“But,” she blusters, “he threatened to shoot the abbot!”
The prince rises. “I’m sure I am going to hear all about it, but in the meantime I think you need to go and calm down, my love.”
He turns to the serving maid. “Can you please escort the Lady Elena back to our quarters and prepare her a nice warm drink?”
The girl curtsies and indicates the doorway. The Lady Elena throws her arms in the air, emits one last scream of frustration and stomps out of the office, the servant trotting along behind, trying to keep up with her.
“Well, John, you seem to have caused quite a stir. I really don’t need this much of a headache, you know?”
He rubs his temples once again, sits back in his chair and takes a deep breath.
“Obviously, you’ve heard what my wife has to say on this matter, so I am looking forward to your version of events.”
He signals to the sergeant, who pulls the door closed to ensure privacy.
In the lowest level of the castle, William Gracie lies chained to a rough wooden bed with a straw mattress in the company of Lady Bronwyn, the castle surgeon and two stocky guards.
“Will he be all right?” She asks.
The surgeon purses his lips as he examines William.
“They’ve made a bit of a mess of him, my lady. A lot of blood and a lot of bruising, but I’m still checking to see if they’ve broken anything.”
“It’s all my fault. I should never have gone to meet him.”
Lindy arrives and kneels beside her mistress. “You couldn’t have known, my lady. You didn’t do this to him.”
Bronwyn buries her head into Lindy’s shoulder. She sobs quietly as the serving maid does her best to deal with the awkward position into which she’s been placed.
“Are you certain of his innocence, my lady?” The surgeon asks. “We’re not normally this solicitous for the welfare of murderers and attempted murderers. Everyone says this man attacked your husband.”
She lifts her head a little.
“I’m sure. I can’t say why, and I know that the things they have found should make me think otherwise, but I spoke with him before he was attacked by those brutes from the temple. I looked into his eyes, and I swear he did not lie to me.”
The surgeon simply nods and continues checking the prisoner to determine the extent of his injuries.
Lindy stands and gently helps Bronwyn to her feet.
“Come, my lady, let’s return to your rooms and to Prince Llewellyn. Mister Gracie’s in good hands now. I’m sure Prince David and the captain will find the truth.”
Bronwyn nods and allows herself to be led out of the cell.
“I have to admit that I don’t really understand what’s going on here.” David says. “Your report is very interesting though. Please, do sit down, John.”
The captain takes a seat opposite him and relaxes into it with a sigh. “It’s a bad business, your grace.”
“I agree. My wife’s decision to get these temple ruffians involved surprises me. Why didn’t she come to you?”
“I gather she hasn’t told you either?” The captain asks. “I’m very puzzled. I don’t see why they needed to be involved at all, and I certainly don’t approve of their treatment of our prisoner.”
“You’re sure he was tortured?”
“I’ve seen his wounds. A few of the cuts and bruises could be put down to the beating when they detained him in the fountain square, but the rest? No, sire, he was subjected to further mistreatment after they took him back to the temple.”
“Why would they treat him this way? What reason do they have to torture the man?”
David leans back in his chair, taking a deep breath.
“Their marshal claims he was trying to ascertain the truth before they handed him over to us, but I don’t believe him. Something doesn’t feel right about the man.”
“He’s always been quite pleasant, to me.” David leans forward. “What do you mean?”
“I’m a soldier and I’m used to dealing with other soldiers. I recognise traits in people that make me feel uneasy, and he makes me feel that way. I can’t exactly put my finger on it, it’s just in my gut that something doesn’t ring true about him.”
“Well, according to my dear wife, no one from the temple can do the slightest wrong, and we’ve created a major political incident by marching in there with our ‘clod hopping troops and their stupid commander’.”
A wry grin spreads across the captain’s face. “Yes, she was quite direct in her appraisal of my actions, your grace.”
Shaking his head, Prince David continues.
“I’m not cut out for this job, John, but I’m doing my best. I have to rely upon you and my brother’s other advisers to help me make the right decisions, so I’m hoping that in this instance you did so.”
“I thank you for your faith in me, my prince.” The captain inclines his head respectfully. “I can assure you that I always have the best interests of your house at heart.”
“The Lady Bronwyn seems convinced of Mister Gracie’s innocence, wouldn’t you say?”
“I would. It was she who insisted that I rescue him from the temple. I had, of course, informed her that he’d still be our prisoner.”
“As it should be. I suppose we ought to go and have a chat with him and see if we can figure out what’s going on.”
David stands as the captain scrambles to his feet.
“With this much evidence stacked against him it’s going to take more than his silver tongue to convince me of his innocence, no matter how much I like the man.”
Prince David and Captain Yovvan descend the last few steps to the castle’s detention area.
Originally, this would have been a root cellar but, with the rise to power of the family, they acquired enemies, and enemies had to be put somewhere.
The solid oak door is bound in iron and guarded both outside and in. The corporal raps loudly upon it and a face appears behind a small grill at head height. After a brief conversation, explaining who requires access, they hear a large bolt grate as it is withdrawn and the door swings inward.
