Windsong

by Allison Knight

  The door to his cell flew open and a short wiry little man stood at the opening.

  “You a priest too?” he asked.

  “A priest? What would a priest be doing imprisoned? And, nay, I am not a priest.”

  He frowned at Alwyn then looked him up and down. “Aye, ya don’t look the kind of do a lot of prayin’. Not a bit pious either.”

  “I am not a priest!” Alwyn nearly shouted, his voice husky from disuse. What kind of speech was this to have with another human after seven and twenty days without conversation.

  “Well, the last time this place was used, Chelse had the priest down here.”

  Alwyn was more than a little curious. Imprison a priest? What had the priest done and, would not the Church frown on that? In fact, to do so without authority would be a major sin. He spoke without thinking.

  “What crime had he committed?”

  “Nothin!” the wiry jailer announced. “Seems the king sent him here

  to shrive Chelse of his sin. I guess Chelse were not ready to quit sinnin’.”

  “What sin?” What was the old man talking about? In fact, what sin had Chelse committed to force Edward to send a priest to hear his confession? The old man had to be mistaken.

  “You know about the wife Chelse stole?”

  Alwyn shook his head. “I knew one of Edward’s trusted barons had cuckold a minor baron, but the king was more aggravated than angry.”

  He frowned remembering there was something about Edward sending a priest to the castle of the baron but the priest never arrived—unless... Nay, it did not bear thinking about.

  “Chelse stole the wife and then killed a priest, a man of God?”

  “Nay, the murder was not by his own hand. Although he might as well have done the deed.”

  “Why say you he might as well have done the deed? What did he do?” The strangest thoughts were circling in Alwyn’s head. Bits and pieces of a suspicion whirled into an idea. He needed confirmation.

  “How did the priest die?”

  “He starved to death. Chelse did not think to order food for him and eventually, his prayin’ could not keep him alive.”

  “How do you know this? I have never seen you before. I have no knowledge of who you are or what you are.”

  The old man bristled.

  “I am one of Chesle’s porters. This room is me obligation. Me daughter brought your gruel and water ‘cause I were cursed with sickness meself. I brunged you here, but the sickness overtook me and until I was meself she bringed food and water. I do not abide starving a man unless his crime is so great his death must be slow and painful.”

  “And mine is not?” Alwyn could not keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

  “St. Stephen forgive ya. Nay, it is not. The lady Milisent was a nice lady, served the castle well, helped the servants. When my wife was astruggling’ to birth our tenth child, Lady Milisent sent her companion to care for my Edith, even though the house was full of those men.”

  Alwyn wanted to stop his praise of Milisent and ask about the men, but decided against it. He wondered for a second how the old man knew about the marriage as well.

  The old man wiped a tear from his eye. “The babe and my Edith did not live out the day, but it were not fer Lady Ella a trying. An Lady Milisent seen the boy had a decent funeral. It was her way.”

  “I am sorry. I lost my first wife and babe years ago, so I understand a bit of your pain.”

  He squinted at Alwyn. “The servants tell you married the lady but de Bain wanted her. Better you than de Bain.”

  “My feelings are the same. De Bain is a cruel man. He would have

  caused your lady much pain. I will not.”

  “Them servants say also she chose you. How can we be sure?”

  Alwyn smiled. His jailer was not one to trust easily it seemed. “You can not be sure of my word. But if your lord willing locked me away, but would give his sister to de Bain, then you have your answer.”

  The old man started to laugh. “‘Tis clear you do not know the why of it. Mayhap someday I will tell you why Chelse must give his sister to de Bain.”

  “Not over my dead body,” Alwyn murmured.

  Again the old man laughed before he placed a bowl of gruel and jug of water on the floor of Alwyn’s cell. Still chuckling, he closed the door and as the lock was turned, Alwyn heard the grate of metal against metal. For the first time in weeks a helplessness descended. He had to save his wife. But how when he was forcibly confined to a cell by her own brother?

