"Leave it be," Johanna begged quietly, her words breaking against the pain in her heart.
Of this morn's hope and confidence none was left. She was too late to stop Katel, her opportunity to save Rob having come and gone in yesterday's fit of pique. All she could now hope for was heavenly intervention. As much as Johanna wanted to believe that the Lord God would intercede on behalf of an innocent man, it was very difficult to hold onto that in the face of the crowd's determination to see him dead. What if the Almighty was as blind as she'd been to Rob's plight?
It was in the forlorn hope she might prod the heavens to move that she murmured, "Oh Leatrice, I have a terrible need to pray."
"Do you love him so much then?" the maid replied, her expression filled with the shared understanding of a woman's heart. Although Johanna made her no response, Leatrice loosed a friendly sigh and, as equal to equal, tucked her hand into the bend of her former mistress's arm. "Come then. Mayhap if we go together to St. Stephen's, the father will let us stay the night." Turning, she led the taller woman down the lane.
They had nearly reached the church when they came upon the same cart that had twice tried to breach the crowd. This time there were a goodly fifteen men gathered at its head, with at least as many at its rear. Although a cloth stretched over a frame over its bed hid what the cart contained, it did not conceal the three women who perched at its front edge. It was Mistress Alwyna, widow to Peter the Wool Merchant and mother of the crippled councilman, who sat there, two whimpering maids at her side.
"Be still," the widow snapped at one maid as that one vented a terrified moan. "The crowd has thinned, and we have trebled our men. They'll neither stop us nor do us any harm."
Johanna's need to see Rob soared. In its wake all thought of discretion was forgotten. If that cart was going to the tower, she was going with it.
Tearing free of Leatrice, she darted toward the party. She was yet yards from her destination when one of those guarding the widow stepped out to stop her. One glance at her own gowns and humble cloak placed her with those in the field in his mind. He shifted to keep himself between the one he protected and a potential attacker. "Stand aside," he demanded brusquely.
Finding her path blocked only sent Johanna's need to reach Rob to greater heights. It was with more passion than sense that she called out, "Mistress Alwyna, I pray you for the sake of my son and for your husband who was his godfather, might I speak to you a moment?"
"Drive on," the man shouted to the one goading the oxen.
"Nay!" The widow's strong voice preempted the command as she leaned over the cart's edge. Peering through the gathering gloom, she tried to identify the one who'd called her. "Who is there? Come forward so I might see you."
"Have you taken leave of your senses?" Leatrice cried softly, having finally caught up to Johanna. "When they try to force themselves through that crowd they'll all be killed."
The maid's words rang in Johanna's ears, keeping her where she stood, but not for the reason Leatrice named. If she approached, the widow would surely call aloud her identity. Once that happened, all hope of seeing Rob died. Despite the number of its inhabitants, Stanrudde remained like unto a small town. Rumor moved faster than a fire through dry thatch. This attempt could do nothing but convict her when Katel loosed his accusation.
Still, her heart's hungering to see Rob was the stronger. If she died for it, so be it, but there was no sense in being foolish about it. Johanna yanked her cloak's hood even lower on her brow.
"Go to her," she quietly begged Leatrice. "Whisper to her who it is that pleads for her ear, bidding her not to reveal my identity. Do this for me, and I vow to you, I'll go from great house to great house until I find someone to give you and your child home and hearth."
Leatrice shot her a startled look, then her eyes came to life with gratitude. With a swift nod, she hied herself to the cart's side as quickly as the child within her would allow. Johanna watched Mistress Alwyna lean down as Leatrice stretched upward to the limits of her short height. In the next instant the widow's head reared back.
"Who?" the old woman cried out, a strange tone to her astonishment. She swiveled to once again peer into the shadows, seeking out the features hidden beneath Johanna's hood. "Come forward, then," she commanded, but there was hard suspicion in her voice.
