Shades of Red

by K. C. Dyer

Aside from the dead man a few feet away, the main problem seemed to be the smell. The wide variety of strong odours hadn’t helped his nausea throughout the journey, but right now there was no escaping the sick-sweet stench. He felt like it had been in the air for days, but at a distance, somehow, like something rotten in the next yard. But the sudden turn of events had brought the reek of death into pinpoint clarity, and once again panic rose in his throat.

  It was time to find Darrell and get back to Eagle Glen. He’d been sick for days and willing to put up with it, but now this had happened. Suddenly the journey no longer seemed such an adventure.

  From the deepening chill, Paris could tell night wasn’t far away. He needed to find his way back to the castle before darkness set in.

  He glanced back at the man he had been trapped beneath, the body stiffening in the grotesque rictus of death. Paris stared at the corpse, his eyes glazed and tired, trying to fathom why this body that minutes or hours before had been a living, breathing creature — why had this man seen fit to try to kill him? The man was dressed in simple peasant’s garb, and the sword that he had carried lay unbroken beside him in the mud.

  Paris stood up at last and walked back to the body. A broken dagger Paris had not noticed before lay next to the man’s hand. The horse thief lay face down in the mud, the back of his russet jacket now black with the blood that had muddied the ground where he lay.

  Paris was filled with a sudden anger against this stranger who had tried to take his life. He felt an overwhelming desire to kick the body that lay prone in the mud, but instead dropped to his knees and grabbed the man by the shoulders, intent on turning the body over.

  Already starting to stiffen and weighed down with a thick leather vest, the body was heavier than Paris had expected. It took several seconds to wrest the man onto his back.

  Paris’s hands felt glued to the thief’s shoulders as he stared blankly into the dead face. There was no mark to be seen there, no scratch or scrape or bruise. Just a smudge of mud on the cheek. In shock, Paris, his anger drained, pulled his hands away. Milky eyes were open and seemed to be staring at him from a face that belonged to a boy of fourteen or perhaps fifteen years. A boy Paris’s own age, now dead after trying to steal a horse.

  Suddenly, Paris thought of his own mother, and how she would feel if someone had to tell her of his own death. A pain as sharp as the dagger below him coursed through his heart.

  He bent over and gently closed the eyes of the dead boy. He looked around for something with which to cover him and found nothing. Instead, he took the broken dagger and placed it in the boy’s hands on his chest. He closed his eyes briefly and wished himself to be anywhere but in these woods, so far from his own home. He stepped, swaying, to his feet and heard a shout.

  “All right, mate?”

  He spun around to look behind and saw one of the castle’s foot soldiers approaching. “I’m fine,” he said, with a sudden surge of relief that this was indeed the truth.

  “Yer name is Paris, innit?” The foot soldier looked down and spat on the body. “Filthy thief, trying to steal the king’s good horseflesh,” he muttered. “Got what he deserved, he did.” He looked up at Paris. “Yer sister’s looking for ya. She’ll be up at the castle, worryin’ over ya. You head back to see her — I’ll deal with this thing.”

  Paris nodded, too exhausted to protest. The foot soldier flipped the body of the dead boy over his shoulder with a grunt and led Paris back through the Windsor woods.

  Darrell had searched frantically for most of the evening and finally spotted Paris following a foot soldier through the edge of the forest. She was horrified by his story.

  “Looks like we were both spending time contemplating your death,” she said, as they wandered back to the castle.

  “Yeah. It was a little too close for comfort,” said Paris. “I keep thinking about that kid. He looked like he was my age.”

  Darrell paused with her hand on the outer wall of the Salisbury Tower. “People live very short, hard lives here,” she said, quietly. “Did you know that the queen lost a baby this week?”

  Paris shook his head. “No — that’s awful. When I was out in the woods, I kept thinking of how my mother would feel if someone had to tell her I’d died today. It makes me sick to think of it.”

  “I guess these days it’s more common for women to lose their babies,” said Darrell. “Even the children of kings and queens are not really safe. And way more mothers die when they give birth, too.”

