He moved to a chair. That morning, in fear of the assault and remembering how the musket bullets had flayed around him, Samuel Scammell had dressed in full lobster armor, his arms and thighs protected by the overlapping plates which Campion could hear scraping on each other as he moved. He sat heavily in Lady Margaret’s chair. “I won’t touch you.” He sounded miserable. He put his head back, staring at the plaster pattern that criss-crossed the ceiling. He wiped his fleshy lips, blinked again, then shook his head.
“I didn’t want this. Your father didn’t tell me about this.”
There were shouts from the garden behind Campion. The Roundheads were dragging away one of the big sakers, but she took no notice. She still held Mildred tight. She was confused. “You came after me! You forced that wedding on me!”
He shook his head, leaning forward now, his cavernous, dark nostrils repelling her even as his eyes pleaded with her. “You don’t understand. Sir Grenville Cony. Your brother.”
“My brother!”
“He forced this!” Scammell was strangely indignant. “He does what he wants now. It’s the seal. Always the seal. I hope you haven’t got the seal!” he added petulantly.
“Why?” She shook her head. “Why?”
“Don’t you understand? They don’t care about you, they don’t care about me, they only care about the Covenant! If we’d married, if we’d lived at Werlatton, we’d have been left in peace. But you had to run away!”
She ignored the complaint. She had run because she had no wish to marry this weak man, a man who she saw now was in the same state as herself. He was beaten, victimized, manipulated into this room that looked on to the morning light in the Lazen valley. She felt an anger in herself. “You wanted the money!”
He nodded heavily. “But it was always for you. It has to be for you. That’s what the Covenant says. The money must be spent on you. Your father bought Werlatton with the money, but it was a house for you to live in.” He looked wearily at her. “Do you have the seal?”
She did not answer. He saw the scorn in her face. He seemed almost on the point of tears. “I don’t care, Dorcas, I don’t care any more. Give him the seal. Give it to him! I’ll say we’re married properly. That’s what they want, and you can go. Truly! In God’s name I promise it. You can go. Sir Grenville will go on stealing half the money, more than half, and you can have the rest. I just want peace.”
“Dear God! And what do you think I’ve been wanting?” She thought of Toby, wondering if he was alive, or whether he was bleeding to death in the smoke-stenched yard. “You did this to me! You wanted the money!”
“I want peace.”
“Now you want peace! Because you’re frightened! You should have thought of that before. Damn you, Samuel Scammell. Damn you and your weakness!”
He looked at her, seeing her beauty outlined in the window, and he shook his head. There was no fight in him, there was nothing left. He had been dragged into turbulent water and he wanted nothing now but to save himself from drowning. Even his lust for Campion was far off, forgotten. He put his head in his hands as if to obliterate her voice.
She did not give him peace. “You want none of this? Is that what you want?” She saw him nod, almost imperceptibly. “Then get us out of here. You’ve got a sword, haven’t you? A pistol? Then fight, Samuel Scammell. Fight, damn you! I don’t care about the money, I don’t care about the seal, but I do care about my life. You help me, for a change. Is that sword just decoration?”
He shook his head and she turned, exasperated, and saw the armed men in the garden who stared up at the window. She turned away from them.
The door opened.
Ebenezer came in, shut the door behind him, then leaned against its painted panels. He looked from Scammell to Campion, then back to Scammell. “I thought I would find you in your marriage bed! I brought you a candle.”
In his left hand he held a tray on which Campion could see paper and a lit candle. He carried it carefully to a small table and set it down. Scammell had not looked up.
Ebenezer smiled at him. “Brother-in-law. What is it?”
Scammell’s voice was muffled by his hands. “We must do what is right in the eyes of the Lord.”
“Oh! Indeed and indeed!” Ebenezer mocked him, then kicked Scammell’s shin with his lame foot. “Are you married to this woman?”
Scammell looked up. He turned to Campion and shook his head. “No.”
“Then in the eyes of the Lord, brother, you are not the rightful owner of the seal. I am.” Ebenezer came toward Campion, his eyes bright. “Do you have the seal, sister?”
