I pulled my gaze from the sky and started with surprise when I found someone watching me: Henrietta. She stood between me and the cookhouse, frowning and staring. The censure I saw on her pudgy cheeks stripped away any feeling of comfort I had gained from praying. The momentary warmth was replaced by fear, and I could not in my addled and still-drug-fogged state understand why I should fear her. I only knew that I did.
Then her eyes filled with fear and she backed away from me to retreat to the cookhouse.
My Horse wished to run her down. It was all I could do to keep my grip on the reins.
There was a touch on my arm and I whirled to find Gaston. He was still not himself. He recoiled from whatever he found in my eyes.
I reached for him anyway. “Please, please,” I begged, not knowing what I wished, only that he not fear me.
He came to me and I got a good grip on him and led him to the stable. I found Pomme leaning against the wall and dozing. He was startled to feel my touch, but he quickly nickered a greeting once I was recognized. I haltered him and used a hay bale to push my shaking body onto his back. Then I held out my hand for Gaston. He used the bale and clambered on behind me.
We rode out of the house and out of town. I do not know if Pomme knew the way or I was already so familiar with it I did not need to think about it, but we were soon at Gaston’s gift. There was no shelter, and no view, and it was cold and wet. I urged Pomme to the edge of the trees and dismounted. I pulled Gaston down and under Pomme, to squat in the relative cover provided by his bulk. Our giant horse stood still with ears flattened sideways in annoyance and resignation. I held my matelot and cried. He stroked my hair and rubbed my shoulders.
I woke to the smell of roasting pork. Gaston snored softly beside me. He was lying on his back, which was unusual for him even when he slept like the dead after his madness passed. We were covered by a blanket. We were in the shade, but the sun was shining. The light was golden and slanted. I heard dogs panting, men talking quietly, and the rustle and pop of a fire. I rolled Gaston onto his side and pushed myself up to my elbows behind him.
Pete and Striker sat at a small fire. Pomme lounged nearby. Bella and Taro were sprawled in the shade as well. We were still on Gaston’s gift property. The sky was blue but hazy. The sun was sinking to the west.
I crawled over Gaston and toward our friends. They turned at my movement and smiled as one.
“’OwYaBe?” Pete asked.
I coughed, and to my dismay, still tasted bile. I tried to spit and discovered I had nothing to give. I pushed myself to my feet and stumbled downwind. My piss was likewise short and fitful. I felt empty.
I knew why. I held it far from me and did not allow my internal gaze to look upon it.
I joined them at the fire and happily accepted the skin of water Striker tossed me. I drank my fill, thankful there was still half left for Gaston.
“You found us,” I noted.
Striker chuckled. “That was a piece of work. We guessed you might come here. Sarah didn’t remember your map very well, though; only that it was up the mountain on our property. We couldn’t find the little tunnel you hacked to get out here. We finally used the dogs. We held on to one and let the other one run around until it didn’t come back, and then we followed the second one. I was damn glad to see that fat horse.”
“’EWereStandin’ GuardO’erYa. We’AdTaTalk’Im TaLettin’UsGet Close. Couldna’Just Chase’ImOff’Cause WeDidNaWantYa Gettin’ SteppedOnOr Kicked.”
“I love that horse,” I said.
“Somebody better,” Striker said with a laugh.
They were roasting half a yearling pig, and nearby sat several bottles of Madeira and an oilcloth-wrapped bundle I hoped was a cheesecake.
“Thank you,” I said. “For finding us and bringing all this here.”
They nodded solemnly.
“Father Pierre told us what he could,” Striker said with a grimace. “He praised you.”
“’EAlsoSaidIt ShouldNe’erBeSpoken O’Agin.”
“Aye,” I said. “How is… was Mistress Theodore when last you were down there?”
Striker gave a shrug that spoke of not knowing. “She is better, but still fevers from what they say; but according to Agnes, they were able to bathe her and move her to clean the room. Theodore had the bedding burned—all of it.”