  “I think we don’t really understand how good our lives really are compared to everything these people lived through,” said Paris quietly. “I sure didn’t get it before I saw all this.”

  Darrell clutched Paris by the arm. “I hate to admit it,” she said with a sigh, “but I am beginning to realize that Brodie and Kate were right. I need to know more about this time before I can figure out where to look for Conrad. I feel like he is just within reach, but I can’t put my finger on just where to look. Anne is too wrapped up in capturing the fancy of the king, and I can’t stop worrying about you. Maybe it’s a lost cause after all.”

  “Well, quit worrying about me,” said Paris. “I won’t get involved in anything risky like that again. And I haven’t been sick all day, thanks to Anne’s magic potion, so I’m going to try to eat a little something tonight, okay?”

  “Okay.” Darrell smiled and they walked in through the newest castle gate, named for King Henry himself. “But after dinner tonight, I’m going to ask Anne for directions back to the cottage in the woods.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Darrell sat bolt upright in the darkness, adrenaline coursing through her. “Who’s there?” “It is only me, Nan,” came the whispered reply. Darrell felt a moment of surprise. Nan — not Anne? “I’m here to take you back to the cottage,” whispered Anne. “I’ve decided to go with you. I need to go there to clear away some things for Friar Priamos, and I do not want to be seen, so we will have an adventure in the dark together.”

  Darrell rubbed her eyes and tried to think but her brain refused to come up with any good way to keep Anne at the castle.

  “I know you planned to go on the morrow, but I begin to fear those in league with Katherine. Her ladies plot against me and against their king. I realize now that I must remove any items that might link me to Brother Socorro, so they cannot discredit my good name.”

  Darrell still felt muddle-headed. “But what can they use against you?”

  “There are certain items stored at the cottage. I will feel safer when they are in the hands of Friar Priamos, if he will have them.”

  Darrell quickly realized that Anne was not to be dissuaded from her goal, so she donned her wooden foot and followed Anne out the door.

  “I apologize for not treating your concerns seriously,” said Anne, in a formal tone. “Friar Priamos has decided he cannot help me in my quest to become queen. He is leaving Henry’s court to pursue his calling with the less fortunate.” She shook her head in disbelief.

  “Might I not speak with the friar himself?” asked Darrell desperately.

  “Friar Priamos chooses those with whom he will speak,” said Anne, sounding defeated. “I had hoped he would intercede with those who have influence on the pope on my behalf, but that hope has faded.”

  They made their way carefully down the back stairs and into the servants’ quarters. Darrell looked around the dim corridors curiously. None of the opulence of the open areas was in evidence here, with simple plaster walls and plain stone floors instead of the heavy gilt and tapestry to be found upstairs.

  They walked quietly through to the stables, and Anne shook one of the small grooms awake to help her saddle a horse. “Go get your brother,” she said curtly. “For this will be my final trip to the cottage, and if you would have me as a guide this will be your only chance.”

  Darrell found Paris asleep curled around Delaney in a pile of straw next to the horse he had been grooming earlier. Delaney stretched and yawned pinkly at
Darrell in the light of the small oil lamp. She bent down to pat him.

  “I’ve hardly seen you these last few days, boy,” she whispered.

  “Oh, he’s been having a good time all right,” said Paris with a tired smile. “Just today I saw him trailing behind that priest who wears the scarlet robe. They looked like they were getting on like best friends.”

  Darrell grabbed Paris by the shoulders and gave him a shake. “That’s the priest I have been trying to talk to,” she said with exasperation. “I can’t believe the dog has access to Friar Priamos and I don’t.”

  Anne slipped up behind them. “Friar Priamos never wears a scarlet robe,” she said quietly. “It must have been the Monsignore you saw. The friar always dresses in grey — he is a Franciscan — a Grey Friar.” She reached down to pat the dog, and for the first time, Darrell noticed that she wasn’t wearing gloves. The gleam of a second nail on the smallest finger of her right hand was evident in the light.

