Door in the Sky

by Carol Lynn Stewart

  "Anyone with access to fine silk thread and..." Jean examined the material with blood on it. "This looks like it was torn off a gown. May I see the pomander you hold, Baroness?"

  Ysabel started. "This? Why?"

  "Just an idea." Jean was reaching for it. "Please indulge me," he said softly, his red lips curving in a seductive grimace.

  Ysabel snatched it back. "Must I?" She narrowed her eyes.

  Jean withdrew his hand. "No, you need not. There is another test we can perform to determine who made the mannikin." He grabbed the packet of nails and the lock of hair and stuffed them back into the doll along with the blood-stained cloth, pulling the threads to close it up again. Then he took the doll over to the blazing hearth and made a motion to throw it in.

  "What are you doing?" Ysabel screamed, rushing over to him. "You cannot do that to my baby!" She tore the mannikin out of his hands and sank to the floor, cradling it in her arms and crooning. "No one will hurt you. You are safe now. Hush, hush."

  Jean stood looking down at her, his face blank. Then as she crouched at his feet, busy with the mannikin, he plucked the rose-colored silk packet from out of her grasp and opened it up, reading the message written there. "A love charm," he said shortly, his eyes flickering briefly over to Henri. He stuffed it into a pouch on his belt. Stepping over Ysabel, he moved quietly to where Henri stood and whispered, "I am going down to get some of my men to take her to the dungeon. Please remain here and do not let her leave."

  Henri collected himself. What the devil was going on here? "You need your men to help you take a pregnant woman to the dungeon?"

  "Watch her!" Jean warned, his eyes flashing. "Watch carefully what happens when we return. You will learn something." He went out the door.

  Henri turned back to Ysabel. She was sitting on the floor, cradling the mannikin in her arms. As he watched, she pulled the top of her gown apart and tried to give her nipple to the mannikin. He looked away, felt a flush start across his face. His eyes fell upon de Reuilles, who still stood by the bed. The Baron's face was motionless, but his hands were clutched into fists and his eyes flamed. "De Reuilles!" Henri cried out his warning as Louis-Philippe moved toward Ysabel.

  The Baron stopped and turned to Henri. He must have read something in Henri's expression; he nodded and straightened his shoulders, then dropped to his knees beside Ysabel, touched one of her hands. "Ysabel," he said, "Ysabel, why?"

  She looked at him blankly.

  "Why would you do this?" He gestured at the mannikin. "Why would you want to kill Ibrahim?"

  A sweet smile trembled upon her lips. "Shhh!" She looked down at the mannikin. "My baby is sleeping."

  "Why, Ysabel?" Louis-Philippe repeated.

  "Why?" Her face twisted. "He bent you, my beautiful husband. He took you from my bed." Tears started in her eyes. "But everything is well now." Her face cleared and her voice brightened. "He came to me, you know, Ibrahim did. And he is the best lover! Better than both of you!" Her eyes darted to Henri, then she nuzzled the mannikin and started hummed a lullaby.

  Damn the woman! She must be mad. Henri saw a wave shudder through Louis-Philippe's body. De Reuilles slowly got to his feet, moving like an old man.

  "Can this be true?" Louis-Philippe whispered. "Can she have killed my Ibrahim with this... thing?"

  Jesu. What was he saying? No, this could not be, could it? Henri found himself moving away from Louis-Philippe, then stopped and focused upon Ysabel until he trusted that his eyes would not betray him. Was de Reuilles a sodomite? He was Maríana's father, this man.

  Henri glanced up. De Reuilles awaited his answer. Henri shook his head. "I do not believe she killed him."

  "You knew her before she came here. What could have led her to do this?" Louis-Philippe gestured toward the mannikin.

  Had he ever really known Ysabel? "We were just children," he said. "She was fond of getting her way, but then most girls are, aren't they? I don't know why she would want to kill the gardener," he sighed. But she had just given them the reason. Hadn't de Reuilles heard? She had also spoken of her dalliance with Henri. Had he missed that, too? He watched as the Baron looked away from Ysabel, stared directly into Henri's eyes.

  "She had reason to hate him." Louis-Philippe shivered, but his voice remained steady.