Hope faltered in Johanna at the woman's odd reaction to her name. She had remembered Mistress Alwyna as friendly and kind. True, Johanna and the wool merchant's family had had little dealings after her son had been apprenticed. A few years later, Peter the Wool Merchant had died, ending all contact. No matter. She'd come too far to retreat because of an odd tone of voice.
Bowing her head, Johanna slipped past the men, not lifting her chin again until she'd stopped at the cart's side. For a moment, Mistress Alwyna simply stared at her, the woman's eyes widening at finding the spice merchant's wife's hair uncovered, then narrowing again at the threadbare gowns. At last, she leaned back a little on her perch.
"For what reason do you stop me?" she asked, her voice low, her tone yet wary.
"Please," Johanna said, keeping her words quiet, "you are for the tower. Take me with you. I must speak with the one held captive there."
The widow's brows drew down, her face the picture of distrust. "To what purpose?"
Confusion grew in Johanna at such hostility. Against it, she guessed she'd have but one chance to plead her case. She hesitated, carefully planning what she would say so it would satisfy the widow without revealing Katel's impending charge of adultery. Mistress Alwyna wouldn't wish to abet ones she believed to be illicit lovers.
"It is my husband," Johanna said, straining to make certain her words remained private between the two of them. "I fear he may have done something that has caused the Grossier of Lynn to be arrested and threatened with death. Help me to speak with Master Robert so I might do what I can to protect an innocent man. It is against the possibility my husband might have done no wrong that I beg you not to reveal what I do this night."
Johanna's spirits fell as she finished. This wasn't going to work. Katel had been too effective in convincing all of Stanrudde that he was no threat to anyone. Who would believe their amiable spice merchant capable of such evil?
Mistress Alwyna's face softened. "Well now, this is an interesting turn," she said, more than content with Johanna's explanation. "There's room for no more. If you wish to come you must take the place of my maid, doing for me what she would have done."
"So I will," Johanna breathed in relief and a gratitude so deep her knees weakened with it.
"Els," Mistress Alwyna said, glancing at the younger of the two maids beside her, "you have won yourself a reprieve. There's one who would take your place. You may hie yourself home."
"By myself?" the girl squeaked. Barely more than a child her eyes widened in a new fear. Like Leatrice, the terror of what might happen to her when she was alone and unprotected was even greater than that of the crowd.
"I can take her, mistress," the other one offered, her voice lacking any belief her wish might be granted.
"Mistress, you may send them both away. I will take the place of the second one." Leatrice's voice was strong, her tone decisive. Johanna glanced at her former maid in surprise. If she'd known offering to find Leatrice a place would end the girl's sniveling, she'd have made it hours ago just as she had intended before the calls for Rob's death intruded.
"There's a woman after mine own heart," the wool merchant's widow replied, smiling in approval at Leatrice's stout offer. The movement of her mouth made the years slip from her face, banishing the old woman to reveal the shadow of the girl she'd once been. In her brown eyes lived a taste for life's spice, a need to dance upon a cliff's edge so as to better tolerate what was mundane. "Bow your head and cover your face," the widow hissed to Johanna.
When Johanna had done so, the old woman called, "Tom, come and help Els and Marta down. We have found us two braver souls who are willing to do what these cowards will n
ot."
When the maids had dismounted the man lifted Leatrice into the cart then offered a hand to Johanna. She waved him off and climbed in on her own. In the next moment the driver flicked his goad and the cart lurched into motion. As it lumbered into the throng before the keep, hours of muttering stirred into shouts. Leatrice yet held tight to her newborn courage, sitting straight and true on her seat. If Johanna kept her head bowed against the possibility of recognition, there was no room for fear in her heart, not when it was consumed with her hard-won opportunity to see Rob alive.
"I have had enough of this!" Drawn to the keep tower’s roof by the reemergence of rage from those besieging him, the captain of the guard's voice echoed down from the tower's top. "Cease! You have all heard my word that I will hold him until the sheriff's arrival. Go to your homes, trusting my oath. Or if you choose to stay here, thereby naming me liar, know you that I am familiar with each and every one of you. When the sheriff comes, I will tell him the names of those who tried to steal from our king his right to do justice!"