“Ebenezer?” She tried to put a sister’s love into her voice.
“I have no sister. I have no family. Don’t think that you can wheedle me, Dorcas, I asked if you had the seal.” He had stopped a pace away from her. Scammell, behind him, seemed oblivious, sunk in his misery. Ebenezer smiled at her. His hair was sleek and black, as shiny as his lacquered breastplate. He lifted his right hand slowly, his eyes glittering, and Campion shrank back.
His hand moved fast, gripping the high neck of her gray dress. He pulled hard, easily overcoming her resistance, and she felt the hook at the back of the dress break. He stared at her neck. “You’re not wearing it, sister. Where is it?”
“I don’t have it.”
He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “You mean this was all in vain?” His right hand was behind his back now. “We went through this siege for nothing? Those men died for nothing?” His right hand moved again, once more with snake-like speed, and Campion saw the flash of light on a long, thin dagger, and then there was the chill of steel against her cheek. “Where is it, sister?”
She dared not move. She could feel the point of the knife on her skin. Ebenezer smiled. “Where is it, sister?”
Still she said nothing. She was terrified of him. The cruelty of Matthew Slythe had been handed to his son, but mixed with a cold-blooded detachment. She knew of no way to appeal to him.
His left hand moved, startling her. She gasped because the knife had gone from her cheek and she felt the cat in her arms, suddenly protest. Ebenezer had grasped the cat by the neck, had put the knife on her fur.
“Tell me, sister.”
“No!” She tried to pull Mildred away from him. “No!”
The knife sliced at the base of her thumb, a quick surprise of pain. She gasped, blood dripped, and then Ebenezer was holding the cat by the scruff of her neck and the knife point was at the cat’s throat. He held it at her face. “Where is it, sister?”
“Ebenezer! No!”
The cat squealed, twisted, tried to claw the man who held the knife point at her throat. Campion grasped at Ebenezer’s wrist, blood running from her cut hand, but Ebenezer jerked the knife. “You want the cat to die?”
“Ebenezer!” She shook her head. “Please!”
“I’ll kill it, Dorcas. You’ve seen me do it before. I’ll kill it. And then I’ll start on you, sister dear.” He laughed. “If Brother Scammell’s not willing, then I’ve a dozen men who’d like to have you, sister. One by one, one after the other. Do you want that, sister? Do you?”
“Ebenezer!”
Scammell watched, appalled. He did not move.
Ebenezer smiled. He ignored the cat that twisted frantically to avoid the dagger’s point. “Where is the seal, sister?”
“I have it! I have it! I don’t want it.”
A look of triumph twisted on Ebenezer’s face, and then he screwed with his right hand, glee in his eyes, forcing Mildred on to the knife and twisting the body so that the cat’s dying spurt of blood sprayed on to Campion’s face. He jerked the blood-matted body off the knife point and laughed at her. “So you do have it. Where?”
The dagger was coming toward her face again.
She fumbled inside her dress, but the seal had slipped down to her waist and she could not reach it. She watched the knife, smelling the blood of the cat on her face. “I’ll get it for you!”
He took the neckline in his left hand, pulled and sawed down with the knife. The point drew blood from the skin over her breastbone, ripped on through the dress, and she shrank back, screaming, the dress falling away where he had cut it down close to her waist. The seal’s chain fell out and Ebenezer reached for it, pulled, and held the jewel up to the growing light. He glanced uninterestedly at her breasts, smiled as she pulled the dress up to cover her nakedness, then stepped away from her.
“The seal.”
It hung from his left hand. The gold looked rich, the bands of precious stones sparkled as the jewel twisted on its chain. The Seal of St. Matthew. Ebenezer took it, almost reverently, to the table. He put it down.
Scammell stared at it as if, until this moment, he had doubted its existence.
Campion was half crouching, her back against the window-sill. She held her dress with both hands. At her feet was Mildred’s bloody fur.
Ebenezer stepped away from the table. The chain of the seal hung over the edge, swinging slightly. He smiled. “Who does it belong to?”
No one answered him. Behind Campion, below in the garden, a file of prisoners was marched toward the ruins of the gatehouse. The smoke of the explosion still lingered above the valley.
