It might not be Enoch himself—his manner was more open—but one of his knights, and at his order. Well, no help for it. In fact, I was grateful for his presence when we reached the Strand. Though still dark, torches blazed along the path, casting long wavering reflections in the black Thames and bodies sprawled drunkalew on the crowded way. My follower was my human wolf.
In fact, the Strand was a virtual hell, complete with fiends and staggering rowdies and criminals lurking on the riverside. The women were as dangerous as the men. Wolfbane snarled constantly, and twice he leaped at someone’s throat. Though I kept him on a tight lead so he wouldn’t actually kill, he frightened even the most inebriated from my person. There were no horses or carts, only vomiting humans mixing with pigs and wild dogs in the center gutter. Then Wolfbane was attacked by a pack of canines, and I became the protector; I kicked hard at snapping muzzles and would have sustained several bites except that Bok’s boots stopped all teeth. After the curs had retreated, I knelt briefly to feel Wolfbane’s muzzle—he licked my hand—before I braved the street again.
I walked on the river side of the street, where there were fewer people. The city side contained taverns and stews and mysterious boarded houses, all of them spewing human scum onto the street. In the distance, Baynard Castle loomed as more of a change in elements than an actual edifice, a solid darkness against a more pellucid darkness. I glanced over my shoulder: The Scot was still following me.
I walked as briskly as I could, making signs of the cross before staggering sailors and their aging wenches. Then, slowly, the taverns and hostels grew more infrequent; I had to leave the river to go around large castles between me and Baynard, and official torches reflected in the fast-moving Thames, so at least I could see my way. Then, gradually, it became more difficult to advance because every castle was heavily guarded. Castellans asked for proof that I was a nun in my French abbey; I wheedled my way through by saying I was from Fontevrault in Aquitaine, a place they knew not at all, though they understood the name of Queen Eleanor. I could no longer see my Scot—perhaps he hadn’t been so persuasive as I had. When I stopped by a torch to get my bearings, Baynard Castle still loomed in the distance.
In fact, the castle seemed to retreat. I rested, trembling, against a wall in the shadow. I was near my goal at last and now practical problems rose in my fantastick cell. What was I going to say when I reached the castle? Would Lady Matilda—would anyone—admit me at this hour? And if I did gain entry, would Lady Matilda release Theo in the night? And to a nun instead of Lady Angela? On the one hand, I hoped she had the discretion to be cautious; yet I had undeniable proof of who I was, for Theo would recognize me.
So, if—when—I got him, then what? I must take him back to the inn to get my horse! Benedicite, I should have tied my horse somewhere more accessible, aye, and I must return Wolfbane. Should I leave the horse and purchase one on the road—I had the money! Very well, I had my horse and I had Theo—then what? No gate was open at night! My chest tightened. Think! Think! Aye, I must leave at once, this very moment. King John and Enoch were in London, both after me for different reasons—I must escape! Oh, I doubted not that Enoch would follow, but King John had taught me how to be evasive.
I left my wall. The street widened; horses had passed this way recently. Now I saw my shadow knight again; he’d just waited for me to show myself. He was canny, ducking in and out of wall niches, and persistent. Wolfbane saw him, too. The wolf growled; I tugged him forward.
As I got closer to Baynard Castle, a line of pine torches lighted my way. Their acrid smoke choked my breathing and my eyes began to run. How strange, when I’d endured the foul fumes of the street just a short time ago. Wolfbane made choking sounds. As breathing became more difficult, I stopped. Sparks drifted onto my sleeves.
Baynard Castle was on fire!
Men rushed past me, shouting and carrying buckets! Pushed against a wall, this time to make way, I stared in disbelief at circling sparks overhead. Ten black horses from the direction of the castle trotted smartly down the middle of the street. I flattened myself against the wall—had they rescued anyone? Did one of them carry Theo? A red glow played over their black bodies—the king’s knights.
I hurled myself into their path!
“Stop! For God’s’ sake, stop! Baynard Castle is on fire! There are people inside—children!”
One cracked his whip across my face.
I staggered back and almost fell. My eye would surely have been gone if my veil hadn’t protected me.
I ran as fast as I could toward Baynard Castle! A line of men were sloshing water from the Thames in a pitiful effort to stay the roar.