I was relieved she yet lived. “We should not have worried them, but we could not stay.”
“NoNeedTaExplain,” Pete said with gentle chiding. “NoneDownThere BlameYa.”
Striker was frowning at that. “Nay,” he said in response to my questioning look. “I feel Pete is wrong. Those that know what you had to do—or even guess at it—do not blame you. The others just think you both went mad.”
Pete snorted with annoyance. “Liam’sDamnWife.”
I recalled her expression, there in the rain, after I prayed. I shuddered.
Striker had found amusement at the mention of her. “Damn, aye, her. She tried to tell me you had been possessed and were worshipping the Devil. Liam is angry with her.”
“I encountered her at my worst—just after… I know not what I said.”
They nodded with amusement and obviously thought nothing more of it. I wondered what I could or should say to calm the woman. Saying that she had misunderstood and that I was praying to the Virgin Mary might work. It angered me, though. Or I could say I had descended into madness and did not know what I had said, as I had just implied to Pete and Striker. That angered me too; but it was a tired sort of anger.
I looked about, wondering where I should put a temple, and how large it should be: and sadly, what would I say of it if it was seen? People built Roman-style buildings in Christendom in their gardens and the like. How could I explain it here? And that was assuming I was even capable of making such a structure. I surely did not have marble. I had read descriptions of magnificent structures: was that what a Goddess wished or required? Or was it more like a church? They can be grand or humble; their only necessity in order for them to be considered sacred is that they be dedicated to the divine and sanctified.
Gaston disturbed my reverie by sitting up abruptly and looking around with wild eyes.
“I am here,” I called.
The tension left him as he saw me, and he slumped back to the earth. I went to him.
“Where are we?” he asked as I leaned over him and proffered the water.
I sighed. “Your birthday gift.”
He pulled himself up to sit and drank the water while looking around. Then he stood and staggered about until he came to stand near the tree I watered. He did the same and seemed to gain far more relief from it. Next he went to stand at the end of the precipice and survey the view. I joined him there.
“It is on Sarah’s land. She gave it to me to give to you,” I said quietly. “I wanted us to have a place to retreat to.”
He spun around slowly, looking at it again with tears in his eyes. “It is wonderful, Will. It is beautiful. Thank you. I cannot thank you enough.”
I embraced him and we held one another for a time.
“I will build us a small hut here, as we had on Negril; and… a temple to Diana—though I know not how.”
He pulled away to regard me with a bemused expression.
“I think she is the Goddess of childbirth. I will explain later.” I leaned my head toward our friends.
Gaston nodded and his mien shifted to sadness. “I do not recall last night, Will.”
“You became your Child. There was a thing you could not do. I did it. Rachel still lives—or she did when last they were in town.”
“Someday you will tell me?”
“Oui, someday,” I said.
“Trying to remember makes me think of Gabriella,” he said warily.
I shook my head tightly. I could not put it into words. They would have to follow a path that went past my eyes and heart to reach my mouth.
He nodded again. “Someday. I will not trouble you today.”
I nodded.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
I shook my head. “There was need. I was available. It is done.”
He held me close again and whispered in my ear. “I am sorry I went away again. I thought I was doing well, but apparently I needed to run more than I thought. I should have nipped you days ago.”
I grinned against his cheek as I recalled our discussion that day in the market. The humor allowed me to speak more easily. “There was no helping this, my love. Even if you had not been tired, I feel you would have stumbled. I surely did. We just happened across a great scree.”
“I fell, and it was not my Horse, but the vestige of me you call my Child?”
“Oui, you just retreated into him. With good reason,” I added.
“I truly do not wish to trouble you, my love, but it bothers me that I do not know why.”
I thought on what I could say. “Your sister. You have never performed surgery on a woman, have you?”
“Non,” he said. I could hear his realization in that one word. “I understand.”
“It is a thing we must inure you to, someday. I know not how.”
He sighed and spoke lightly. “Oui, if I am truly to be a physician for any but buccaneers.”
