The Du Lac Princess: (Book 3 of The Du Lac Chronicles)

by Mary Anne Yarde

  “I said,” Garren reached up and took her hands from his hair. “If your child is not born with red hair, then Budic will kill it. He does not believe the child is his. I cannot begin to imagine why he would think that,” Garren said with sarcasm.

  “Of course it is his,” Josephine protested. “Stupid fool. So what if his child isn’t born with red hair. You are his brother, and you don’t have red hair. Red hair proves nothing.”

  “If the child is born with red hair,” Garren continued, “then he will have the baby taken from you as soon as it is born. You will not hold it. You will not see it. Instead, you will hang from the end of a rope. For you are a sinful woman and you have betrayed him.”

  “You are serious, aren’t you?” Josephine asked, taking a step back and then another and another until the back of her knees hit the bed and she sank down upon it. “He would kill our baby if he isn’t a red-head?” Tears formed in her eyes and she spread her hands across her stomach as if to shield the child that grew inside. “He would murder a defenceless baby?”

  “He has done so before,” Garren looked away from her. “Anna’s first child wasn’t his, and so he poisoned her, made her miscarry.”

  “How do you know that?” Josephine asked, her eyes wide with fear.

  “Because he told me,” Garren said looking back at her. “Budic will not raise a child that isn’t his.”

  “But this child is his,” Josephine whispered, her face losing all signs of colour. “It is his.”

  “Did you not hear anything I said? If the child doesn’t—”

  “I heard.” Josephine began to look wildly around her as if looking for a place to hide. “Then I must leave. I must go,” she quickly rose to her feet and made for the door. He grabbed her arm as she went to pass him.

  “And where would you go?” he asked her gently, pulling her around to face him. He could feel her trembling.

  “I…” Josephine couldn’t answer him. “Please,” she looked up into his face, her eyes beseeching him. “Help me. I will do anything. I… I don’t care about my life, but the baby… Don’t let him kill my child. I have lost a daughter. I cannot bear to lose another. Please,” she fell to her knees. “Please, please, help me. I beg you. Please.”

  Gone was the seductress, the snide bitch, and in its place was a terrified woman who would do anything to save the life she carried within her. Garren felt a new respect for Josephine. He knelt down next to her and took her into his arms.

  “Please, please,” she continued to beg.

  “I’ll help you escape,” he took her face in his hands and wiped away the tears that ran down her cheeks. Gently he placed his lips on her trembling ones. “It is going to be all right,” he promised as he took her in his arms and rocked her back and forth. “It is going to be all right, I promise.”

  The torches were being lit as they made their way down to the trading port. This was a dangerous place, and Josephine shuffled closer to Garren as he drove the cart through the narrow muddy street. The sound of drunken laughter, the smell of cooking, and the not so pleasant aroma of the waste of both beast and man was a heady mix to the senses.

  The journey so far had been very difficult for Josephine. Although it had been surprisingly free from any angry knights in search of Budic’s wife. When they all met up again at the crossroads in Gwent, Sampson had informed them that there had been no signs of any cavalry or soldiers, and Garren had not seen any on the main road. Sampson had pulled him aside and asked him if he did not find that a little odd. Why would Budic let his wife go without any fuss? Garren had thought on this question, and the only answer he could come up with was that Budic was glad to be rid of her.

  Poor Josephine, the journey had been so difficult for her. Even though they had taken a cart, Josephine had to put up with a great deal of discomfort. She had experienced a few contraction like pains that had scared the hell out of them both. Josephine insisted that it was too early for the baby to be born and Garren had feared the responsibility of playing midwife. But, touch wood, for now, the contractions had come to nothing, and the baby was still very active in her stomach. Garren had felt the child wriggle around when he had tugged Josephine into his embrace at night.

  Neither of them had slept well, the cold and the fear of being caught made sleep almost impossible. Garren often awoke with a jump, fearing that his master was going to find him. But then he would take a moment to catch his breath and remember that he wasn’t in Israel. He wasn’t owned by anyone, anymore.