“Tak keer, Sister!” A rough arm pulled me against a wall. “Canna ye smell the smoke?”
Aye, I could smell! And see! My heart stopped—the peasant girl in red! She grinned and shook her fist! Was she saying that King John had done this? Was she admonishing me again to kill the king? But oh! If Theo were burned! I burst into loud wails!
I staggered back to a wall, too weak to move. Where had this crowd come from? Not routiers or whores, but commoners all, out to see the fire. There is no more seductive sight than flames—everyone loves disaster. Sobbing uncontrollably, I pushed hard through the rabble and ducked under chains. Some guards gave way—albeit reluctantly—to my habit.
The heat was overwhelming. The arrow slits—what I’d hoped might be windows—belched red flames and smoke. No small hand waved. People pushed me perilously close to the river to make room for the bucket brigade.
Maybe on the other side—I pushed three people onto the ground in a desperate effort to see. A spark burned through my sleeve—I pounded out the flame. I jerked off my veil, which was also flammable.
Sparks and flaming wood fell like rain. My peasant girl went mad—I waved to her frantically! Theo, oh, Deus juva me, I must find Theo. I stooped under a rope barrier. My shadow followed.
“Sister, stop!”
I ran toward the warning voice—a guard!
“Is anyone dead?”
He pushed me back. “I don’t know! Leave or I’ll arrest you!”
“Please! Please! In Jesus’ name—there were children!”
“No children that I saw.”
“And a great lady—Lady Matilda de Braose!”
The guard relaxed somewhat. “Why didn’t you say so? She and her family left this afternoon.”
So stunned I could hardly speak, I whispered, “Left for where?”
He was gone.
My heart dropped to my boots. I should be glad—aye, I was glad—that Theo hadn’t been burned. But why had Lady Matilda left so abruptly? She knew I was coming—we’d said a month. Why hadn’t she waited? Had she had warning? If so, by whom? And about what? Was her exit connected to Theo? Did she know who he was? Had King John discovered his whereabouts? What was her real position toward the Angevin family? Would she hold it against Theo that Richard was his father? She and her family were close to King John, and if he . . .
The wolf, hacking from smoke, collapsed at my feet.
I had to carry the heavy wolf back to the inn, where he struggled to be put down. When I pulled him to his water bowl, he drank voraciously. When I tried to leave him on his pile of straw, he howled so loudly that I pulled him up to my room. Wolfbane rushed inside, snarling for the kill!
“Waesucks, git him offen me!”
I jerked the rope hard. “Wolfbane, no!”
The wolf licked my hand.
“Quhy do ye bring swich a vicious animal whar he con hurt people?”
“Not people—invaders who hide in my room!”
“Would ye radder we gae to my room?”
“Say what you have to say—and be quick!”
“Alix, ye be a liar ond a cheat!”
My heart stopped.
“Ye sneaked out at nicht to git my jules fer yourself.”
I could have wept with relief—he still didn’t know. “It wouldn’t matter, Enoch. The lady’s go
ne. She left this afternoon.”
“Left? Quhy?”
“I don’t know!” Now I couldn’t stop tears.
“Quhare?”
“I asked the guard—he didn’t know either!”
“She stole my jules?”
I didn’t answer.
“Ich tald ye ye shuld nocht ha’e gi’e them in a packet lak that, ond to a straunger! She mun ha’e opened it ond . . .”
“I hope your friend Lord Robert fitzWalter wasn’t injured.”
“Nay, I hope nocht.” Enoch was quiet a long time. “Waesucks, Alix, this be serious. We need halp. I’ll ask the Brotherhood.”
He groped his way to the door.
“Enoch, I’m keeping Wolfbane with me tonight.”
“A guid thocht. I’ll wrap three times in the marnin sae ye know ye’re safe.”
My dark room smelled of smoke.
My window was a dull gray when he knocked.
“Ich ha’e a pork pie fer ye!”
Wolfbane growled.
Holding the wolf, I opened the door.
“Waesucks!” he said.
“Benedicite!” I cried.
His hand where the wolf had bitten him was wrapped in a bloody rag, mayhap the same one he’d worn on his head after his fall at Wanthwaite. I had no cover for my eye, though it throbbed and hurt.
