by Jeff Wheeler
“I must ask the Aldermaston first,” Lia said, rising.
“Of course you must,” he agreed, smiling. He turned back to Colvin. “Is Norris-York here as well? Good. Did you hear that Caspur offered me one of his earldoms if I take his side?”
Colvin shook his head, his face still livid. “He would never give one up willingly, Dieyre. He is just as likely plotting to take yours as he is to give you one.”
“He does not have an heir, you see. And neither do you and neither do I. Well, no legitimate heirs, that is. Interesting. Well, I will dismiss myself back to the rain then. I will tell the Queen Dowager you are coming later. The hawks will not like the rain, so all we will need is a sturdy bow.”
“If the Aldermaston allows it,” Lia answered, nodding to him.
Another smile twitched on his mouth. “No one denies the Queen Dowager what she wants. Not even him.”
He went back into the rain, walking hastily away. Colvin and Lia stood under the shelter, listening the rain tap on the damp shingles.
“That was the Earl of Dieyre,” Colvin said softly, seething, staring at the matted grass his boots had left behind. “The best swordsman in the realm. Of any realm, for that matter.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
Arrowmaker
Lia sought for the Aldermaston first in his study, but Prestwich informed her that he was with the learners in the cloisters. She trudged back into the rain and crossed the murky grounds, adjusting the quiver around her hip and gripping the bow sleeve tightly. The meeting with the Earl of Dieyre had left a swarm of new thoughts, especially related to Colvin. She was struck by Colvin’s discipline regarding practicing his swordplay. One night in the Bearden Muir he said he practiced in case he ever met a better swordsman. If I hope to defeat a man who has more training and experience than me, then I best drill and drill and drill harder than that man. He must have been referring to Dieyre.
Another occasion – she recalled his blatant discomfort when speaking about Leerings and what the word actually meant. He had said that a leer was not a look of love, that he had seen wretcheds and knights stare at each other in that way. Another reference to Dieyre and their enmity at Billerbeck Abbey? Dieyre did not wear any of the maston symbols. It seemed an obvious conclusion that he had never passed the tests. Colvin had tensed the moment his voice startled them.
When she reached the cloister, she rapped firmly on the porter door. The porter, Guerney, answered it brusquely.
“It is wet enough to flood and chilly to boot, Lia,” he said with a wince. “You are sopping. Be a good lass and dry off in the kitchen.”
“And while I am there, fetch you a tart?” she replied with a grin. “You are a lazy man. Tell the Aldermaston I need to speak with him.”
“I will. You can wait indoors here out of the rain, but do not sit on my chair. That would leave a mark on the cushion.” He unlocked the door and let Lia inside the small porter room and withdrew a ring of keys. He locked the porter door then unlocked one of the two gates leading into the inner grounds, exited, then locked it again. Passage within the cloister was limited to the learners and the teachers because of the value of the precious aurichalcum they worked with. A single tome was worth a hefty ransom in gold, which was why only the wealthy could afford to be learners. The ancient tomes of the Abbey were stored in the vaults within the cloisters, behind iron gates protected by keymasters and the porters. Lia peered into the gardens at the center of the cloister, watching Guerney traverse beneath the protected walkway at the edge of the square-shaped garden. He unlocked a door at the far end and went inside.
There was a square fountain in the center of the garden, with a Leering in the center in the shape of seven maidens kneeling before a knight-maston. She wondered what it symbolized and determined to ask Duerden if she could remember it later. Within a few moments, Guerney was shuffling back towards the porter gate, shaking his head. His hair was streaked with gray and he was missing a tooth in the front.
The keys rattled in the lock and he shook his head, muttering to himself. “On with you, lass. The Aldermaston will see you.”
“What?” Lia said, surprised. No wretched was allowed inside the cloister.
“Do not gawk, lass. I asked twice to be sure. He is the Aldermaston. Go on, we do not have all day.”