  Anne caught her glance and tucked her hand farther into her sleeve. “So now you share my secret,” she said, her voice low. “When I first saw your injured leg, it drew me to you. I find I prefer people and things that do not smack of perfection.”

  Darrell laughed quietly. “You are right to appreciate me, then,” she said. “Because I’m full of flaws. One of the worst is persistence, and that’s why I’ve been bothering you so much about Friar Priamos.”

  Anne and the sleepy groom led the horses out into the yard. “We are much alike, Dara,” she said. “You must ride behind me for our nighttime adventure.”

  Darrell swallowed and tried to forget her limited horseback riding experience.

  “Hello my beauty,” Anne crooned, stroking her horse. “Can you mount?” she asked, turning back to Darrell.

  “I think so.” Darrell reached for the horn of the saddle but, to her dismay, found none.

  “Just take hold of the mane,” whispered Anne. “The groom and I will do the rest.”

  She was a pretty mare, completely black with a single white crest at her brow, the better to blend perfectly into the darkness. Darrell put her foot on the groom’s bended knee, and Anne flung her bodily over the back of the horse before hopping nimbly up in front of her passenger. The groom helped Anne adjust herself into the sidesaddle, and Darrell clung on behind.

  Paris climbed onto his horse with difficulty. “Are you sure about this?” he said as the horses plodded out of the yard and down the hill toward the forest.

  Anne nodded. “We can get there in no time with the horses, the better to avoid long noses and prying eyes,” she said, and her white teeth gleamed in the dark. “You are far too old to have so much worry over the control of a horse.” Leaning over, she gave Paris’s mount a resounding slap. The horse rose slightly onto its hind legs, and Darrell had a quick glimpse of Paris’s horror-stricken face as his mount galloped down the hill.

  The pretty black mare soon caught up, and they continued at a slower pace, much to Darrell’s relief. The path through the woods wound tightly around a few sharp curves and then thrust like a tongue straight through the trees. Night still wrapped her velvet cloak around them, but Darrell could see the outline of trees overhead. Morning was not long off.

  Anne led the beast through the trees at a brisk walk while Darrell clung to Anne with her arms and the horse with her legs. Paris, barely recovered from his gallop, rode behind them holding on for dear life.

  After fifteen minutes or so of riding, Darrell began to get a bit of a feel for the horse underneath her and risked breaking her concentration to ask a question. “Why are there no bushes or low undergrowth beneath these trees?”

  “This land is all the property of King Henry,” Anne replied proudly. “The lands are kept clear so that the king and his nobles may hunt more easily. ’Tis unfortunate that the way is also made clearer for those who would hunt us.”

  “But why are we of interest to anyone?”

  “The hold of the church is very strong, especially in these smaller villages. Anyone offering aid to those of other beliefs is severely dealt with. I even worry that members of my family are not to be trusted. My uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, would do much for power. He introduced me to Henry, but I still fear the look in his eye.” Clutching the reins with one hand, Anne crossed herself.

  “Could Friar Priamos be in danger?” said Darrell.

  Anne nodded, and her eyes glinted in the dark. “If these items that I have hidden are connected with his name. There are those in court who would celebrate my downfall. Remember Brother Socorro lost his life for defying the Catholic Church. I am not sure if the reforms which Luther calls for will ever be seen in my lifetime, and I realize now that Henry must work within the constraints of the church to gain his freedom from Katherine.”

  Moments later the horse trotted into the muddy yard in front of the familiar cottage. Anne swung down from the horse and, surprisingly, turned to help Darrell down as well.

  Paris slid off his own mount with an expression of immense relief. Delaney capered around his heels, exhilarated by the nighttime run.

  They walked inside and waited until Anne lit a small oil lamp. She held up the light to illuminate the contents of the small corner closet, and Darrell noticed the faintest red outline of the charred falcon symbol on the wooden doorframe. She shot a nervous glance at Paris.

  “Here are the ledgers,” said Anne. “Socorro asked me to pass them on to Friar Priamos, but as he has decided not to help me now, I wonder if you would have them.”

