by Speer, Flora
Blessedly, the waiting and wondering did not last as long as the ordeal over Aglise, for with morning came the news that Lady Benedicta’s body had been found.
“She was washed up on the beach below the manor,” Flamig reported, having appeared in Lady Benedicta’s old room where Elaine, Desmond, Cadwallon, and Jean were all assembled. Jean was sleeping on a quilt in a corner of the room. Ewan was feverish and Elaine and Cadwallon had spent the night washing him with cool water in hope of reducing the fever.
“Judging by the time we found Ewan,” Flamig said, “I think she walked into the water during the last hour of the ebbing tide. So, when the tide turned, it brought her right back to shore. She didn’t get far enough out to be swept away by the current. We can be glad of that for Lord Bertrand’s sake.”
“Never mind Lord Bertrand. At least it’s over,” Elaine said, her thoughts on Aglise. She was too exhausted to consider the possible ramifications of Lady Benedicta’s death.
“It’s not over,” Desmond said. “We now have a new mystery. Why did she kill herself?”
“Can we be certain that’s what happened?” Elaine asked.
“Aye, certain enough,” said Flamig. “Lady Benedicta knew this island too well to make a mistake about the tides. She shows no bruises, and there’s no sign at the bottom of the path that anyone fell down it. If I’m right about the time it happened, the tide was close to its lowest point, which meant she had to walk a long way to reach the water. All of those details indicate she went into the sea deliberately.”
“But, it still could have been an accident,” Elaine persisted, unable to accept the idea of Lady Benedicta taking her own life. To Elaine’s weary mind, Lady Benedicta was too devious for so simple an explanation. “Perhaps she was meeting someone on the beach, a fellow spy who was to take her away by boat.”
“In this foul weather?” Flamig scoffed. “It’s not likely, not when all the fishing boats are staying in port. Lord Bertrand is quarreling with Father Otwin.”
“Why?” Elaine asked, puzzled by the change of subject.
“Father Otwin refuses to bury Lady Benedicta in consecrated ground. Suicides must lie outside the cemetery border,” Flamig explained.
“Everyone knows that,” Elaine said. “I meant, why are they quarreling?”
“Lord Bertrand is insisting Lady Benedicta never intended to kill herself. I suppose his notion of noble honor demands he cover the truth. Those two will be needing a peacemaker about now. I’ll speak with you later, Sir Desmond.” Flamig departed.
“For once I am in agreement with Lord Bertrand,” Elaine said. “I find Flamig’s verdict difficult to accept. Lady Benedicta was well aware of the Church’s teaching on suicide, that forgiveness is impossible because the dead are beyond repentance. Desmond, she showed no sign of madness when you questioned her yesterday. I cannot imagine her doing such a terrible thing while she was in her right mind. Unless...” She paused, rubbing her forehead where a dull ache was beginning. Beneath the pain lay a dreadful certainty.
“Go on,” Desmond said. “Unless what? You knew her better than Cadwallon or I did.”
“Unless the game of spy that she was playing involved very high stakes.” Elaine spoke slowly, working her way through the idea that was becoming more real to her the longer she considered it. “Perhaps she feared what your questioning might elicit, more even than she feared taking her own life. If she knew something of vital importance and was afraid she’d break down and tell what she knew under fierce interrogation, then she may have chosen death over betrayal.”
“That’s a peculiar choice of words to describe a woman who betrayed her king,” Cadwallon said.
“She told us nothing about her fellow conspirators, save that the man who recruited her was a French nobleman,” Desmond remarked thoughtfully. “The only name she offered was that of King Louis, which was no surprise to us. I had hoped to question her again and I planned to demand names. But it’s too late now.”
“Too late,” Elaine repeated. “Desmond, the date on the message I found in Aglise’s sleeve; was I right? Is it the first of May?”
“I believe so,” he answered, “though I won’t know for certain until I decode the entire message, and I haven’t had much time to work on it.”