  Amazing. De Reuilles? No, he could not mean this. Ibrahim was a trusted servant. Ysabel must have been jealous of the time they spent together, her husband and this gardener. Yet Henri could not stop his face from reflecting the distaste he felt broiling inside. All those boys Jean had hurt. And, after Fornault, well, any hint that a man was sexually interested in him drove him to his sword. He had killed three men in Toulouse who had made the mistake of caressing his loins while he was drunk. He was not even sure that their intentions had been sensual. Perhaps they had been seeking the gold in his belt. But this was Louis-Philippe, Maríana's father. He must have heard wrong. De Reuilles was watching him, his face still.

  "Well, Bauçais," Louis-Philippe said. "What will you do now?"

  Henri lowered his head. No one could possibly believe Ysabel. The woman was clearly mad. Whatever else he might be, Louis-Philippe was Maríana's father.

  "Remember, baron." Henri spoke softly, watching Ysabel. "She has lost her wits and does not know what she is saying." He looked directly into Louis-Philippe's eyes. "Who is to say exactly why she hated Ibrahim?"

  There. And if Louis-Philippe was... well, Henri did not want to know.

  Louis-Philippe regarded Henri for a long moment, then asked, "Whose baby, do you think?"

  Henri did not pretend to misunderstand. "I cannot say. We should know in a month or two." He backed away. "Do you wish to call me out?" If he had to fight, he would. But he did not want to fight this man.

  "No, no." Louis-Philippe shook his head, drew in a deep breath. "I will not fight you." He stared at Ysabel. Grief and regret made twin dents at the sides of his mouth. "Will they allow her to live that long? To have her baby?"

  Henri set his jaw. "Oh, they will." He watched Ysabel rock the doll. "They will." Ysabel would have her baby, but what happened after that, he could not say. He caught Louis-Philippe's gaze. "I am not your enemy." Nor his friend, either. Still, he respected this man. This surprised him. When Ysabel had made her outrageous statements, Louis-Philippe had not flinched.

  Louis-Philippe nodded. "We will see what they will do." His eyes held a question. "But I do not think that Maríana should be found."

  So. It was said. "I was going to take her away to Bauçais when I found her."

  "Do you think that is wise?" Louis-Philippe nodded toward Ysabel. "I do not believe they will stop with Ysabel."

  "Perhaps not." Henri drew in his breath. "Very well. We will stop looking for Maríana." Footsteps pounded down the corridor. "For now."

  The door flew open.

  Jean burst into the room flanked by four of his burly guards. "Hold her!" he ordered them. Two of them moved forward and grabbed Ysabel by the arms. The other two took hold of her legs.

  "Is this necessary?" Henri demanded angrily, but subsided when Jean tore the mannikin from Ysabel's hands. Petite, delicate Ysabel flung one of the men into the wall and nearly upended the other in her frenzy to get the mannikin back. But the two holding her legs still had her in a firm grip and the first two returned to wrestle her into their grasp.

  "What are you doing? Let me go!" she screamed, spitting and hissing at them. Then a foul stream of obscenities flowed out of her. The men seemed to know their job and ignored her, lifting her and carrying her bodily out of the room.

  "Take her to the dungeon. Here, this way!" Jean ordered. He walked on ahead of them holding the mannikin, leading them down the back stairs to the kitchen.

  Henri followed close behind Jean. Louis-Philippe strode at Henri's side, his face stunned. Jean, Henri thought, must have expecting Ysabel's reaction. The corridors were empty -- no servants, no squires or knights. Six more of Jean's men joined them outside, forming a barrier aroun
d Ysabel, shielding her from the curious and terrified eyes of the servants milling around the inner bailey. Jean marched ahead, his eyes moving from left to right, never still. Was he appraising the assets of the château? Well. The former Abbott of Fornault had finally found his calling.

  Henri looked at the frightened servants and knights. Some were glancing away, some avidly watching, their mouths hanging open, others were fearfully making the sign of the cross. A shadow chilled his side. Louis-Philippe had come over and stood beside him.

  Avarice, greed, pity, terror, grief, and curiosity spread out before him. The scent of blood was gripping the crowd, the promise of torture. It was exciting them.

  Louis-Philippe looked into Henri's eyes. His own were haunted. "And now," he said, his voice heavy with sorrow, "it begins."