  They had talked, he and Josephine, to pass the time and he learnt a great deal about her. He learnt of her despair at her father’s exile and how she had fallen in love with Merton when they were children. He learnt how she had bore Merton a daughter. And he learnt of her heartbreak when her daughter died. She told him of her need for revenge. How she wanted to punish Merton for abandoning her, only to discover, too late, that it was Budic who had sent Merton away. But by then the damage had been done, and the consequences were irreversible. Merton hated her. She told him how hurt and how betrayed she felt when she discovered that Merton was in love with Amandine. Garren had held her while she sobbed and listened to her words although he didn’t comment. He could have told her that her father was still alive, but something held him back. Maybe it was Sampson’s warning or perhaps it was something else. He didn’t know what it was that kerbed his tongue.

  When Josephine asked about his life, he had distracted her with language lessons. He felt uneasy sharing anything personal with her. He suspected she was the type that would use knowledge to get what she wanted.

  He was pleased to discover that she already knew some Cerniw. The language was not dissimilar to Breton, and she was a quick study. A couple more weeks and she would be fluent. Which would help her no end if Alden allowed her to make a home amongst his people. It was of course, a very big if. Garren had no idea what she would do if Alden didn’t grant her sanctuary. Where the hell would she go?

  “Do we really have to stay here?” Josephine whispered as she looked up at the dilapidated old building. A sign that hung from rusty hinges marked this building as a tavern.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you,” Garren promised. “Stay close.”

  He stopped himself from smiling as he felt her move closer still. If she were any closer, she would be on his lap. The thought amused him.

  Yrre entered the tavern to find the innkeeper and to see if he could secure lodgings for them all.

  A moment later he was back with a man who was as short as he was round. The innkeeper had no hair on his head, and a big dirty apron was wrapped around his broad middle. In one hand he held a clay tanker full of ale, he took a sip of his ale then wiped his mouth with the back of his other hand.

  “’Tis gonna be a right night tonight, ain’t it? Tide be high, and temperature’s dropped. Aye, ’tis a good night to be indoors. Ee ’ere says you be looking for lodging, might that I can ’elp yer. Ho,” he grabbed a youth, who was making a break for the door, by the ear. “Where you thinks you be going?” He pinched the boy’s ear, and the boy yelped in pain. “You show ’em where ter put the ’orses. And ’elp ’em with the baggage. And don’t yer go stealing nought, these be good folk, I reckon.”

  The boy stepped forward, rubbing his ear and looked at the weary travellers with disdain. “I’ll take yer ’orses for yer, if yer wants?” The boy mumbled miserably, but he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to do his job. He just stood there in front of the innkeeper, sulking.

  “I said get on,” the innkeeper kicked out at the boy, but the boy was long used to dodging a fist and foot.

  “Go make sure there be hay in the loft, them ’orses will want feeding, you lazy bastard. And go find Ruman and Santo, they can ’elp yer.”

  “Yes, Sur,” the boy mumbled, and he slouched away, kicking at a small stone with his broken shoe, as he did so.

  “Weather closing in, I reckon. Gonna be one ’ell of a storm ter night.” The innkeeper noticed Sam
pson. “Well I be, travelling with a monk? You said nought about a monk now, did ya?” The innkeeper looked at Yrre accusingly. “This be an honest ’ouse,” the innkeeper addressed Sampson. “There’s now’t for yer ter worry ’bout. We don’t need yer sermons. More important things to worry about I reckon, than God.”

  “What could be more important than God?” Sampson asked.

  The innkeeper thought for a bit and then, as if enlightened, his whole face broke into a smile. “Me wife’s mead and me mistress warming me bed,” the innkeeper then roared with laughter. Doubling over in mirth, he slapped his thigh with his hand repeatedly. “Me mistress warming me bed,” he said again. “I am good, aren’t I? ’Ere did you ’ear what I just said?” the innkeeper turned around and marched back into his tavern. “I told that there monk that me mistress’s mead and me wife in me bed, were better than God,” the innkeeper yelled the words so that everyone could hear him inside and out.

  “Your mistress’s mead is foul. And I thinks I would rather live in a monastery than have yer wife in me bed,” one of the locals roared back, and the tavern erupted to the sound of more laughter.