Ebenezer reached for the bed-hangings. The cords that had tied them had long been cut up for the matchlock musket fuses. He wiped his knife blade clean on the embroidered silk, sheathed the knife, then wiped his hands as if the bed-curtains were a towel. “I asked who it belonged to?”
Scammell’s armor scraped harshly as he turned to look at Ebenezer.
Ebenezer rubbed his hands together fastidiously. “Is it yours, Brother Scammell? Or is it mine? I thought we were brothers-in-law.”
Scammell said nothing.
“Come, Brother Scammell!” Ebenezer made his voice hearty. “She’s your wife, is she not? Do you not want her? She’s pretty enough. She may not be a virgin, of course, but she’s still your wife. Don’t you want to beget heirs? Shall not the tribe of Scammell inherit the earth?”
Scammell licked his lips. Frowned.
Ebenezer put his hand on the collar of Scammell’s leather jerkin. It seemed to rest there in a friendly manner. “If she’s your wife, brother, then the seal is yours. Don’t you want it? The bitch has burned your business down, at the very least you can take her money. Go on! Take her!” He pulled at the collar, yanking upward. “Go on! Move!”
The harshness of the command rather than the pull on his collar made Scammell jerk upright. He seemed to have no volition of his own. He was terrified of Ebenezer, as he was terrified of the soldiers sent by Sir Grenville who waited outside the door. He looked at Campion, crouched by the window, and he licked his lips.
Ebenezer pushed him. “Go on, brother. Claim your bride! Claim the seal! Think what I do for you? I could take it myself, but those whom the Lord hath joined together, let no man part asunder.”
Scammell’s lips parted in a silent, automatic “amen.” He was breathing heavily, fear on his face, but he stumbled toward Campion in the window, Ebenezer’s hand still on the collar that protruded above his backplate. He walked clumsily, the flanges on his thighs scraping.
Ebenezer smiled. “You do want her, brother, don’t you?”
“Brother Slythe?” Scammell found his tongue and turned nervously to his tormentor.
“Look! Look!” Ebenezer lashed out with his right foot, holding his balance by gripping on Scammell’s collar. “Look!” His foot lashed into Campion’s face, bruising her, forcing her to cover her face with her hands. The dress fell open, showing her naked breasts and Ebenezer pushed down with his hand. “Look at her! Don’t you want her?”
She tried to pull the dress up. She was shrinking back into the corner of the bay window, and again the foot lashed at her. She was screaming, one hand protecting her face, the other fumbling at the torn dress.
“Don’t you want her, brother? Look at the breasts! Touch them! Touch them! Go on, take her!” Ebenezer forced Scammell’s head down. “Touch her!”
Scammell tried to straighten up, but Ebenezer had drawn his knife again and he pricked the blade into Scammell’s neck. “Touch her, brother. Touch her.”
“You’re mad!”
“I said, touch her!” He shouted it, forcing the heavier man down.
“I’ll touch her!” Scammell put out his right hand. Touched Campion’s hair. She was screaming, trying to bury herself into the corner of the window, and then she heard Ebenezer laughing above her.
“But you’re not married, brother. Your wedding certificate was burned six months ago! And now I find you molesting my sister! I’m surprised at you, brother! I am shocked! I had thought you a man of God, and you are nothing but lust!”
Scammell was trying to straighten up, trying to protest, but the knife was already at his throat, piercing through skin, fat and into the blood vessels. Samuel Scammell tried to throw Ebenezer off. He pulled back and raised his arm, but Ebenezer laughed and hooked the blade. Blood poured on to Campion. It soaked the curtain, the window, the polished floorboards. With a despairing, choking breath of air and blood, Scammell fell dead on top of Campion.
She screamed. She was choking in blood, crushed by the weight of man and armor. She thought she was drowning in it, that the sky itself ran with ribbons of the thick, warm liquid. She screamed again, knowing it was a dream and her scream faded away.
Ebenezer looked at her. She would regain consciousness soon. He had seen it happen before. She would be calmer when she came round, but not if the body was still slumped over her. He stooped, grunting with the effort, and rolled Scammell’s body off her legs.