  Chapter 32

  RICHARD threw down his woolen gloves in disgust. The bright blue wool lay against blinding white snow. Perhaps there was some poetry, some song there, if only he could see it. But his soul was cold. He raised his face to the mountain that soared around the valley where the Jakintzas lived.

  Where he lived, now. His new home.

  He retrieved the gloves and pulled them on. Adelie had given him these gloves just last month. Or he guessed it was last month. They did not count time in this valley as they did elsewhere. Richard had tried to work it out, starting with the days in flight. He thought that it was now close to Christmas. But he might have lost a day when they were inside the mountain. When he had asked Iranzu what day it was on the calendar, the old man had raised his brow and asked why Richard wanted to know. Did he plan to return to his life outside this valley? At the time, Richard had backed away, said "No, of course not." But now he was not sure.

  He studied the mountainside again. The snow was brittle. Richard did not know what this meant. They had snow in Brittany, yes, and Reuilles-le-château seemed to be buried in it all winter. Even so, he had not known there were different types of snow. But Marc had told him that this fragile snow threatened them. All of them.

  A line of peaks enclosed the valley. A dense blanket of pines climbed nearly all the way up the sides of the mountain, but snow covered these pines, clung to branch and earth in a deadly shroud. When the air suddenly warmed, and then froze again, snow could shatter, sending boulders and snow fields down upon them. Marc and his brother Alain were up there now with the other men from the village, checking the areas where snow lay deepest. From time to time, Richard heard the roar of avalanche bellow out from somewhere up above. He always cringed, glancing around for a moving wall of white to descend upon him. But Marc had told him not to worry. They would set the snow moving in the areas where it was most fragile. They could control the flow, somehow, so that it did not rain down upon their houses.

  All the young men were up there, even Alain, who was recently wed and had to tear himself away from his bride. Marc was there, and he was just a boy. They were all up there. Except Richard.

  He remained below with the old men and the women and children. Oh, he knew his inexperience with snow made his presence dangerous. They did not want him to blunder into a pocket of shattered snow and start a slide. Still, to be left behind soured him. Iranzu had said they would teach him how to tell fragile snow from solid. Next year.

  Richard looked across the fence. Iranzu was there, waiting. He had not missed Richard's tossing of the gloves, then.

  "Are you coming?"

  Richard vaulted over the fence, landing beside the old man. Guillaume had made the squires jump fences several times a day when Richard was training to be a knight. Agility and strength, these were important.

  Iranzu sighed. "Such energy." He turned and moved farther into the pens.

  Richard filled his lungs, drew in the foul odor that hung in the air around the pens until his nose was so full of the stench that he did not smell it anymore. Then he followed Iranzu. Richard de la Guerche, who had fought at the side of Burgundy and Angoulême. Richard de la Guerche, only son of Geoffroy de la Guerche of Brittany. Tending pigs!

  Iranzu had stopped again, was watching him. "If you are to stay, you must find a place among us." This was not the first time he had said this.

  "Do I have any choice?" Richard muttered bitterly.

  HE HAD HARDLY seen Maríana since they arrived. Only at meals, and then only across the table. Well, there was much work to do. He was glad of that, even though this work kept him away from Maríana. He did not mind tending the sheep and cattle, bending his back in labor to shore up rotten wood in fences, repairing roofs. All of these things he had done on his fief in Brittany. But pigs?

  Ah, well. He had chosen to follow Maríana to this place. He had thought she would know that the sun rose and the moon set upon her in his eyes. After all, he had given up everything to come here with her, hadn't he? But she had fallen back into her distant regard. Oh, her eyes upon him were warm, to be sure. But he wanted more. His fingers itched to take her by the arms and shake her, and, well, do other things, too. But she just sat at her place by the table, face lowered. She seldom looked up from her bowl.

  Marc had noticed that Richard's eyes were always on Maríana. From the time he sat down at the table till the time the meal was over, Richard watched her face. Even Leila had noticed this. Maríana's sister never passed up an opportunity to tease him when Maríana barely looked his way. But did Maríana take notice of this teasing? No! Richard ground his teeth.