  He also had no knowledge of what was planned for him. Was he to face starvation the same as the priest? A grim smile framed his face as another thought entered his mind. Edward could not know about the death of the priest. But, something told him de Bain knew.

  He sat on the floor next to his meal and tried to place the pieces he knew or suspected into the fabric of a believable tale. A hundred questions raced through his thoughts. He tried to remember what he had heard about the stolen wife.

  All he had heard was hearsay but that was long before he had pledged to Edward. He racked his mind trying to put the facts together. A baron in service to Edward, or so it went, had kidnapped the wife of another baron. Edward had been annoyed. However, because the baron who took the wife was well placed in Edward’s court, it seemed no punishment had been assigned.

  Chelse fought against the Welsh. He was the one who took the head of their Prince back to Edward. Were Chelse and the baron who stole the wife the same man? The porter said they were.

  It might have been Chelse because the pieces seemed to fit. Again, he would have to ply the keeper with more questions until he had the answers. He remembered hearing that only when pressured did Edward send word to the guilty baron demanding the release of the man’s wife. Edward’s reaction to the thief was the reason Alwyn planned his revenge by taking Milisent. The king appeared to understand the lust of men.

  He remembered being told a holy man, a priest chosen by Edward himself, was also to deliver some kind of penance to the lustful baron. The story ended there, because the priest was killed on his way to carry out the king’s order, the wife released.

  As far as Alwyn knew or had heard, no further atonement was required. The tale was spread through Wales and intended to show how evil the English were. What if Chelse was the guilty baron and the priest did not

  die on the way to shrive him? How would Edward react to that information?

  He still had no knowledge of just how de Bain might fit into the scheme if Chelse were indeed the baron in question. Had de Bain somehow learned of Chelse’s guilt? It appeared his jailer thought some form of blackmail was being used by de Bain against Chelse.

  He would have to wait until the morrow and if his jailer came again, he would ask. He prayed the old man had more answers for him along with information about what had happened to the men who traveled with him.

  SIXTEEN

  Voices, this time more distinct, woke Alwyn from his restless sleep. Hunger gnawed at him as he rolled from the floor and struggled to his feet. It had been a five days since the jailer managed to bring any more than a small crust of bread. Now he was hearing things. It sounded like Chelse’s voice above him. It amused him that he could hear so much of what went on above his hole in the earth. In fact, he thought he might be able to hear the conversation if he moved closer to the door.

  The voices became more distinct. It was Chelse. The other person in the discussion sounded like the voice of an angry de Bain.

  “‘Tis not my problem.” This from de Bain. “I tell you de Shay is coming here.”

  “But how do you know this?” Chelse whined. “I went to Knockin and talked to him. Nothing will be decided until they are convinced Brynn Ffrydd is dead.”

  There was a pause in the conversation and Alwyn held back a sigh. He’d hoped they would continue their discussion. He needed to know just how they planned to cause his demise. Mayhap there was more. He crawled closer to the door until he could lean again
st it.

  De Bain spoke again. “I have my ways.”

  Chelse must have asked again how he knew de Shay was coming. This time the mumbled words were indistinct.

  Then, “I will do nothing until I know there is accuracy in what you say.” Chelse again.

  De Bain laughed and Alwyn cringed. How he disliked this man. Even his laugh was cruel.

  “Know you I do nothing without ways of gaining information.” Again he laughed, and Alwyn knew his face carried an evil sneer. “You should know that.”

  “Oh, so you say, but I will not take Brynn Ffrydd into the wood until I am certain what you say is truth.”

  “If you must know, his mistress—nay, his former mistress, for he married her off when he tired of her—it was she who told me.”

  Alwyn struggled to keep from gasping. Was it possible Sybil hated him that much? Had these two more to say?

  They did but he couldn’t decipher Chelse’s question?

  De Bain growled. “I told her to bring Milisent back with her.”