“Con ye see?” he asked.
“Aye.”
“Ye shuld cover yit! Eat this—I’ll be back!”
I fed the pie to the wolf.
Enoch returned with a clean rag, which he tied around my head, covering my eye. “I’ll put a little egg yolk on it quhan we finish our interview.”
“Interview? Where are we going?”
“Master Peterfee tald me as hu one of my Brotherhood be here in the inn, Baron Eustace de Vesci of Alnwick Castle in the north. Ye remember.”
Where my father had once defeated the Scots. He waited; I made no comment.
“Didna ye tal me oncit that yer father fought at Alnwick? That be Lord Eustace’s estate.”
“Is he a Scot?”
“He war born in Normandy, boot his wif be a Scottish princess.”
“How can he help, Enoch?” Time was passing.
“He knaws yer Lady Matilda.” He considered. “Leastways he knaws her husband, Lord William de Braose.”
I had a sudden suspicion. “Is this Lord Eustace a friend of King John’s?”
“Aye, lak all barons. John be our king nu. He be better than King Richard war—leastways he be in England.”
Benedicite, I’d trusted Theo to a friend of the king’s—yet what choice did I have? I could only hope that this Eustace was an honorable man.
Enoch and I climbed to another story above ours; Lord Eustace’s apartment covered the entire top floor of the inn, a luxurious area I hadn’t known to exist.
An obsequious hunchbacked manservant, Master Stane by name, admitted us; perhaps his deformity made it seem he might kiss Enoch’s feet, certainly not mine, for he managed to sneer at me through his smiling, tipped head. Lord Eustace de Vesci stood outlined against a bright window. My defective vision must have distorted my view or my opinion, for Lord Eustace seemed as deformed as his crippled manservant.
Oh, he wasn’t hunchbacked, nor did he carry the set smile of Master Stane. He was excessively tall, aye, yet fleshy as well. Not fat, but pudgy, soft, blurred. Standing against a window in a cloud of dancing dust motes, his hair appeared the color of wet sand, likewise his eyes; his lips were full, his hands were long and nervous, and he wore a tartan over his tunic.
“Lord Enoch,” he said in a husky supercilious tone, “I thought you asked for an audience for yourself and your wife. Where’s Lady Fiona?”
“In Scotland,” Enoch answered. “This be my ferst wif, Lady Alix of Wanthwaite. I havena got my annulment yit.”
“The famous houri?” lisped our host. “May I look?”
Was he asking Enoch or me?
Without waiting for a reply from either of us, he walked around me, pinched my arm, and would have fondled my backside, I trowe, if I hadn’t turned.
“Yes, a luscious beauty, like a dewy rose. Innocent appearing despite . . . I can see why the king wanted her, though it’s less easy to understand why she would want a weasel. Or perhaps she didn’t—did you?”
He was fortunate that I didn’t strike his wet-sand eyes.
But he now jabbed at my bandaged eye, then at Enoch’s hand, then at my eye again. “Been fighting, you two? Begun your punishment, Enoch? You should kill her, my lord, cheaper and faster than the Church. Then you could be with Fiona at once.”
Though Enoch flushed deeply, he stayed with our purpose. “King Richard gifted Alix wi’ the Crown Jewels of England.”
Lord Eustace hardly knew whether to continue his scorn or become deferential. The Crown Jewels would make me one of the richest ladies in England.
“Ond the present king wants ’em.”
“And you want me to take them to him?” Lord Eustace stammered, overcome with the honor. “I pride myself that King John is my friend and we trust each other absolutely—and yet, how would I explain my possession of Richard’s jewels?”
He’d crossed the Scot at last. Enoch now roared, “They be nocht Alix’s jules! They be mine! Them be my jules, Lord Eustace. ’Tis small enow payment fer quhat that wallydrag did to me.”
Lord Eustace stood as if struck. “Aye, I see what you mean.” Then he paced around me again. “Such a deceptive wife, hard to believe she was ever a baroness. Of course, not all of us can be married to a princess of Scotland.” He stopped as if in wonder at his own good fortune. “Margaret is, Margaret . . .” He was too overcome to list Margaret’s virtues beyond her accident of birth. “Aye, Lord Enoch, aye, you’ve earned the jewels. The riches. What can I do to help you? Anything for a brother!”