  At least Marc cared. He often visited Richard in the stone hut he now called his home, brought him news of Maríana, brought him what news they had of the world outside. Richard watched as Iranzu singled out three sows from the herd standing within the pen. News -- hah! No one knew for sure what was happening out there. Richard's slow grasp of the Basque language hindered any conversation with Marc.

  Iranzu had told him that the pope's men had come to Reuilles-le-château, but had known nothing more than this. It was too dangerous for people from the valley to venture forth into the outside world with the Inquisition so near.

  They had even been forced to seal the cave where all the bats dwelled. Somehow Iranzu had known that Baron de Reuilles' men were on the verge of discovering the cliff entrance to the caves. How the old man knew this, Richard had no idea. But if Maríana could do what she had done -- made a light with her hands that called the winds, drawn a spiral in blood upon the snow that had made the earth shudder -- what could Iranzu do? Richard had believed the old man.

  Iranzu had ordered men from the village to pile boulders around the place where the ledge they had followed opened into the larger cave. Richard had gone with them, helped stack the stones to bar entry. After they had finished, it looked like God Himself assembled that pile of stones. Richard had felt hope then. He had even touched one of the stone men who lived in the walls of the tunnel on his way back, had whispered a greeting. After they came out at the place where the giant statues stood, Adelie had met them in the bell forest with jugs of ale and they all drank and danced while Richard played the air harp and Marc played the bells.

  BUT THAT WAS last week. Now, here he stood, feet mired in swine offal.

  "This one is not ready," Iranzu remarked, pushing down on the largest, who promptly wiggled her gigantic form out from underneath his hands. He chose another, pushing down firmly on her back. She stood still, only bowing her legs slightly under his weight. Iranzu's face split into a huge grin. "Now, this one, she is ready."

  Ready for what?

  Iranzu removed his hands and wiped them, gesturing for Richard to open the inner gate. "What's the matter with you?" Iranzu laughed. "Didn't you ever watch animals rutting when you were a boy? How else do you learn what life is all about?"

  Richard felt his cheeks grow warm. He opened the small gate that led to a narrow pen. "Of course I watched the animals. Everyone did. But pigs? I never thought to look at them." And he did not want to now.

  "Come, let us get her into the lover's pen," the old man said. Richard helped Iranzu herd the relucta
nt sow into the pen set apart from the others. Iranzu put his fingers to his lips when they closed the gate upon her. "Privacy," he said, his eyes twinkling. "That is how we always have little piglets running around in the spring." He nodded and winked.

  "Privacy?" Had Richard missed something?

  Iranzu nodded. "Some others, they allow the lover into the pen with all the sows to do what he will, but me? I make sure he has the chance to woo her a little." He shrugged. "That is how we have such good fortune with our sows. They all become pregnant, and the lover is not worn out chasing those who are not yet ready."

  Well now, this made sense. And Iranzu did seem to have the most pigs. Perhaps this would work with sheep and cattle. Horses, too. How would they do this, though? They would need to build special pens for the sheep and cattle, perhaps another paddock for the horses. Richard chewed this thought as he helped Iranzu climb out of the larger pen onto the path that ran alongside it.

  ALARM SHOT through Richard's body, stopped his breathing. Adelie stood just outside the fence watching them, her face still and grave. Had something happened to Maríana? Adelie seldom left the house and small field where she cultivated her vegetables and roots.

  Adelie and Iranzu stared at each other in that ghostly Jakintza silence. Then she nodded. "Healed enough, anyway," she said.

  What? Had he missed something? Again?

  Adelie turned away, toward the main house. "Richard, you must come with us," she said over her shoulder.

  What could be wrong? Who is `healed enough'? Ah, they would not answer him anyway. They seldom answered any questions he asked. And when they did it was often with another question that just set his head spinning. Well, at least he would get to see Maríana before mealtime. That was something. He trotted after them.

  Maríana looked up as they all trooped into the stone house, and smiled broadly at Richard. He felt absurdly giddy and stupid at the same time. Here he was, so worried about her. There she sat, her face glowing. Well, he would take advantage of the empty space beside her. He sat next to Maríana, ignored Adelie's frown. The little ones, Tomàs and Patxi, were outside playing in the snow in front of the house. He turned to Iranzu. "Where is Leila?"