Unlike the normal, mean, damp and cold places that people call dungeons in such castles, this one is clean and dry, although cool as required by its original purpose. The old storage areas have been repurposed as cells with similarly sturdy doors fitted to them which, to ensure the security of those within, have simple locking mechanisms.
The guards inside snap to attention as they approach. Charles Bracken steps out of the shadows near one of the cell doors and greets them.
“Your grace.” He bows.
The prince smiles and acknowledges him. “Why am I not surprised to find you already here, Charles?”
“Intelligence gathering is my business, where else would I be?” He indicates the cell door by his side. “The man we know as William Gracie is within. Your surgeons have attended to him, and we’ve cleaned him up. The marshal did not use him kindly.”
“So I’ve been given to understand. Well, let’s go see what he has to say.”
The head jailer unlocks the cell with the keys hanging from his belt. The room is currently well lit by two lanterns and its sole occupant lies chained upon his pallet.
“Good grief! What did they do to him?” The prince is genuinely shocked.
“They beat him soundly, and continued to do so once they had him restrained and in their custody. I don’t understand why.”
“What do you mean?” David steps closer to William.
“It occurs to me,” Charles points at the prisoner, “that there’s nothing they needed to know from him. The assault was upon your brother and his bodyguards, none of which concern the temple.”
“They have been making quite a fuss about this claim of an attack on their rights in the area by the followers of the old ways, have they not?”
“Just so, your grace. Perhaps they hoped to extract a confession from him as to those matters. I can’t say. What I can say
is that they’ve injured him far beyond what might be necessary to ensure his capture.”
The prince nods, examining William’s face.
The man’s eyes are swollen shut and his nose appears to be broken. One side of his jaw is heavily bloated, his lips deformed and his hands are grazed and battered. He pulls back the blanket and sees a pattern of lumps and bruises from his shoulders down to his waist.
“It appears they’ve been quite brutal with him, wouldn’t you say, captain?”
John’s teeth are gritted.
“Barbaric, your grace. I suspect, if we’d left him there much longer, they’d have killed him and presented us with some so-called confession that suited their purpose.”
The Spymaster looks at the captain quickly.
“You don’t trust them, John?”
“I can’t say why, Charles, but something doesn’t sit right with me. These Temple Knights don’t behave as they should. Their order is more martial, and less inclined to worship, than needed for the simple protection of an abbot.” He pauses and gives it some consideration. “It just doesn’t feel right.”
Nodding, the Spymaster appraises him. “Coming from our esteemed captain here, I’ll give that opinion more weight.”
“You really think they’re up to something?” The prince enquires.
“Everyone’s up to something, your grace.” Charles Bracken smiles. “I can assure you. Do this job for enough years and you come to realise that there’s very little chance you’ll ever meet an honest man. Present company excepted.”
The captain snorts.
“Well, let’s see what William has to say for himself. Can you bring him round?” David winces again as he looks at the prisoner’s face. “Gently though, it appears he’s seen enough rough treatment for one day.”
Charles Bracken lifts a wet sponge from a bucket nearby and lets the water drip onto the prisoner’s head.
William’s eyes flicker and a loud groan escapes his lips. He moves his hands up to rub his face and succeeds in hitting himself on the chin with the iron chain between the manacles on his wrists.
He groans loudly again and coughs. “Steady on, it can’t be time for breakfast already, can it?”
The prince shakes his head. “Typical William.”
Some minutes later, with William propped up against the corner of the wall and some conversation having already occurred, he fixes the prince with what little of his gaze remains through his distended eye sockets.
“Do I look that stupid, your grace?”
“From where I’m sitting, William, you look a complete mess and are only alive because Captain Yovvan rescued you from them. Should I manage to prove your involvement in the attack on my brother, you will wish they’d killed you.”
“I say, you don’t really think I did that, do you? Me?” William tries to rise on his elbows and starts a coughing fit by doing so. “Do you really think I’m an insane assassin?”
“As we’ve already mentioned, there’s plenty of evidence to suggest so.”
“Evidence that was planted, David! I don’t know how or by whom, but I’m an innocent man.” He slumps back against the straw bedding. “I would never harm you or your family. For goodness’ sake, Bronwyn is like a sister to me. Why would I upset her by harming her husband?”
“I can’t let my personal feelings get in the way of this. I’ve been thrust into this position and people are depending upon me to bring order. Bronwyn needs me to find who assaulted her husband so we have some chance of waking him.”
William is silent for a moment. “He isn’t awake? Truly? I just thought he was injured and in his sick bed.”
“If you’re mixed up in this plot against him, we’ll find out. We’ll capture your co-conspirators and you will be punished. You can’t talk your way out of this, William.”
“You know me, David! I am no murderer.”
He groans as he shifts his position to face the prince.
“I love art and beauty and music. I have a good life here. Why on earth would I soil my hands with this sordid business, old man?”
“Why indeed?” Charles Bracken squats down by the side of the wooden bed.