Lia followed him into the cloister, unsure how to feel about the privilege or the fact that she was sopping wet. All her life she had walked by the cloister, staring at its windowless walls. Sometimes she heard laughter from the garden or the fountain splashing. But she had never ventured inside before. The Aldermaston had never let her.
“Strange days,” Guerney said. “That Queen Dowager – she is a beauty, is she not? Have you met her?”
“I did,” Lia replied. “She arrived last night.”
“That she did. What a stir she is causing. Everyone is gawping at her, especially the learners. She is with the Aldermaston now.”
Lia thought that was interesting and felt her stomach flutter with anticipation. “Is she?”
“As if the Abbey is her domain. I do not like her mother tongue, though. Those Dahomeyjan cannot be trusted despite their fair looks. A fair face and a foul soul, is what I think. Like Reome. Reminds me of her.”
They reached the inner door to the cloister and Guerney unlocked the door. “I will let you out when you are done. Blast the skies, there is someone else knocking at the porter door. Cannot folk tell it is raining today? The nuisance. Be a good lass, Lia.” He held the door for her as she entered and then shuffled back the way they came.
Lia stood at the threshold of the study room and was surprised by the shocked expressions that met her. But she quickly ignored the few faces and stared in awe at what she beheld. The cloister was a series of interconnected square rooms that formed a larger square around the garden. Leerings for light were engraved into the stone walls at each corner, the walls and ceiling filled with sculpted friezes and paintings, including the ceiling. On each wall were giant oak shelves, massive and sturdy with ladders fitted with hooks to reach the higher shelves. The walls glittered with golden tomes, eight stacks high. Interspersed throughout each room were big altar-like tables, also made of polished oak, where learners stood to study the tomes and engrave in their own. How many tomes did the cloister contain, she wondered. How many hundred?
“What are you doing here, Lia?” Marciana asked, suddenly at her side. Lia stared at the walls, the paintings, trying to fill her eyes with the sight of it all. If she had felt jealous simply walking around it, the feeling inside her was keener, more like starvation. The value of the rooms astounded her. The sheer magnitude of it dwarfed her comprehension.
“I know wretcheds are not allowed,” Lia whispered. “But the Aldermaston said I could. Is each room like this?” she asked, seeing past the archway mid-wall into the next square room.
Marciana nodded, her eyes alight with eagerness. “There are far more tomes here than at Billerbeck. I am scribing lines from Ovidius today. A different translation than the one I read last year. Though Colvin is impressed with Muirwood’s collection, and that is not easy, he chooses to study elsewhere.” She frowned. “Here comes the Aldermaston and the Queen Dowager. I will speak with you later. I am with Ellowyn at that table.”
Lia dared not move past the threshold of the doorway, completely bedazzled by the countless stacks of tomes, the glitter of the aurichalcum, the immense collection of wisdom pervading the room. The feeling of the Medium was rich in the air. The collection had been growing for hundreds of years.
“There you are,” the Aldermaston said, his eyes intense with anger. “I was just telling the Queen Dowager that it was a foolish idea to hunt today, and here you arrive fitted to weather a storm. It is madness hunting in such foul weather. Madness.”
The Queen Dowager’s voice was silken. “Your hunter is not afraid of a little wet, Aldermaston. It is always raining in this Hundred, no?” Pareigis was dressed in black velvet still, another desig
n than the gown she had arrived in, with silver trim and a wreath of jewels around her throat. The bodice of her gown was scandalously low-cut.
Lia knew the Aldermaston’s thoughts. She could tell by his expression what he wanted. “My lady, I came to tell the Aldermaston of your request, as given me by the Earl of Dieyre. I will go if he commands me, but I would not trust horses in weather like this. And with the mud, we will not get far afoot.”
“In Dahomey, we ride in weather worse than this,” she said, her voice hardening.
“As I said, I will go if the Aldermaston commands me. But I do not recommend it.”
The Aldermaston’s eye glimmered. “I agree, Lia. I do not advise it. It is not safe to venture far beyond the grounds now.”