“Or monks,” I said in the same tone.
He squeezed me tightly before releasing me to meet my gaze with love-filled eyes. “I love you.”
“And I, you,” I said.
He kissed me sweetly and I savored it. Then by unspoken accord, we stepped apart and went to join Pete and Striker at the fire.
Soon after, I sat beside my love and our friends, with a belly full of good food and wine, and watched a glorious sunset. I felt the Gods everywhere.
Ninety-Six
Wherein We Reap the Wages of Truth
We rode home on the morning of the Sixth. Striker and Pete remained with us until we parted company at the road leading to Sarah’s house. Thus we had not been alone; but I thought that for the best as I had not brought any weapons in my mad ride from the house, or flint and tender, or anything else of value including hogs’ fat, knives, or food. And, neither my matleot nor I was interested in intimacy of any sort beyond holding one another. This morn we merely wished to return to the house: I wished to bathe and burn the clothes from that night, and he wished to see how Rachel fared.
Father Joseph, the young priest on duty at the hospital eyed us warily as we rode up. He was usually a cheerful fellow who got on well with my matelot. I had thought to stop and allow Gaston to dismount and inquire of Rachel, but upon seeing the priest’s expression, I clucked for Pomme to keep walking.
“What did you do?” Gaston asked. There was no jest in his tone.
“I prayed—loudly and openly to the Goddess Diana, and I offered her a temple in exchange for her aid in keeping Rachel alive and preventing any other woman of our acquaintance from suffering such horror—or me. Henrietta saw me. Striker said she has been trying to tell everyone I worship the Devil—or perhaps it is that I am possessed. I have forgotten precisely what he said.”
Gaston buried his face in my shoulder and sighed, but I felt the subtle shake of his amusement.
“I know, I know, I am nothing but trouble,” I said.
“Tell me of it, I married you,” he replied and kissed my neck.
I recalled the first time he had uttered those words, and I laughed.
“Is there anything else I should know?” he asked. “I have been wondering how to ask you what I should be examining on Rachel. Or even if I should.”
“Gods…” I sighed. I did need to tell him something. Could I? “Hold me,” I whispered as I stopped Pomme at the back gate.
He did. I let myself remember. It was not as bad as I feared. The Gods and the drug had been kind indeed. I could barely remember any of it; as if it had been a dream. Oddly, my clearest memory was of Rachel gazing upon me with huge, dark eyes and telling me to finish.
“Doucette said to cut the baby up with a wire loop and drag it through the small opening,” I said quickly and tensed, expecting my body to react even as I held my mind still. It seemed a distant thing, though; like speaking of the details of the men I had killed: the ball entered here; I stabbed him there, and so on.
Gaston was holding me very tightly indeed. If I had needed to retch, I would have had to do it across Pomme’s withers.
“I am so sorry,” he whispered at last.
“My memory of it is not as potent as I feared last night,” I said. “I dosed myself with laudanum before beginning. It now seems to be but a dream. But… That night, it was horrid indeed and I retched a great deal, and… fell—such that I felt compelled to reach to the Gods for support.”
“I can never repay you for sparing me that,” he said.
“There will never be any debt between us, my love.”
He slid off Pomme and pulled me down after him so that he could face me with his hands aside my face. He gazed into my eyes for a time. I could see little reflections of myself in his orbs. I thought I appeared as calm as I felt.
“What do you seek?” I asked.
“The grail, I suppose,” he said with a bemused frown.
“What?”
He smiled ruefully. “You are capable of such acts of absolution, even to yourself.” He shook his head. “Non, I was looking to see your Horse.”
I looked for my Horse. He was alert and wary. I felt it had nothing to do with Rachel.
“I feel I have caused quite a bit of trouble this time,” I said. “My Horse wanted to run Henrietta down when I saw her watching me. The look on her face—such hatred and fear. Thinking on it, it was as if she no longer knew me.”
