A Twisted Vengeance

by Candace Robb

  “You smile?”

  “I hear my teacher’s voice when I say such a thing in this garden. For it was here that Brother Wulfstan walked with me when my heart was heavy.”

  “You were fortunate to have such a guide.”

  “I was. I would have taken his name when I took the cloth, but it came to me that I should take the name of the man who saved my life—the first time.” A little laugh. “A pirate and a knave, and one of my dearest friends.”

  Berend was quiet, letting the monk enjoy his memory, inhaling the fragrance of the garden, clearing his mind so that he might give Dame Katherine as much detail as possible. After what she had learned at the deanery, he deemed it even more important that he keep his eyes and mind open. Nothing might be as it seemed. Nothing.

  In the infirmary, a screen gave Kevin some privacy and kept the heat of the brazier in his corner, though on the other side of his bed a window let in heat of a different sort. Flushed and sweating, the man lay beneath a tent of blankets. He lay so still, his breathing so shallow, that Brother Martin leaned down to listen and to feel the breath on his cheek. Nodded.

  “He is still with us.”

  An elderly monk sat beside the bed, nodding over his prayer beads. Martin lay his hand on his elder’s shoulder and leaned down to say in a soft voice, “Brother Henry, you are relieved.”

  A sputter, a confused glance at Berend, some alarm, then awareness. “Ah. Good, Martin. I fear I am of little use in this heat.”

  “No matter. If Kevin had thrashed or called out, you would have awakened.” Martin assisted the elderly monk in rising.

  “God go with you,” Henry murmured as he shuffled past Berend.

  Martin lifted the covers to show how they protected the wound. Hazel wands had been fashioned into an arch over the man’s torso so that the blankets warmed but did not touch him. Blood seeped through the bandage that covered Kevin’s stomach. The man stirred, muttered something unintelligble. His eyelids flickered.

  “Might he speak to me?” Berend asked.

  “You are welcome to sit here awhile, see if he fully wakes.”

  Berend moved the chair directly beneath the opened window, for the screened area was so warm and he did not wish to miss a chance to talk to Kevin by falling asleep; he’d had little sleep the previous night. This man had fought the intruder, might have recognized him or those who’d spirited him away. From his position Berend could see past the screen to a table at which Brother Martin worked, mixing herbs, writing notes in a journal. His motions were easy, assured. Berend wondered about the monk’s life before the monastery. Trained as an archer, he had said, yet when Berend had first come for healing, Brother Martin had told him he’d been an apothecary out in the world. He was tall, broad-shouldered. What would move Berend to leave the world and enter a monastery?

  “Berend?” Kevin blinked, licked his lips.

  “Yes.” It was a good sign, that he could so quickly recall a name.

  “The sisters on Hertergate—they are safe?”

  “Yes.”

  “My comrades. I asked them to protect them.”

  “Ah, that is why they keep watch. But there is no need, Kevin. We are taking care of them, and Dame Eleanor’s retainer, Griffin, is sleeping in the kitchen.”

  Brother Martin joined them, apologizing for the interruption. “But Kevin will be thirsty, am I right?” He looked at the man, who licked his lips again but held up his hand to wait.

  “I have tried to remember more. The man who dragged the sister from the house,” said Kevin. “We fought. He stabbed me. Then others came. Kicked me, pulled me away from him. Soldiers. From Toft Green. They knew him. Called him Robin. Said they knew he would be trouble. They took him away.” He closed his eyes, breathing hard. “I didn’t understand. Why take him?”

  So it was Robin. Berend lay a hand on his hand. “Enough for now. More than enough—this is helpful, Kevin, bless you. Unless you can give me names of any of the soldiers who took him away?”

  “Seen them.”

  “At Toft Green?”

  “Yes. Sent my comrades to find them. Tents near priory. Tall man with one leg cooks for them.”

  The one-legged cook Berend had noticed recently at the market. “I have seen him. One last question. Do you know Dame Eleanor’s servant, Hans, who worked for Thomas Holme this summer?”

  A blink.

  “He was murdered last night. His neck broken. Does Robin have such strength?”

  “Hans murdered? Why? No. Not Robin.”