“Safe?” the Queen Dowager demanded. “What do you mean?”
“My hunter informed me of riders prowling the woods behind the Abbey proper. They may still be out there. Obviously they could not be your men, Queen Dowager. That would be in defiance of my authority since the grounds extend a great distance beyond the walls as you well know. They extend out as far as the Bearden Muir. I trust these marauders will move on, but why tempt them with a highborn target such as yourself? It would be safer to remain in the Abbey until the rain clears.”
Lia almost smirked at the Aldermaston’s subtle message. It was clear to her that he suspected the riders she and Colvin had discovered were Paregis’ men. If she took responsibility for them, he could claim she was in defiance of his authority and expel her.
Her nose flared and she studied him with a calculating eye, measuring her response carefully. “It is surprising that you trust your defenses into the hands of a young girl, Aldermaston. Should these roving thieves and bandits grow bold, what would happen?”
The Aldermaston smiled threateningly. “You have not heard then, Queen Dowager, of the history of the Abbey’s defenses? There is a hill nearby as a reminder of what happens to those who trespass this ground.”
“I have heard of that hill…and its stories,” she replied charmingly. “I do not believe them.”
“You may believe what you will. But I would not risk your safety or any of your men’s wandering without the grounds. She does know how to use the bow, after all.”
“I imagine she was trained well by her master.” The voice was silken but full of venom. She turned to Lia. “What wood do you use for a bow?”
“Ash,” Lia replied.
“You fletch your own arrows as well? Or does someone in the village?”
“We do our own.”
Pareigis’ eyebrows lifted with admiration. “May I see one?”
Lia glanced at the Aldermaston, uncertain what to do. He nodded subtly. Slowly, she parted her cloak and withdrew a single arrow. The Queen Dowager looked at it closely.
“The best fletchers are Pry-rian,” she said, turning the shaft slowly, examining the feathering. “The threading ties like this, the way yours is. Are you Pry-rian, girl?”
Before Lia could respond, the Aldermaston said, “The hunter who trained her is. Why do you ask?”
The Queen Dowager’s eyes met the Aldermaston and an impish smile came across her mouth. “My lord husband was killed by a Pry-rian arrow. The fletching was like this.”
“Indeed? What an interesting coincidence. There are many from Pry-Ree in this Hundred, Queen Dowager. It is, after all, across the water from us. Traders come and go every day selling goods.”
“Traitors, you say?” she asked.
“Traders – those who buy and sell.”
“Ah, I see. So what you are saying, Aldermaston, is if I visit every fletcher in this Hundred, I will find others who can make arrows such as this?”
The Aldermaston paused, eyeing her shrewdly. “I presume you already have or you would not be asking that question. What are you suggesting, Madam?”
Her voice fell lower. “I believe you know who murdered my lord husband. Even though you cannot leave the Abbey grounds, you know. Very little, if anything, passes your notice. As an Aldermaston, you are forbidden to lie. But as a wise man, you know how to avoid speaking the truth. That is what I am suggesting. Your missing hunter. You sent him away when you learned we were coming. I suggest you did so to protect him.”
The Aldermaston’s face was hard as stone, but Lia could see the flames of anger in his eyes. Just as softly, he replied, “The cloister is an inappropriate place to hold such an important conversation. We will retire to my study to discuss this further. You are quite mistaken.”
Lia heard bootsteps on the walkway outside and then the porter’s key jiggled in the lock. As she turned, she stood face-to-face with the Earl of Dieyre. He looked at each of their faces and then a smirk twisted on his mouth, as if he savored contention. “Please tell me that we are not hunting today. I am wetter than a pup plunged in a moat and do not fancy the treachery of mud.”
“The Aldermaston forbids it,” Pareigis replied tautly.
“Well I for one think he is wise as well as aged. Tell me, Aldermaston. I understand you have a copy of Ovidius here – perhaps even the original tome. Is that true?”
