eva said. She stood and walked over to Hugh, placing her hands on his shoulders, and she gazed into his face. ‘You will let me know when Joan is rendered helpless,’ she pleaded.

  ‘If I can. Don’t forget, she is a powerful woman, even without her magic. None of us may survive her wrath.’ Hugh, the warrior, had returned. I preferred Hugh, the lover.