“Perhaps, when we can read it, we’ll learn the real reason why Lady Benedicta killed herself,” Elaine said. She shivered. “I have a strong feeling that you ought to decode what’s on that parchment as soon as possible.”
“Is the first of May six or seven days from now?” Cadwallon asked.
“Six days.” Elaine rubbed her head again. “Oh, I can barely think. First, we found Aglise and I sat up all night keeping vigil for her. Next, Jean was injured, then poor Ewan was stabbed. I can’t remember when I last slept for more than an hour.”
“Since we no longer have to worry about Lady Benedicta causing harm to anyone,” Desmond said, “go to your room and sleep now. I’ll ask Flamig to send a man to stand outside your door, if a guard will let you rest more easily. Cadwallon can stay here tonight with Ewan, with Jean to assist him. Come along, my lady, I’ll see you to your room.”
His hand was at her elbow and Elaine was too weary to protest. When they reached her bedchamber, Desmond insisted on entering first to make sure no one was lying in wait for her.
“Lady Benedicta is gone,” Elaine said, feeling as if her brain had turned to porridge. “The room is empty. Who else would want to hurt me?”
“Perhaps no one.” Fearing she would swoon from exhaustion, Desmond swept her up into his arms and set her on the bed. He tugged off her shoes and unfastened her sash.
“Desmond,” she protested feebly.
“Hush.” He caught her face between his palms and kissed her tenderly. “Let me help you.”
Coaxing, talking softly all the while, he undressed her until she wore only her shift. Then, holding her in one arm, he pulled the coverlet down and tucked her under it. His hand brushed across her breast, the softness of her flesh sending a jolt of fire into his loins.
“So kind to me,” she murmured, obviously half asleep.
“Not really,” he told her as he fought eager desire, knowing it was a battle he must win.
Kiss me.” Her request was so breathy he barely heard it.
Desmond hesitated a moment, then bent to give her what she wanted, bestowing a long, sweet kiss on her parted lips. When he forced himself to step back, he saw that she was already asleep.
“So much for my prowess as a lover,” he whispered, and dropped another kiss on her forehead. “Sleep well, dear girl, while I spend my night working on that mysterious message.”
* * * * *
So, Aglise’s body had been discovered, after all this time. The Spy didn’t like to imagine what the condition of her remains must have been. He had last seen her almost three years ago, when she was thirteen. She had been a pretty little thing, with budding breasts and clear, creamy skin. The Spy recalled with pleasure how fiercely she had fought him and how she continued to beg for mercy even as he claimed her virginity. Then she had wept again when it was over. Just thinking about the passionate battle to ravish Aglise made his body harden.
With one hand he held the slip of parchment containing Lady Benedicta’s coded message to a candle flame and let it burn, while with the other hand he stroked himself.
He decided to join his wife in her bedchamber. She was always happy to accept him, no matter at what hour he approached her. In his current mood he’d have preferred a woman who would struggle and weep for a time before submitting to his superior strength. Still, bedding his own spouse was quicker and more convenient than seeking out a less compliant female, and he needed to find relief at once, for he had work to do that was far more important than mere lust.
The parchment crumpled into ashes. As always, to make perfectly certain no one would see the remains of the message and wonder about it, the Spy dumped the tiny grey pieces onto the hot charcoal in the brazier.
Then he knocked on the door between his chamber and his wife’s. Not waiting for a response, still with one hand tugging at his groin, he entered.
“Merciful Lord!” Desmond sat in his bedchamber staring from the coded message Elaine had found to the scraps of parchment on which he had worked out the meaning of the message. It wasn’t a difficult code to decipher. Lady Benedicta and her correspondent had probably thought they’d be the only ones to read the message. As a result, all he had needed was a bit of uninterrupted time.
“Poor, foolish Aglise,” Desmond muttered. “You were mad to imagine you could threaten a committed spy with this and still be allowed to live.”
A glance out the window showed him fog and drizzling rain. He could only pray the Daisy would arrive that day – or the following day at the latest. He couldn’t risk delay. If he didn’t reach Caen in time to warn Royce, so Royce could warn King Henry, he didn’t want to think what would happen.