  She placed three leather volumes into Darrell’s hands. Darrell opened the back cover of the largest and saw where a page had been torn out. “Two of these belonged to Brother Socorro,” she said. “I have seen them before.”

  Anne held up the small menorah that Darrell had last seen in the hands of Brother Socorro as he was taken away by soldiers in Portugal. “I don’t know why he wants to keep this silly thing — I’m not even sure it is made of real gold,” she muttered.

  Darrell examined the ledgers in her hands. Three — why three?

  “Do you want to keep them?” demanded Anne. “Otherwise I must turn them over to the friar. It was Socorro’s wish that they be kept safe, and now with those loyal to Katherine stirring against me, it is better if I rid myself of the burden.”

  “But what about Friar Priamos?” asked Paris.

  Anne gave an unladylike snort. “He tells me that his life is now to be devoted to helping those in need. But what about me? I am in need, as is his king — in need of help from the pope. The friar seems to think that he can have no influence in this situation, and he has washed his hands of us. Socorro would never have done this to me. The books are yours if you want them, as a memory of him.”

  A horse whinnied outside the cottage, and Delaney growled low in his throat. “I have never seen this volume before,” said Darrell slowly. She slipped open the cover and scanned the first page, then looked over at Paris, her eyes wide. He was examining the notebook with the russet cover.

  “Lady Anne. Perhaps you would care to explain why you find yourself here in this nasty little hovel with such unsavoury company?”

  Darrell looked up through the doorway to see a woman she remembered as one of Katherine’s ladies. Lady Margaret was being lifted lightly off her horse by the captain of the guard. Darrell quickly slid the smallest book into one of the pockets of her skirt.

  As Anne turned to the door, she slipped the menorah into a pocket of her own. “I have come to bid farewell to these travellers,” she said smoothly. “They have received word from their family that all is once again well in their small village. The sweating sickness has passed and they are returning home. They are merely gathering the last of their possessions before departure.”

  Lady Margaret shook her head disbelievingly. “Do you take me for a fool, Anne? I have watched for months as that filthy friar has been spiriting people in and out of this cottage in the dark of night. I knew in my heart you must be involved in some manner
.”

  She strolled over to Paris and plucked a volume from his hand. “I believe I’ll just take this ledger,” she said sharply. “For if it is evidence of any sort of treasonous behaviour on your part, Anne, your hopes for stealing the king from Queen Katherine will be soon dashed.”

  Anne shot a warning glance over her shoulder at Darrell. “You are far too fond of Katherine, Margaret. The king is poised to cast her aside when the annulment comes through from Rome. She is barren, unable to mother a male heir to the throne. One day it will be my chance to do just that.”

  “That chance will not come if you are shown to be supporting heretics over the Church,” spat Lady Margaret. “Perhaps these ledgers will be your undoing.”

  She whirled to face the door. “Guard! Arrest these two strangers at once.” She looked up into Darrell’s startled face. “I knew you were up to mischief from the moment I saw you,” she said in a low voice. “Your deformity is a mark of the devil, as is the one carried by that witch. I will live to see you rot in the Tower as a heretic before God.”

  Darrell locked her gaze on Paris, and he swallowed audibly. “Just let us say goodbye to our dog,” he said. “Here, boy!”

  And before the startled eyes of Anne, Margaret, and the captain of the castle guard, Paris clasped Darrell’s hand tightly. The two travellers and their dog stepped through the low closet doorway and into the thundering winds of time.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Darrell sat on her bed at school, staring out the great curved window as the rain coursed down the glass in torrents. She held a small and very old book between her knees.

  “The chief disadvantage to living in a temperate rainforest is that it frequently seems to be raining,” Kate muttered as she climbed out from under her covers for her blurry first look at the day. “I thought you were spending the whole weekend with your uncle,” she said. “Did you shop the entire city out and have to come back early?”

  The joke died on her lips when she looked over at Darrell’s grief-stricken face.