  “You sent her to Knockin?” This was spoken loudly enough for him to understand.

  “Aye. I held her young infant. I told her she would never see the child again unless she did what I told her to do.”

  “You would take the life of an infant?”

  Again de Bain laughed. “Mayhap, if need be. But you are such a craven. But, nay, not this child. I would have given the boy to another to raise.”

  The sound Chelse made was full of scorn. “Garrett would never let Milisent leave his protection, of that I am certain. I could not even have a moment alone with her.”

  “Good for Garrett,” Alwyn muttered then clamped his lips over in teeth in case his voice carried to the men above him.

  “I did not tell her how to bring Milisent to me, only that she had better return with Milisent if she ever wanted to see her child again.”

  Alwyn shuddered. The man was beyond cruel; he was demonic.

  “But, she returned without Milisent for de Shay would never let my sister leave his care.”

  “Aye. She said neither Milisent nor de Shay were at Knockin.”

  “So, he is bringing her back to me. I never thought—”

  “You fool. She does not travel with him.”

  “But you said she was not at Knockin.”

  “Aye, she has gone to the convent.”

  Alwyn slumped against the wall. Nay, surely Garrett would not have sent her to the convent until his body had been found. Rhianna would not have allowed it.

  “How can you know this? They could have hidden her away. I would guess de Shay has secret rooms in his castle also.”

  Still stunned with de Bain’s information Alwyn almost missed Chelse’s comment. So, Chelse had hidden him someplace in Fenton.

  “Aye, I suspect he might, as devious as he is, but I was not about to demand a search of Knockin. It would not have been allowed. It was simpler to check the convent where she resides. I only had to ask to see her.”

  De Bain sounded so smug. Alwyn was heartsick, for de Bain sounded so certain of Milisent’s location.

  “You went to the convent?”

  “Of course. The woman who opened the gate for me offered to take me to the superior but I asked, as her husband, if I could see Milisent not the superior. She said she still had to ask if I could visit.”

  “So you did not see Milisent?” Chelse sounded almost relieved.

  “Nay, but I did not need to see her. She is there.”

  “How do you know? They too could have misled you.” Chelse was almost yelling.

  “Quiet, you fool. The girl who took me to the superior repeated that I was her missing husband, but that damned nun took one look at me and said Milisent was not wed to me. She knew of you so I was sent from the place. But, nay, she is there.”

  “Then we must take her from the place.”

  “I will not. I do not want Rome on my head.”

  “Mayhap she has not spoken vows yet.”

  Alwyn heard the worried note in Chelse’s voice. His own knees were shaking. He sagged to the floor and placed his head against the door. The two men had yet to discuss how they attempted to bring about his death.

  Chelse was speaking again.

  “I must go get her. I will gather my men—”

  “You will not. I told you, de Shay is coming here to you.”

  “This mistress said that? So, where is he? It is not that great a distance. She lied to you.” Again, Chelse was close to shouting.

  “Nay, de Shay went to London first. I suspect he went to see someone at court. Only then will he...”

  The voices faded away. Alwyn crawled to his mat on the floor. Thoughts swirled around in his head. Was it possible de Shay was coming to find him? But why had Milisent gone to the convent? His stomach cramped from lack of food and he fought to ignore the pain. Neither man had said anything about how they intended to present his corpse to de Shay without bearing some responsibility for his death. However, he knew there was a plan, and he would soon be dead.

  ~ * ~

  Several more days passed with only jugs of water slipped through the door. Alwyn no longer bothered marking the wall. There was no purpose in such action. De Shay, if he came would never find him. He knew enough about starvation to know his days now were limited.

  However, sounds above registered. Something must have happened. He heard people running, horses stomping past, shouts, confusion. Aye, but he was in too much pain to consider what it might mean. As he had for a week now, he tried to bring the picture of Milisent to mind.