  “Eh?” The innkeeper said, clearly not understanding. “You devils, I got it wrong, twas the other way round. Wife in me bed? Cor,” the innkeeper shuddered at the thought of sharing his bed with his wife. “Talk ’bout giving yourself the willies.”

  “Did I ’ear yer say something ’bout a mistress?” A woman, who was as thin as her husband was fat, stormed into the room. Silence descended as she glared at everyone with accusing eyes.

  Outside, Garren bit his lip to stop himself from laughing, for they could hear everything that was going on inside the tavern. But try as he might, a small snort of amusement escaped him. Josephine dug her elbow into his side to silence him, but it only made him want to laugh all the more.

  “I was talking ’bout God,” The innkeeper stated with all seriousness. “We ’ave a monk seeking a room, and I said God was a good mistress to have in yer bed.”

  “Yer a drunken fool,” the woman retorted. “And yer no better,” she hit out at the nearest man with her hand. The man ducked and raised his hands to protect himself. “Clear this mess up. Yer a bloody disgrace, the lot of yer.” She then stormed back to where she had come from and when she slammed the door the whole inn seemed to shake upon its foundations.

  The innkeeper staggered back outside and regarded their party through blurry eyes.

  “Without God, you are nothing,” Sampson stated calmly.

  “Aye, yer right, Brother, yer right,” the innkeeper said in all seriousness. “Without God, there would be no need for mead and mistresses.” The innkeeper roared with laughter again.

  Garren placed his hand over his own mouth, and he felt tears form in his eyes. Josephine buried her face in his shoulder as if to shield herself from such vile language and imagery. But Garren could feel her body was shaking with laughter too.

  “Do you have some rooms?” Yrre asked, again, he didn’t seem to find anything funny about the innkeeper.

  “Aye, if yer got the coins.”

  Yrre tossed him a coin. The innkeeper caught it. He used his mouth to test the coin to see if it was genuine. Once he was satisfied, he pocketed the money. “Now ’ow many of yer are there? One, two, four, nine, six of ee. I take it, she be with him? You looks like yer gonna pop, me dear,” the innkeeper said, addressing Josephine. “Yer carrying a litter in there? I best be given yer the best room in the ’ouse I s’pose. But listen ’ere, if yer go and decide to have that baby on me bed, yer gonna have to pay for the damage like. And none of that screaming nonsense, me regulars don’t like noise like that, puts ’em off their ale.”

  “Be assured, my wife isn’t going to give birth in a tavern,” Garren stated.

  He could feel Josephine’s questioning gaze on him, but there was no way he was letting her out of his sight in this den of immorality. Better that they think her his wife.

  “Is there a church in the vicinity?” Sampson asked.

  “A what?” the innkeeper asked, a heavy frown settling on his brow. “Can’t hear yer, all the bloody noise.” He turned his head and looked back into his tavern. “The bloody Brother’s trying ter speak, and I can’t bloody hear him with all that racket. Shut up, I say,” the innkeeper turned back around. “Sorry ’bout that, bloody noisy lot, aren’t they? What did yer say?”

  “I said is there a church? A church?” Sampson raised his voice. “A House of God? A place of Worship?”

  The innkeeper shook his head, “Nah. Well, there were, but the monk ran off with me favourite tavern wench, yer may have heard of her, she is called Arthek,” the innkeeper puffed his chest up with obvious pride.

  “Arthek is a boys name?” Garren pointed out.

  “Aye, aye, I know. See thing is, her mother were blind. She didn’t know Arthek were a girl cuz she couldn’t see. I know there be other ways, of you know, knowing whether the child were a lad or a lass, but she were a funny woman. But nowt matter, she died not long after, she liked ter drink, she did.”

  “Too much mead is an abomination,” Sampson stated.

  “Twen’t the mead, don’t go blaming that, she never touched the stuff, didn’t like it. She’d only drink water. Drowned herself, didn’t she? She had her bucket and took it down ter river,” he pointed vacantly to the left. “Course it ’ad been raining, yer see, made the bank slippery like. She fell in, couldn’t swim, could she? Waters bad for yer, I tell ee, although I s’pose its alright for a wash now and then, but I wouldn’t bathe in it regularly.”

  “Why didn’t anyone help the poor woman get water? I am sure someone could have helped her,” Sampson stated with a strained voice.