  “I don’t know why. Did you ever see those soldiers talking to him?”

  “No.” A shuddering breath. Kevin closed his eyes.

  Berend stood back. “Enough. I am most grateful.”

  The infirmarian helped Kevin sip from the cup he had filled with his herbal concoction. “This will dull the pain while I change your bandage and repack the wound,” he told his patient.

  The man winced. A memory of pain. Berend offered to help, but Martin assured him there was no need.

  “Go. Find the men who have caused so much sorrow. May God watch over you.”

  Midday, Kate’s household chose to take their main meal out in the garden, beneath the shade of the lindens. The sisters and Eleanor’s servant had prepared a cold repast for all, though they chose to eat separately, in their hall. Kate was grateful Berend was relieved of the duty. She smiled down at Petra, who lounged against her, smoothing her curly raven hair, so familiar, so like her own. Kate dropped her hand as she noticed Marie observing them from where she sat beside Jennet. Jealously watching. Yearning. The child ached for a love that was already offered; she could not see it. What she knew was that Petra was Kate’s niece; she envied their blood bond. Needlessly.

  Kate patted the bench beside her, but Marie looked away. Such a beautiful child. There was truly nothing of the Neville family in their looks, yet their mother had named Simon the father of Marie and Phillip, and Lionel Neville had sworn it was true. She suspected that Lionel, hoping the knowledge of his brother’s infidelity would break her, might have exaggerated the certainty of the claim. But though she sometimes had her doubts, she had never regretted taking them in. They had enriched her life, and she loved them both as much as Petra.

  The rest of the household, including Griffin, sat at a second table a few feet away. All eyes were on Kate and Berend, who had returned from the abbey deep in excited conversation. Though Kate had been tempted to tell Jennet everything at once—this was what they had hoped for, confirmation that Nan’s Robin was the intruder—she had disciplined herself to wait until all were present. Now she nodded to Berend.

  “I have spoken to Sir Elric’s man who lies wounded in the abbey infirmary.” Berend recounted what he had learned from Kevin.

  When he was finished, everyone began to talk at once, and Kate found herself clapping her hands for order. “One at a time, I pray you. All your thoughts are welcome. Jennet? You have been seeking information about Robin.”

  Jennet nodded. Summer had brought out the freckles that ran across her cheeks and nose, making her seem even younger than usual. But she was no naïve youth, and Kate pitied anyone who mistook her for one. “I’ve learned that he is known across the city as a thief for hire.”

  Berend leaned forward. “For hire, you say? No ordinary thief, then?”

  “As with an assassin for hire, such a thief is caught between the devil and the temptation,” said Jennet, “never satisfied, never at rest. He is not his own man. We must find his employer.” As soon as she had spoken, Jennet covered her mouth, blushing. “Forgive me, Berend. I did not mean to imply . . .”

  He shook his head. “You are right. It needed to be said.”

  Kate turned to Griffin. “Did Mother manage to send the Dominicans away, as she planned?”

  He glanced up from his food, nodded. “They left not long after you did. The sisters were quiet as they prepared food in the kitchen. Took it back to the hall. All in silence. I was loath to speak. I thou
ght they might be praying for Hans. So I know nothing new.” He shrugged, drank down his ale, poured more.

  Jennet fidgeted, a sign that she was annoyed with Griffin. “Did you notice anything about the men who had Hans?” she asked him.

  “Only that there were three of them. I was seeing to Severen.”

  “He was not so injured that you would have risked his life by following the men,” said Jennet.

  “I did not know they were about to murder Hans, did I?”

  “You saw someone dropped on the road, apparently lifeless.”

  “I thought him just one of the soldiers, falling down drunk. Do you imagine I don’t blame myself for my mistake?”

  Shrugging, Jennet took the jug of ale. After filling Matt’s, Berend’s, and her own bowl, she set the jug out of Griffin’s reach. Berend looked to Kate to intercede. He was right. There was no benefit to antagonizing Griffin. She motioned to Berend to change the topic. Petra had rested her head in Kate’s lap and fallen asleep. She preferred not to wake her.

  “So we know that Kevin came upon Robin dragging Sister Dina down the alley, and as he freed her he was accosted by a group of soldiers from Toft Green,” said Berend.