  His wife’s face vanished as an angry voice shouted above. “I told you he was coming. Why did not you bar him from the gate?”

  That voice belonged to de Bain.

  Alwyn rolled to the door, for the sounds were clearer there.

  “I could not refuse him entry. He has come demanding Milisent’s portion. What am I to do?”

  “You will have to tell him to wait. You have not disposed of Brynn Ffrydd have you?”

  “Nay. He has only been without food for eight days. It took the priest three days and fortnight to die. I planned to take Brynn Ffrydd to the wood in a day or two. By then, he will be too weak to fight anyone or anything.”

  “Fine. If you expect to remain in Edward’s favor, you had better find a way to free your sister from the convent and wed her to me now. De Shay must not be allowed to interfere. But you had better see to your visitor.” This was said with contempt. “I must be away from this place and unseen.”

  “My man will see you away from here. De Shay will never know you have only just left.”

  “And you are to say...” the voices faded and Alwyn rolled back to his mat. Had de Shay come? Or was his mind inventing words he wanted to hear? He took a sip of water and wondered why he no longer felt any hunger. He only felt the pain of his movements which were becoming harder and harder. Chelse was correct when he said Alwyn would not have the strength to fight anyone, or anything. He sighed and prayed for sleep. Above him a group chanted their prayers. Strange, some of the words sounded like the language of the Welsh.

  The fog of inertia lifted when a grating sound came from the far wall of his prison. Had de Shay come and then departed? Mayhap the whole of the conversation was a figment of his imagination. Chelse must have sent someone to his prison to take him to his death. He blessed himself and waited trying to clear his mind. He would face his death as he had lived—honorably.

  As he stared at the door, expecting it to fly open, something in the wall caught his eye. He blinked, certain his lack of food was playing tricks with his mind. The wall looked like it moved. He blinked again. A robed figure slipped through the opening.

  A monk! Chelse was not sending him to his death without the chance to confess. Alwyn tried to get to his knees. The monk, who was rotund and very short, stepped aside and another robed creature slipped through the wall. Now he knew his mind was creating visions.

  A husky voice, one
that sounded familiar swore. “Saint Swithun, what has he done to you?”

  Alwyn raised his head. The bigger of the two monks threw off the hood that covered his head and Alwyn stared into the face of a man who looked like Owain ab Madoc.

  “Owain?” Alwyn whispered.

  “Aye. We are come to take you from this place.”

  The smaller of the two was sobbing.

  A husky voice belonging to a woman whispered, “How? He is in no condition to walk.”

  Alwyn knew his mind had departed from him. He had gone insane or mayhap, he died moments ago and Owain had come to him. The other voice sounded like his beloved wife, Milisent. Was Essylt coming to him as well? He had thought Owain had lived but he would have to be dead for Owain to

  come for him. Was Milisent also dead?

  He sank back to his mat and closed his eyes. So this was the end.

  “Owain, you must find Garrett and tell him Alwyn can not travel.”

  “Milisent, I can not find my way through those passages without your help. We must go together. I have a skin of ale under all this padding. A swallow or two will give him a little strength. And I will carry him from this place.”

  Alwyn raised himself from his mat. His mind was playing more tricks, for Milisent and Owain were discussing him. Could it be he was not yet dead?

  “You are here?” Alwyn whispered, afraid to believe what he was hearing.

  “Aye, my darling.” Her voice was clear and so close. “We have come to take you away from Fenton. But you are no shape to travel. Could you sip some ale? Would that help?”

  “I am not dead?” Alwyn had to ask, almost afraid of the answer.

  Owain chuckled. “Nay, not yet. And by all that is holy, not if I can help it.”

  “I will try a bit of ale,” Alwyn said, then blinked trying to get a better look at his wife. “Milisent, come closer. I must see you.”

  She knelt before him; he raised a hand to touch her face, a face covered with tears. He was filthy, to filthy to touch her. He dropped his hand.