Enoch finally explained about our problem with Lady Matilda de Braose, her abrupt departure from Baynard Castle, the fire—which astonished the lord—and our need to learn her whereabouts.
Lord Eustace rushed to his window and pulled away the oiled linen. The room instantly filled with the acrid stench of smoke. Hacking through his lace sleeve, he then asked myriad questions: How had the fire started? Was the entire castle destroyed? Had anyone been hurt? What had happened to their other Brother, Lord Robert fitzWalter? Aye, so far as he knew, Lord Robert had been in residence. Yet he knew nothing of Lady Matilda. He’d had an invitation to sup with Lord Robert on Thursday next.
When we could get him off the subject of Baynard Castle and Lord Robert fitzWalter, he finally returned to our request. To give him credit, he really tried.
“I don’t like Lady Matilda personally.” He screwed his brow as if he didn’t even remember her. I held my breath—what was wrong with her? Was she harsh on bairns? “My real friend in that family is her husband, Lord William, one of the bravest and most loyal lords in the kingdom. Yes, he and Matilda both are close to King John, I believe.”
My heart sank—was she close enough to betray Theo?
“The last I heard of Lord William, he was at his honor in Limerick, Ireland. She may have followed him there.”
My heart sank further.
“And yet, that seems strange, doesn’t it? I mean, I don’t like her personally, but I would never accuse her of thievery. No, no, she’s honorable.” He paused again. “She might not give the jewels to you, Enoch, if she thought their rightful owner was King John.” His brow screwed. “And yet—you know how rumors fly, especially in the Brotherhood.”
“Lord William be nocht a Brother,” Enoch interrupted.
“I know, but . . . Well, we help one another with money, so when I hear that a lord needs money, I pay attention.”
“Ond Lord William . . . ?”
“There’s some gossip. Lord William claims that the king gave him Limerick in gratitude for Lord William’s capture of Arthur of Brittany. The king claims that he gave him a loan, only, and now he demands his money back
.”
“What has that to do with Lady Matilda?” I asked.
Though he heard me, he answered Enoch. “If he learned somehow that Matilda carried jewels, or perhaps if he simply learned she was in London . . . well, we all know the king.”
No one knew him better than I did. Oh, Theo!
“Sae yif she left becas she larned aboot the king’s greed, qhuar would she gae?”
“King John is not greedy. Don’t misunderstand me. And he’s morally upright, unlike his brother.” Lord Eustace was again before the window, peering out. “She might follow Lord William to Ireland, but I don’t think so. She inherited vast estates in Wales, which is her native home. Yes, if I were you, I would try to find her in Wales.”
“Wales be vast. Quhar in Wales?”
“I don’t know. Lord William’s brother, Bishop Giles, head of the cathedral at Hereford, would know, and Hereford is close to Wales. Ask him.”
Within an hour, we were on the road again, now traveling as one unit. Another difference was that Wolfbane now traveled with us.
7
Wolfbane’s charred ruff grew back; Enoch removed his bandage from his hand; and Gruoth said I had only a tiny pink scar above my eyebrow—I’d been fortunate. Most of the time, Wolfbane trotted behind my horse; when he tired, I let him ride pillion. We followed a ridge across England, together except that Enoch’s knights still ignored me, and I didn’t learn their names. Thorketil, however, became friendly again and told me the news of his wife, Edwina. From Thorketil I learned that the Scot had accepted the wolf because Jasper Peterfee had been willing to reduce our tariff at the inn if we would take him. He didn’t reduce my tariff, but no matter; I loved the wolf. He kept my mind somewhat off Theo.
Enoch, quite naturally, avoided Wolfbane. He watched me, however, over the heads of the other Scots when we stopped to eat. I suspected that he suspected, though exactly what I wasn’t certain.
Hereford was on the far side of England and I was too totty to record the days it took to get there. We stopped only for food; Enoch once sent Gruoth down the steeps to a village on market day. A cross was raised in the square to prevent thieves, but Enoch said that the cross didn’t work against the merchants. He pronounced the dried fish Gruoth bought back as being at least five years old.
The Prince of Poison Page 10