If it did not empty the field, the shouting died away at this threat, leaving the cart to pass unmolested to the gate. Those who escorted Mistress Alwyna spread themselves before the opening, weapons pointed outward against any possibility the malcontents behind them might think to charge. They did not.
In the next moment, the cart passed through the wall and came to a halt in a small courtyard. As it stopped, Johanna grabbed up her skirts and leapt from its bed. Mistress Alwyna handed her a tall, heavy basket to hold, so that her hands might be busy against any request for aid. It was an effective shield, being nigh on half again as tall as she.
Johanna clutched it to her, lifting it until it shielded her face while impatiently studying the weave of the basket, as the men set to unloading what lay inside the cart. A mattress was leaned against the cart's side within her view. After that came the bedposts and pieces of a frame. Hope found fodder on which to feed. If a councilman's mother brought such comfort to this prisoner, it was a clear statement that those outside had good reason to fear the council might betray them in their blood lust.
"Mistress, what is this?" the captain cried out in complaint when he joined them in the tiny courtyard.
"My son has ordered me to see to Master Robert's needs, and so I shall do," the old woman retorted. "Take me to him."
Evidently the captain agreed, for Leatrice caught Johanna's arm, and they crossed to the stairs that rose from the small courtyard to the tiny hall. The maid was careful to lead her former mistress as if she were blind. Johanna might as well have been, being unable to raise her head to see where she went.
In the hall she could hear the snap and pop of torches, but it remained almost as dim within this room as it was outside. Judging by the number of footsteps it took to cross it, this chamber was smaller than her father's hall. There were rushes on the floor, but they had long since been beaten into dust while the air within reeked of smoke and unwashed men.
She and Leatrice halted at a stone wall, where the keep and the hall came together. The hope in Johanna doubled. In holding Rob in the tower's upper chamber, not the barren, windowless storeroom that lay below and into which the common criminals were thrown, the council was again making a statement that they believed him innocent.
Despite all this, Johanna’s heart was not satisfied. No matter what the council believed, it was the crowd outside that needed to be convinced. If she could not find a way to expose what Katel had done, Rob would die simply because Stanrudde's folk demanded it.
Iron grated on iron, the sound of a key scraping into its slot. "Why have you locked him in?" Mistress Alwyna cried in protest.
"I have given my word to both the council and the townsmen that Master Robert will remain within this keep until the sheriff's arrival. If he is locked in and I am the only one who holds the key, then here he shall stay no matter who tells me what." Layered in the captain's voice was a day's worth of frustration and new resentment at having to explain himself to a woman.
The latch lifted with a rusty groan then leather hinges squealed as the door opened. Following Leatrice, Johanna crossed the threshold into the room. It was Mistress Alwyna who pulled her aside to let the men carrying the bits of bed enter behind them.
As Johanna dared not lift her head until all possible witnesses were gone, she studied the glittering braid trimming the hem of the widow's green overgown. It sparked and gleamed, catching a light that should not have existed. Her gaze wandered beyond the braid to the golden glow that touched the wooden floor. There were candles lighting this room! The council was sparing no expense to make their prisoner comfortable.
Johanna drew a swift breath in understanding. This could only mean the council was divided on the issue of Rob's guilt. The town fathers were playing both sides of the fence, unwilling to further antagonize Stanrudde's folk, but not wishing to expose themselves to any charge of slander, should Rob survive.
"How is it with you, Master Robert," Mistress Alwyna called to him as her men assembled the bed.
"I am as well as any man can be when he faces death for something he has not done."
Johanna caught her breath at the hopelessness that filled Rob's tone.
"Mistress, I know you mean well," he went on, his voice just soft enough to take the sting from his words, "but this night finds me lacking patience for sociable conversation. Hie, and do what you must, then be gone with you."