  “Who know Robin,” Matt added.

  “Perhaps as a thief for hire,” said Jennet.

  “Nan should be told that the intruder was Robin,” said Griffin. “She should be warned he might seek her help.”

  “You think he was able to break away from the soldiers?” Berend asked.

  Griffin shrugged. “Anything might happen. We owe it to her to warn her.”

  “Unless she set him on us,” said Jennet. “Thieves often band together in support. And to protect one another.”

  Berend nodded to Griffin. “Pay attention. Jennet was once one of them.”

  Marie whispered something to Jennet, who whispered something back. The child nodded solemnly.

  Jennet continued. “They find allies in the servants of the households they are watching. The unhappy ones are the easiest to befriend. And Nan certainly seems to have given her heart to Robin. How do we know what she might do for him?”

  Griffin raked a hand through his hair and wiped his forehead with his sleeve, the shade evidently not cool enough for him. “Do you think that is likely with Nan?” asked Griffin. “Was she so dissatisfied?”

  “Nan’s home is dark, mean, crowded,” said Jennet. “You see how much she loves color, pretty baubles. Easy to woo when almost any life would be brighter than what she has.”

  “Dame Eleanor’s house is comfortable,” said Berend. “And Nan had another sharing the duties. The sisters as well. They all appear to take their turn in household tasks.”

  “That might be true,” said Griffin, “but I understand Nan’s discomfort. Dame Eleanor distrusts her, watches her, never has a good word for her. No wonder the woman ran off every night into the arms of a man who promised to take her away from her misery, gave her pretty trinkets.”

  “Stolen baubles,” said Jennet. “Possibly provided to him for the purpose.”

  “So you think that Nan told Robin about something worth taking from Dame Eleanor’s house?” Griffin wiped his forehead with his sleeve again. “But what? We brought so little with us. Each of the women had a trunk. One trunk each, and not very large, except for Dame Eleanor’s. But that is said to be filled with gowns, should she change her mind about the life of a beguine. She said she had little room for anything but clothing.”

  “Jewels take little room,” Jennet noted.

  So do documents, Kate thought.

  “I was told to protect the women, not the trunks. And I’ve not seen Dame Eleanor wear anything of significant value—nothing I would think Nan would boast about to Robin.” Griffin finished off his bowl, set it aside. “Though Werner did make a point of staying with the baggage at all times.”

  “Perhaps one of us needs to talk to Werner,” said Berend. “And Nan. Who has her trust?”

  “Agnes Dell,” said Griffin. “But do we trust her?”

  “Nan has sought me out now and then,” said Jennet. “I might talk with her.” She glanced at Kate, who nodded.

  Griffin offered to talk to Werner.

  “Let us give Werner the day to grieve,” Kate said softly. “Then we can choose who should talk to him. We have already learned much.”

  It was true. Berend had spoken to Werner earlier. Apparently Thomas Holme had discovered Hans was good with numbers—he had worked in Ulrich’s office as well as serving in the household—and had set him the task of helping with the household accounts. Considering what Kate had learned about the money Thomas and his coterie, including her cousin, had sent to Duke Henry, she and Berend wondered whether Hans could have been approached by spies for the king.

  “I will be glad to talk to him if that suits you,” said Griffin. “I am more at ease with Werner than I was with Hans—my soldierly ways disturbed him.” When Berend raised a brow, Griffin added, “Women in the taverns.” A shrug. “None of the servants had taken vows, but Hans seemed to feel we were on a sacred mission and should behave as befit clerics.”

  Jennet gave a little snort. “Like the vicars choral at the bawdy houses round the Bedern?”

  “And yet Hans had recently turned to drinking,” Kate noted. “Something had changed him.”

  “I cannot reconcile that with the man I knew. I thought his lack of curiosity kept him innocent,” said Griffin. “Poor man, to die unshriven.” He crossed himself.

  “From what you say, he had no sins to confess,” Berend said softly. He had often told Kate that God accounted for those who died sudden, violent deaths—he was sure of it, else he could not have borne his days soldiering. So many rotted on the battlefields awaiting a priest’s blessing. Surely God did not condemn all those souls.