  Garren wondered if this patient monk, who never lost his temper, was on the verge of losing both.

  “Well…” The innkeeper scratched his head. “We were all scared of her, see. She liked to roar, yer know like one of them lion things. Mind, I don’t know what a lion looks like, never seen one ’ave I? Ah well, it don’t really matter now though, do it? She be dead. ’Tis water under the bridge, now ain’t it?” The innkeeper began to laugh again. “Water under the bridge, you get it? Water. She drowned. And now tis under the bridge. ’Ere,” The innkeeper turned back around and wandered into the tavern.

  Josephine giggled as the innkeeper once again repeated what he had just said. Laughter followed the innkeeper back outside.

  “Yer must have heard of Arthek?” the innkeeper persisted, taking his time to look at all of them in turn. “No? I’m surprised ’bout that I am. She had three breasts you see, made her very famous round these parts. What breasts they were as well. A sight to behold, I tell ee. Do yer know, Merton du Lac, the King’s brother, ee was a regular here for a time. Ee were a lot younger then, mind. Ee knew all about Arthek. She stripped off all her clothes for him once. ’Course was a waste of time, ee took one look at her and passed out cold. But I think the ale were off that day. Well, what be ya waiting for? The Second Coming? Come on, ’tis cold out ’ere, let’s get you inside.”

  “Did you say Merton used to come here?” Garren asked.

  “Aye, ee did. I likes him. Ee were a good sort. ’Course, they say ee went bad, but I don’t believe that. Ee always paid his bills and ee could tell a good yarn. Ee be welcome back ’ere any time.”

  “Have you seen him recently?”

  The innkeeper took a dirty cloth from his sleeve and blew his nose loudly. “Nah, not for a few years, I reckon. I heard ee were dead. Bloody shame that. Ee always paid his bills, always.” The innkeeper swayed alarmingly, and he reached out to brace himself against the wall with his hand. “I reckon I overdone it, you know. Grounds feeling a little unsteady.” He winked at the monk. “I do feel a bit queer, Brother. Word of warning, watch the bastard with one eye, he’ll rob yer blind ee will, if yer give him a chance,” and with that, the innkeeper slumped onto the ground. Within moments he was snoring.

  “There must be somewhere else we can
stay?” Sampson asked desperately as he looked down at the innkeeper. “I can’t go in there.”

  Yrre kicked the innkeeper hard in the shin. The innkeeper spluttered a protest and forced his eyes to open.

  “Still ’ere are yer? Go in, go in, don’t mind me. We always give a warm welcome to those who are in need of a bed. This ’ere is The Bors Tavern. ’Tis the best bloody tavern this side of the sea. Good food, clean beds, if you can get over the lice, and great company.”

  “Wonderful,” Sampson stated, in a tone that suggested anything but. “I am so looking forward to my stay.”

  “One night ’ere and it will feel like a year,” the innkeeper promised with a grin. “Just step over me, me dear,” the innkeeper said to Josephine.

  Garren held her arm as she stepped over the innkeeper.

  “That’s right. I’m just gonna close me eyes for a bit. ‘Ave a little nap, I reckon. You go in, go in, and I’ll…” The innkeeper started to snore again.

  The tavern fell silent as they entered. There were women in various states of undress. And there were many rosy faces and glassy eyes that stared at them with a strange curiosity as if they had never seen travellers before.

  “Chesten,” one of the men shouted while at the same time he banged his rather large stick on the floor. “Chesten, get yer arse in ’ere. There be a monk and a pregnant woman, and some other shady looking characters just come in. Reckon they wanna room.”

  The enraged woman came back into the room. “I ain’t a dog, yer know,” she shouted, addressing the man who had called her. She smacked him hard across the head for good measure. “If yer want me, yer come and get me. Not all this bellowing ‘Chesten, Chesten, get yer arse in ’ere.’ You talk ter me like that again, and I’ll stick me poker up your backside.”

  Garren noticed that she had an evil looking poker in her hand. He dreaded to think where that poker had been.

  “What are yer looking at?” Chesten asked, glaring at Garren.

  “Nothing,” Garren answered quickly.