Despite how his despair made Johanna's heart ache, the familiarity of his complaint shot through her. Aye, time had passed, but Rob had not changed. Just as he ever had done, he craved privacy in which to straighten his emotions.
At last, the bed was assembled. The men departed. When she heard the last footfall, Johanna began to lift her head. Mistress Alwyna pressed a hand on her arm in warning.
"Leave us to tend to Master Robert's needs in privacy," the old woman commanded.
"If that is what you'd have me do," the captain replied, his voice filled with flat stubbornness, "then be aware that I must lock you within whilst you do it."
"You will not!" Mistress Alwyna's words were a shocked protest. "We are but women. We have no plots or tricks to play."
"Leave it be," Rob said. "He is commanded by the council to keep to the letter of the law and so he is doing."
"My pardon, Master Robert—" the captain started.
"I have had enough of your pleas for pardon," Rob replied, his voice as quiet as it was lifeless. "Be gone, locking the door as you must."
As the key once more grated in its slot Mistress Alwyna claimed the basket. "Best you keep your voice low as you speak to him. Be swift at it then come aid your maid, as I must speak to him as well. Who knows but that officious prig isn't listening at the keyhole. He'll soon be demanding we leave, mark my words," she hissed, moving with Leatrice to the bed's side.
At last, Johanna raised her head. She stood beside three thick night candles set into their iron stands. The bed, yet bare of linens and blankets that yet resided in the basket Leatrice now opened, had been placed along the wall before her. His back to them, Rob stood across the room at the narrow slitted opening that had been carved from the stone wall.
Gone was the robe Johanna remembered from yesterday. Now he wore but his shirt, his dark hair curling lightly against its white collar. The garment clung to the powerful line of his shoulders, its hem reaching well past his hips to reveal brown chausses. Knee-length boots the color of rust were held in place by crisscrossing brown garters.
Between his pain and her relief at finding him unharmed Johanna's eyes filled with tears. Forgetting that both Leatrice and Mistress Alwyna might witness what she did, she threw back her hood and crossed the short distance separating them. As she laid a hand on his shoulder, she whispered, "Rob?"
He whirled on her, his movement so swift, she stepped back, her heart falling. Yesterday's insults had destroyed all care for her in him. Now he would shout at her, revealing all as he damned them both against
Katel's coming charges.
Instead of rage, it was amazement that filled his gray eyes and softened the raw-boned line of his face. He looked at her uncovered hair, then to the green and brown gowns she wore beneath a maid's cloak. When his gaze again met hers he shook his head slightly, as if he could not believe she truly stood before him
Johanna watched him in return, this time seeing him without hatred, bitterness, or even yesterday's terror to blind her. No longer did she seek the boy in him. Instead, she caught her breath in appreciation for the man he had become.
Dark brown hair clung to a clear brow, accentuating the high, harsh lines of his cheekbones. He wore his beard trimmed to a narrow line against his jaw, which only complimented its strength. Set over fine pale gray eyes, his dark brows curved gently away from the narrow, straight line of his nose. Her gaze shifted to the scratches on his cheek, the ones he'd taken on her behalf. They were already fading.
Of a sudden he smiled. As it had done yesterday, the motion of his mouth set those deep creases into his lean cheeks. Happiness brought warm lights to the cool gray of his eyes. He reached out to finger one of the wayward strands of bright hair that curled around her face.
"You came to me," he breathed in astonishment as the sounds of linen being stretched across a straw-filled mattress echoed in the room.
"How could I not?" she whispered, savoring the thrill that his touch sent through her. "Did you not come to me at the risk of your own life? I owe you nothing less than the same in return."
Happiness dimmed He released her hair to gently caress a bruised spot on her face. "Is that all this is? A debt to be repaid?" As quiet as his words were the pain that filled them was terrible, indeed.
The Seasons Series; Five Books for the Price of Three Page 151