After tucking all of the parchment pieces into the pouch at his belt so no one coming into the room would find them, Desmond grabbed the single candle he’d been using and left the bedchamber.
Cadwallon looked up as soon as he entered the room where Ewan lay.
“He’s still feverish,” Cadwallon said in response to Desmond’s question. “Elaine insists he will recover, but I fear for him.”
“Ewan is young and healthy and Elaine appears to be a fine nurse. Trust her judgment. Can you leave for a short time? I have something to tell you, and I’d prefer to do it in complete privacy.”
“No one will be in the solar at this hour. Let’s talk in there.” Cadwallon led the way.
They stood with their backs to the shuttered windows, so they could see anyone coming into the solar. Desmond kept his voice so low that Cadwallon was forced to bend his head to hear.
“The message Elaine found concerns a plot against King Henry. Louis of France and the count of Flanders are gathering an army on the Flemish border. They plan to invade Upper Normandy early in May.”
“Well, well. So Elaine was right about the motive for Lady Benedicta’s suicide. Any self-respecting spy would prefer to die, rather than give up such an important piece of information. What else did you learn? From your face, I can see you haven’t told me all of it.”
“All of what?” Elaine asked, coming into the solar so silently that Desmond looked down to see if she was barefoot.
“I thought you were sleeping,” he said.
“I was, but I wakened and I wanted to check on Ewan.” Her cheeks turned pink when her gaze met Desmond’s.
“Ewan is fast asleep,” Cadwallon said.
“Good. I’m glad to hear it. Now, tell me why you two are huddling together like a pair of thieves.”
“You mean, like a pair of spies,” Cadwallon corrected her in a dry tone.
“I see no reason not to tell you,” Desmond said, keeping his voice lowered to a near whisper. “After all, you found the message.”
“You’ve decoded it?” Despite her obvious delight at the news, she kept her voice soft, too.
“The French are planning to invade Normandy,” Cadwallon revealed.
“We must warn King Henry.” Elaine stepped closer, until the three of them were standing in a tight, little circle.
“That’s not all,” Desmond said.
“What else?” Elaine’s lips barely moved.
“You were right about the date in the message,” Desmond said. “It is the first of May.”
“For the invasion?” Elaine whispered. “So soon? We haven’t much time.”
“Not the date for the invasion,” Desmond said. “It’s the date for the murders. King Louis’s agents plan to kill King Henry on the first day of May, and his sons, William and Robert, as well, so no heirs to Normandy or to the English throne will be left. Then, with the court at Caen in confusion, Louis’s army will march through Upper Normandy and into Lower Normandy. They don’t expect much opposition.
“Lastly, they plan to seize Jersey and Guernsey and the other islands in this group. I am only guessing now, but I believe Lady Benedicta, who was their contact on this island, was providing information on the defenses here. She may even have been planning to give Lord Bertrand some of the same syrup she used to kill Aglise.”
“Dear God!” Elaine’s hand was at her mouth as if to silence her own, soft cry. “Aglise knew this, and never said a word to me? Desmond, please tell me she wasn’t involved in this treacherous scheme!”
“Did she have the skill to decipher a code?” Desmond asked.
“I don’t think so. She had difficulty reading.” Elaine thought again, then shook her head. “No, I’m sure she didn’t decode the message.”
“From what we’ve learned of her, I don’t think so, either,” Cadwallon said. “Aglise probably knew only that Lady Benedicta was sending correspondence by pigeon and Lord Bertrand knew nothing about it. When she found one of the messages, I think she decided to use it against Lady Benedicta without understanding how dangerous the information it contained was. I’d wager she suspected Lady Benedicta of carrying on a correspondence with a secret lover. Most likely, she believed the news would be enough to make Lord Bertrand put his wife away and marry her, instead. That’s all Aglise really wanted, you know. She wanted to marry her lover. Your sister wasn’t a spy, Elaine.”