“She is a very pious woman,” Gaston said and sighed. “And lacking in…” He shrugged. “She is stupid and uneducated. People of that nature tend to see everything very simply: they can comprehend nothing else.”
“Oui, oui, I know that well.”
Gaston looked past me and froze with a thoughtful frown. Afraid we were being spied upon; I whirled to see what had caught his attention. The second floor of the house appeared to be in bedlam. There were furnishings and chests pulled out of rooms and stacked here and there. Our door was closed and there was nothing before it, but Rucker and Bones’ room, the Theodores’, Agnes’, and Liam and Henrietta’s were spilled out onto the balcony.
We looked at one another, shrugged, and took Pomme to the stable. Everyone seemed involved in the industry, or closeted away, and so we slipped up the back stairs and did not encounter anyone until we came upon Rucker and Bones struggling to move a bed frame from their room. They appeared startled but pleased to see us.
“What is happening?” I asked them.
Bones sighed. “The Theodore’s won’t stay in their room, Liam’s wife won’t move into it either; so they could not trade; and then Mistress Williams decided she wished to move to this side of the building—to this room. So…”
Rucker picked up where his roommate had trailed off. “We are moving to the Theodore’s old room—as it does not bother us—and Mistress Williams is moving here, and then the Campbells,” he paused to sigh, “will move to Mistress Williams’, and the Theodores will move to the Campbell’s.”
I regarded him dully until I realized Campbell was Liam’s surname. I had never heard it used before.
“Where is Mistress Theodore, now?” Gaston asked.
“In the hospital. They have drugged her so that she might continue sleeping,” Rucker said.
“Who…” Gaston began to ask, but Bones was already speaking.
“She put a fright in the whole house that first day with all her screaming,” Bones said. “Madame Yvette gave her the drug she uses to calm Doucette.”
My matelot appeared relieved. I understood why: Yvette was familiar with dosing someone with laudanum.
Bones and Rucker were looking at one another, and with a collective sigh they turned back to us. “Henrietta is not herself…” Rucker said simu
ltaneously with Bones’, “Liam’s wife has gone mad.”
“Striker mentioned that,” I said sadly and gestured behind them.
Liam was hurrying toward us around the balcony; and while his eyes had lit with happiness when he initially spied me, he now appeared more distraught with every stride. When he at last embraced me, his voice shook. “I be sorry, Will.”
“Nay, nay,” I said. “I am the one who should apologize.”
“Nay!” he snapped as he stepped back. He was now angrier than I had ever seen him. “It be that damn cow who should be sorry! She be sufferin’ from delusions, an’ she went an’ tol’ the priests o’ it, an’ then came an’ made demands o’ me, and when I tol’ ’er she were a damn fool she went an took my son into the church an’ they say I canna’ see ’er ’til I repent!”
“Oh no…” I breathed. How in the name of the Gods was I to fix this? “I am sorry, Liam.”
Gaston, Bones, and Rucker appeared as stricken as I felt: apparently this last was new even to the people who had been in the house.
“What do they wish for you to repent?” Gaston asked.
“Associatin’ with a worshipper o’ Satan!” Liam spat and pointed at me. “Can ya believe that shite? It be like the whole damned witchcraft charges all over agin. An’ I thought on it, I surely did: we canna’ call ’er a witch because she be the most pious one o’ the lot o’ us.”
“And there are priests involved,” Bones said with an ashen pallor.
I recalled his mother had been hung for witchcraft.
“I was hoping I could speak to her and explain that she had misunderstood what she saw,” I said.
Liam shook his head emphatically. “Even if they let ya near ’er, she wouldna’ listen.”
“You should talk to the priests anyway,” Rucker said.
Bones nodded tightly.
“Is it all the priests?” I asked Liam. “Father Pierre?”
“Nay, it be that Father Mark,” he growled. “That bastard Pierre says he can do nothing as long as the cow asks for sanctuary.”
“Father Mark wishes to discredit Father Pierre,” I said, “and Father Pierre was not sent here because he had friends in the Church hierarchy.”
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