“Please, think!” He reaches up more carefully to rub his head. “I’m already wealthy. I’m already well-connected. I’ve no ambitions about power. What earthly reason exists for me to take this course of action?”
William drops back to the bed once more, groaning loudly as his bruises make contact with the straw.
The Spymaster is nodding as he indicates to the prince that they should withdraw.
Back in his office, or his brother’s office as it was, they are preparing to discuss in detail what they’ve learnt when they are joined by Lady Elena, accompanied by a tray-carrying maid as usual.
She appears to have regained her composure, although she does shoot a quick frown at John Yovvan.
“I’m sorry, my love, but we have things to discuss.”
“Really? Some sort of secret intrigue? Oh, do tell.” She smiles and bustles around the desk to grab him and give him a hug. “I did bring wine.”
He laughs. “Well, I suppose you already know everything anyway so, if Charles has no objections, you may stay, but no more outbursts.”
She smiles and kisses him on the cheek, pulling up another chair to the side of the desk as the maid prepares beverages for everyone.
“So, what do you think, Charles?”
“Well, since she’s already pulled up a chair…” He shrugs, smiling.
The prince laughs. “Not about Elena, about whatever this plot might be.”
Charles Bracken rubs his beard for a moment.
“I’m unsure, sire. All the evidence points to the obvious candidate of Mister Gracie, who protests his innocence. Four men lie dead and your brother incapacitated. His wife kneels inconsolably by his side, but apparently she doesn’t believe Mister Gracie to be guilty either.”
“They were very close.” Elena points out.
“That aside,” the captain interjects, “Mister Gracie’s an intelligent man and, since he was able to escape from his house using whatever means...”
“Dark magics by all accounts.” Elena says.
“Possibly, my lady.” He rolls his eyes. “Then, why did he not take all this evidence with him? If, as we’re now being told, a poison was given to the prince, then killing him wasn’t the objective. If he had time to administer that, why didn’t he remove the brooch from his hand? There are too many questions here, and no satisfactory answers.”
Elena frowns. “But as Mister Bracken has said, four men lie dead, our dear brother lies unconscious and is possibly dying. The only link we have to these events is William. Have you considered applying pressure to him, perhaps to reveal the truth?”
“I believe the Temple already tried that, my lady.” John grimaces. “They’ve obviously been very heavy-handed with him and I’m not sure he’ll recover. If he has co-conspirators, I suspect he’d have given them up while they were beating him.”
“Have they said why they treated him so? Might they perhaps have some information to which you’re not privy?” Elena looks around the table at the three men.
“That wouldn’t shock me in the slightest, my lady, since they seem to be a particularly tight-lipped bunch.” Charles says.
“I spoke with the abbot earlier, and he assures me that he feels there is a plot against the temple. He’s certain that the attack was designed to remove our dear brother from his position of support and to allow an influx of the old ways from our neighbours.”
Charles Bracken leans back, steepling his fingertips. “This is the furthest northern temple of the followers of Iesu the Saviour. I can acknowledge his concerns.”
“Do we really think this whole attack was simply something political or religious in nature?” The prince asks.
“I can assure you, almost everything is political.” Charles replies. “The religious aspect of it, I haven’t given a great deal of consi
deration. If the abbot has information to show interference from our neighbours, then he needs to present it to us. I myself am aware of several attempted plots by their rulers and agents.”
He indicates a large stack of papers and maps to one side of the desk, then continues.
“I think we should err on the side of caution. Since there are reasons to suspect the involvement of outside agencies, we should ensure that only those we’re certain are loyal to your brother hold any positions within the castle, and possibly the town.”
“That seems sensible.” The captain says. “I’d rather see a few people’s noses put out of joint for a time than risk this plot being allowed to reach fruition. If they seek to alter the balance of power in the area by removing the head of state, then that makes you next in line as a target, doesn’t it, sire?”
Elena reaches across and rubs her husband’s arm.
“Me?” David looks shocked. “I hadn’t thought of that. Do you really think they might try to kill me too?”
Charles Bracken smiles slowly.
“I see you didn’t skip all of your lessons, sire. Yes, we must ensure that you’re protected and that foreign agents aren’t allowed access to you or your family.”
“I’ve already changed the rotation on all of my guards to ensure that only veterans loyal to your brother are within the castle. The others have been placed on gate duties.” John says.
“And I’ll have my agents report on all the other staff and see that any with, shall we say, ‘foggy’ histories are moved elsewhere… if that meets with your grace’s approval?” Charles inclines his head.
The prince nods. “That’s why my brother employed you, Charles. Our main aim has to be ensuring Llewellyn’s safety, and his speedy recovery.”
“Indeed.” His wife smiles. “We’re fortunate that the temple’s best healers are tending to him. At least we know they’re loyal. Now, gentlemen, I must go and tell my dear sister what we’ve discussed.”
She rises, as do the others, and bends to kiss her husband once more on the cheek, the smile spreading across her lips.
The Wrong Scapegoat: A Mythic Fantasy Novel (Ravens of the Morrigan) Page 16