“Thank you, Cadwallon.” Elaine blinked away tears. “I cannot imagine her being involved in spying. For one thing, she chattered too much.”
Desmond forbore to remind her that Aglise had kept the secret of her love affair and of her discovery of the parchment. They would probably never learn all the details of Aglise’s actions just before she was killed, or how much she had known, but Desmond didn’t want to hurt Elaine. It wasn’t going to be difficult to divert her attention.
“We must warn King Henry,” he said. “We have six days to reach Caen, but I doubt if Captain Piers will bring the Daisy into port in this weather.”
“Perhaps we can hire a fishing boat to take us off the island,” Elaine suggested. “Jean may know of a willing fisherman.”
“To take us where?” Cadwallon asked. “Where can we go in such weather?”
“To a port just across the water, along the western coast of Normandy,” Elaine answered after a moment’s thought. “Surely, once we reach land, we can find horses and ride to Caen.”
“We?” Desmond couldn’t keep a note of amusement out of his voice. Elaine’s eyes were bright and her face fairly glowed with interest as she devised a plan that, he was forced to admit, made good sense. With a few modifications from him, of course.
“I’ll not be left behind,” Elaine declared. “Nor will I slow you down along the way. You’ve seen me ride, so you know I’m a good horsewoman.”
“You may not slow us,” Desmond said. “Lord Bertrand and Jean certainly will.”
“We’ll leave both of them behind to watch over Ewan,” Cadwallon decided. “When Captain Piers arrives, he can take all of them aboard the Daisy.”
“Yes, what about Ewan?” Desmond looked to Elaine with raised eyebrows. “Is he well enough for you to desert him?”
“There are other women in Warden’s Manor who are capable of looking after him. With Flamig to oversee his care – you do trust Flamig, don’t you?”
“I trust him,” Desmond said, “but he has other duties than tending a wounded boy.”
“I am going with you,” Elaine insisted. “Do not try to prevent me!”
“Once we reach the mainland, how far is it to Caen?” Cadwallon asked just when the discussion was about to turn into a quarrel. “Elaine, has Lord Bertrand ever traveled that route? Do you know how many days from the coast to Caen?”
“I haven’t left Jersey since I came here,” Elaine admitted. “We could ask Lord Bertrand.”
“We could not,” Desmond stated firmly. “We dare not tell Lord Bertrand anything we’ve learned from that coded message. Despite his wife’s claim that he is innoce
nt, we don’t know how honest he has been with us, or how much he really knows about Lady Benedicta’s schemes. We can’t tell Flamig, either, lest he mention it to someone who shouldn’t know that we know.”
“Well, now, you have presented us with a nice problem,” Cadwallon said.
After some further discussion, Desmond decided to take Jean and ride into Gorey village to try to find a fisherman who was willing to carry two male passengers from Jersey to the mainland.
“Two men and a woman,” Elaine insisted.
“I will need you to stay behind, to watch over Ewan and Jean, and make sure they are safe,” Desmond said. “Not to mention watching what Lord Bertrand does once we are gone.”
“Flamig can watch him,” she protested.
“As soon as the weather clears, the Daisy will arrive,” Desmond argued. “Then, assuming Ewan is well enough to be carried aboard, you and he, Jean, and Lord Bertrand, can all sail to Caen to meet us there. It will be an easier trip for you than riding all the way.”
“I do not enjoy sea travel,” Elaine said.
“That’s too bad, my lady.” Desmond longed to kiss her slightly pouty mouth. The thought of long days of riding side by side with her was seductive, but they’d be traveling so rapidly that he doubted she could withstand the pace they needed to set if they were to reach Caen in time.
His visit to Gorey village was a failure. No fisherman was willing to risk the boat that provided his family’s livelihood on a hasty voyage through dense fog. Not for the sake of two strangers. No matter how much money Desmond offered.
“By God,” Desmond said to Cadwallon that evening, “if the weather doesn’t clear by tomorrow morning, I’m going to commandeer a boat and sail it to Normandy myself!”