Ebenezer wiped the blade clean again, doing it meticulously, and then returned the knife to its sheath. He wiped his hands, spitting on them to remove the last of the blood that he found offensive. He glanced at his sister. She was moaning, the moans hinting at hysterical sobs.
He went to the table. Sir Grenville Cony, he knew, would want the seal delivered to him, and Ebenezer had thought long and hard about how that could be avoided. Ebenezer was young, too new to the world of power and men to have garnered the support he would need to fight Sir Grenville yet, but he would not easily surrender the Seal of St. Matthew. He knew too though, that if he did not give the jewel to his patron, then his patron would destroy him as easily as he had made Ebenezer destroy Scammell.
He smoothed a piece of paper on the table. He took the candle and held its flame on to a stick of red sealing-wax. The wax turned blackish, dripped, and Ebenezer swiftly put the candle down, picked up the seal and pressed the broad axe head into the hot wax. He smiled at the result.
He worked swiftly, single-mindedly, ignoring his sister’s sobs. He made twelve impressions, spaced equally on the paper and then he blew the candle out, tossed the truncated wax stick into the fireplace, and laid a second sheet of creamy, stiff paper over the first. He folded the two sheets carefully, making sure that the creases were in the spaces he had left for them and then he put the thick, stiff square of papers into his leather pouch.
He glanced at Campion. She was sobbing hysterically, her eyes open. He knew she was not seeing anything. He had seen his victims like this before, at the times when he would rest from his labors and walk up the stone steps to stare across the River Thames as he flexed the stiffness from his lamed body.
He picked up the seal. He unscrewed it and stared, without expression, at the crucifix. He had not known what to expect, half thinking it might contain a naked woman like that inside the Seal of St. Mark. The small, silver statue was very still in his fingers.
He glanced at her again. He was thinking.
He screwed the two halves of the seal together, stood up, and crossed gently toward her. Her eyes moved as he came close, but he knew she was still not recognizing him. He made soft, crooning noises of reassurance as he stooped over her. She did not move away from him. She seemed aware that someone was present, she seemed to want comfort, and, indeed, his hands were surprisi
ngly gentle as he tipped her head forward and slipped the seal round her neck.
Then, still making the quiet, comforting noises, he backed away from her. He opened the door to the long gallery, slipped through, then locked it behind him. He nodded at those who waited outside, expectancy on their faces, and put a finger to his lips. “A few more minutes, I think.” One of his men offered him wine, looted from the castle cellars, but the offer made Ebenezer scowl. “Water! Bring me water! But make sure it’s clean!”
He leaned against the door, shut his eyes, and reflected on the satisfaction of a job well done.
For what seemed hours, yet were only minutes, Campion did not move. She shrank into the window corner like a trapped, scared animal, fearing everything, not daring to move in case the motion should invite new horrors. The blood on her smelled thick and nauseating, and she heard her great, lung-emptying sobs, and only slowly did she realize that she was listening to herself. She touched a finger to her face, feeling the stickiness, and she thought she was in the realm of madness, or else falling through some wild, shrieking hole toward hell itself. She wailed like a child in pain and the sound, or else the thought of hell, made her strength rebel against her predicament.
She moved. She shook her head. She made herself see where she was and the first object before her eyes was the great, dark hole in Scammell’s throat. She felt her stomach heaving, heard the retching mingled with sobs and threw herself sideways, away from the body. She was gasping for air, panting, but she forced herself into one action at a time. First to reach the bed, next to wipe her hands, her face, and then to suck at the wound on the base of her thumb that still bled. She wiped with the corner of the sheet at her breasts which were sticky with blood. The seal hung there.
She held it in her right hand, staring at it as if she had never seen it before, seeing where the bright gold had been smeared with congealing blood. She loathed it, knowing it trapped her and the sudden, surprising discovery of it about her neck threatened to drive her once more into the abyss of madness from which she was so painfully climbing. She shut her eyes, leaning back against the high bed and clutched the seal in her hand as if to hide it.
A Crowning Mercy Page 27