“Not the original, of course.” The Aldermaston looked choked with fury.
“I have not read it since my days as a learner. With your permission, Aldermaston?” He bowed gracefully.
“Shall we continue our conversation?” the Queen Dowager asked, her eyes gleaming.
Both were staring at the Aldermaston to see what he would do. Lia wanted to say something, but she had no idea what. It was happening so quickly. There was a reason Dieyre wanted to linger behind in the cloister, and he did not want the Aldermaston there. A glance at Ellowyn’s table was all it took.
A thought brushed against her mind. She looked up at the Aldermaston in shock.
Safeguard Ellowyn.
It was softer than a whisper, just a fleeting thought that flitted by and was gone. She was not certain she had even heard it. The Aldermaston stared at her, his eyes boring into hers. Slowly, she nodded and he looked relieved.
Guerney held the door for the Aldermaston and Queen Dowager and then shut it behind them and locked it. Dieyre was already moving past her towards the table and Ellowyn Demont.
* * *
“Wherever there is danger, there lurks opportunity; whenever there is opportunity, there lurks danger. The two are inseparable. They go together.”
- Gideon Penman of Muirwood Abbey
* * *
CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
Billerbeck’s Kiss
How does a single hunter, a girl, stop the best swordsman in the realm? Lia wondered as she followed Dieyre into the study room. In her mind, she thought of all the training she had from Martin. She could stomp on his foot. Yank him off-balance by clutching his belt or sleeve. A jab to the throat or eyes with her fingers. Her heartbeat surged in her chest and a sickening chill went through her body at the thought of hurting him. Or trying and ending up face-down on the floor herself. She focused her thoughts, crushing the fear that engulfed her. Martin had trained her. That had to be good enough.
Marciana stared loathingly at Dieyre as he approached the table, and she could see by the flush on her face and daggers in her eyes that they knew each other.
“Is that Ovidius?” he said mockingly. “The tome of love as it is called? Are you not weary of only reading about it, Ciana?”
“What would you know about love, Dieyre?”
“Plenty. As I showed you in Billerbeck.” He turned his salute to Ellowyn. “So you are Demont’s niece? Not as pretty as I was expecting, given your famous lineage. We are not all equally endowed. It must be the Pry-rian blood tainting you. I am jesting, darling. You had best get used to it for I am good at little else.”
“Hello,” Ellowyn said, her face going scarlet with mortification and she stared at her hands. There was no Colvin to retreat behind.
“I have embarrassed and offended you!” he said with delight. “Forgive me, lass! Marciana is quite used to my barbs. We kn
ew each other at Billerbeck where she wasted far too much time pining over ancient tomes instead of learning about the world.”
“What are you doing here?” Marciana said venomously.
“Offending you as well, naturally. We all have talents, it is true. This is mine. I do not have the penchant for reading as you do.”
“You never found much occasion to be at the cloisters at Billerbeck. It is a wonder you care to be in one now?” Marciana observed.
“Always ready with an insult.”
“You accuse me of that?”
“It is a waste of a beautiful mouth to use it in quarreling. Shall I silence you as I did in Billerbeck with a kiss? Think of the shock. Think of the lurid stories they would tell.” His voice dropped lower and he stepped towards her.
Marciana’s face went ashen. “I bit you then,” she whispered defiantly. “You will not steal that from me again.”
A little smirk quivered on Dieyre’s mouth. “No, I will not steal it. It must be given freely next time. But at least I have the memory to treasure. Especially when I realized you enjoyed it. There is also the pleasant scene of your brother’s reaction.” He turned and glanced at Lia. “Are you my shadow? Why are you still here?”
Lia stared at him, at his sudden provocation, and then she knew. It was as if she could look into his soul for just a moment. She understood him. “You followed me here, my lord.”
His eyes narrowed. “You are filthy and soaked.”
“So are you. My lord,” she added deferentially. “Why did you come here?”