  “Had someone rescued him, we might have found out why he had turned to drink,” Jennet muttered, glaring at Griffin.

  But the man seemed oblivious to her anger, reaching over to pet Lille and Ghent, then stretching farther to grasp the jug.

  Sister Dina took the cup of brandywine with trembling hands. “May the Mother show me the way, guide me in my speech,” she whispered, sipping the wine as if it were the communion offering.

  Kate and Dina sat near the window of her mother’s bedchamber. They had been offered the choice seats, two high-backed, cushioned chairs facing each other, so that they might look out on the view of York Castle, the Franciscan friary, the river, the sweet summer afternoon. And it afforded them a slight breeze as the solar warmed beneath the sun-hammered roof. Kate had suggested they gather in the garden, where they might sit in the breezy shade of the great plane tree. Lille and Ghent could alert them to anyone approaching. But Dina had chosen this enclosed space, and so the five women had climbed the steps to the solar in communal silence. Brigida and Clara sat with Eleanor on her bed. All, including Kate, no doubt, gave face to their dread, Dina looking as if she wished it were over. For this would be no happy telling.

  Still, Kate was grateful to be included, and that the sisters had been encouraged by Dina’s growing strength and restored spirit to coax her out of her silence. Sister Brigida had come to Kate in the garden bearing the news that the reading during the midday meal, wisely chosen and read by Sister Clara, paired with the terrible news of Hans’s murder, had convinced Sister Dina that those present deserved to hear all she remembered, and had inspired her to trust that they would receive her tale with compassion, not judgment.

  “May something I remember help find the man who took Hans from us,” Dina said, “and help me begin to make amends for my own part in the tragedy.” She bowed her head and made the sign of the cross.

  “You are innocent,” Eleanor whispered.

  Dina lifted her head, shook it once. “I have caused great harm.” She shivered, despite the warmth of the day.

  “The brandywine will soothe you,” Kate said.

  Dina took a sip, coughed, took another, sat back with a little sigh. “
You are kind, Dame Katherine. I fear—He is dead?” She added something in German to Sister Brigida, who explained to Kate, “The one whom she stabbed in the gut.”

  “We have not found him,” said Kate. “But Berend spoke to the one who helped you. Kevin.”

  She understood that without need for Brigida, and asked, “How is Kevin?”

  “Wounded. He is being cared for by the infirmarian at St. Mary’s Abbey.” Kate paused as Brigida explained. “He asked after you. He’s asked his comrades to protect you and all the ‘good sisters.’”

  “God bless him.”

  “I pray you, tell me what you remember,” said Kate. “Just speak in your own tongue. Sister Brigida will tell me what you are saying.”

  Another shiver ran through the woman. She set aside the brandywine and turned her gaze to the window as she began to speak, and Brigida to translate.

  “I was suddenly awake, aware that someone was in the kitchen. It was still too dark for it to be Nan. But I’m not certain that I thought so clearly at that moment. I feared it was happening again. That he’d come back.” Brigida shook her head at Kate’s frown. She did not know of whom Dina spoke. “I reached for the dagger beneath my pillow. Listened. Prayed that he would not be aware of me in the room. I heard noises. Perhaps someone searching through the pots and the bins. And then he was at my door, pressing the latch, slowly opening the door.” Dina’s hands traced the motion. “So frightened.” Her eyes were huge in her face. “He was in the room. He was in the room.” Shaking her head. “I threw myself at him. We toppled, slid through the doorway into the kitchen. And I was stabbing him, stabbing him.” She jabbed the air, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “In my fear—” She shook her head. “I thought he was my father returned. He said he would. He swore he would. And I remembered what I had to do. Never speak, never make a noise, he would kill me if I woke the others.” Her gaze was unfocused, frightened, her voice but a whisper. “But I did not need to say a word. My dagger said it all. You will not hurt me again. You will not!” She sobbed, her hand in the air, clutching the imaginary dagger. “He lay there, clutching the dagger’s haft. He groaned. He said something. I don’t know. I don’t know. God forgive me. This was not my father. It was not his voice. Soft. So soft, this voice. Fear. Pain.” She covered her face with her hands, breathing shallowly.