“Because of Alcott,” said deSteny.
“And because of what you said to us, Sheriff.” She made a half-hearted attempt at flirtatiousness, then quickly abandoned it. “So much money! We are frightened.”
“As well you should be, I am sad to tell you,” said deSteny. “Now, what about the pale young man?”
“He wanted Melusine and me to go with him. He said that an important man would be waiting for us, and that he would show us much courtesy.” She lifted her chin as if she expected him to doubt her.
“Why did you suppose he would not?” DeSteny wasn’t inclined to be lured into arguing the attractions of women. “For I must suppose you had some cause to refuse him out of hand.”
“You warned us about money, and that it could be a sign of trouble,” she said.
“Anything else?” deSteny asked.
“Alcott would beat us,” she said in a small voice.
“Surely he beats you for other reasons,” said deSteny.
“Yes.” She looked about the study, her eyes lingering on the large, leather-bound volumes on the small, raised desk at the far end of the chamber. “Oh. You have books! I’ve only seen them in church. Oh, so many!”
Patiently deSteny said, “Yes. I have books.”
“Then you read,” she marveled.
“Yes,” he said again.
She coughed nervously. “I would have thought that you would have a clerk for such tasks.”
“I have a clerk for other things,” said deSteny, waiting for her to return to the topic they had begun.
“Ah.” She laced her fingers together, twisting her hands slightly. “We didn’t want to go with the pale young man for another reason.”
At last! deSteny thought. “And what was that?”
“He wore no livery,” said the whore simply. “Melusine said that if he truly came from a great man, the servant would wear some mark of it, a badge or clothing. But he had on a sleeved tunic and leggings like most common men.”
“A clever observation,” deSteny approved. “Did either of you notice anything more about the pale young man? Was he tall? How was he dressed? What more did you notice?” He saw his questions were upsetting her, and went silent so she could answer.
“I saw that he had a bruise on his neck,” she answered quietly. “And a little patch of blood above the band of his chemise.”
Although nothing in his demeanor betrayed it, deSteny was now fully alert. “Why did you make note of this?”
“Because he rubbed at it once as though it pained him,” said the young whore. “Melusine thought nothing of it, but it seemed to me to be a bad injury. And,” she said as she gathered up her courage, “I thought it unlikely that an important man would employ a wounded servant to do his will.”
“Very clever of you,” deSteny approved.
Color mounted in her face. “Clever?”
“Truly,” he said as heartily as he could.
The young whore preened a moment, then said, “I asked him his name. He said it was Murray, but I think he lied.”
DeSteny regarded her curiously. “Why did you think that?”
“Because he stammered when he said it, as I have heard others do,” she answered. “That seemed odd to me.”
“You may be right,” said deSteny, and reached into the wallet on his belt for a silver apostle. He held it out to her. “This is for your trouble in coming to me.”
She took the coin, staring at it. “Alcott will be pleased to have this,” she murmured as she took it.
DeSteny retrieved a second coin. “Then let this one be for you.”
The bright, avaricious light in her eyes came and went in a flicker, but she seized the coin with an eager enthusiasm that belied her apparent subservience. “Most gracious, Sheriff.”
“See that you guard it well,” deSteny recommended.
“I will,” she said in a manner that convinced deSteny that she meant it.
“Have you anything more to tell me?” He reckoned she didn’t, but wanted to give her the opportunity to speak.
“No. That’s the sum of it.” She looked about the shadowy room one more time. “I must be getting back. Alcott said I wasn’t to be away too long.”
“I’ll have one of the pages escort you back,” deSteny offered.
“No. Melusine is at Mass and she will walk with me as soon as I go fetch her.” She was becoming uncomfortable again.
“Then one of the pages will escort you as far as the church where Melusine worships,” said deSteny, and clapped his hands. “Jotham! Come!”
The page came in promptly, his hair as yet uncombed. He bowed to deSteny and gave the young whore a curious glance. “What may I do for you, Sheriff?”
“This young woman needs to be taken to ...” He looked at her.
“Saint Felix of Dunwich,” the young whore supplied.
“Saint Felix of Dunwich,” said the Sheriff. “She will join her companion there.” He nodded as a signal that they could leave. Then he thought of something. “One more thing: what is your name?”
A bit startled, as if she was surprised to be asked, the young whore said, “Duana.”
“You have my thanks, Duana,” said deSteny, and watched the young whore follow Jotham out of the study. When he was sure they were out of earshot, he rose and went to start the fire, setting the kindling alight with a sharp spark from the flint-and-steel that stood at the side of the hearth.
“Very interesting,” observed Prince John from his place in one of the two high-backed chairs.
“So I think,” deSteny agreed, watching to see the gesture from the Prince before he took the other chair for himself.
“You find her credible.”
“Yes, Your Grace, I do,” said deSteny.
“So do I,” Prince John conceded.
“I believe Duana and Melusine have had a very fortunate escape, little though they may know it,” deSteny went on.
“It seems so to me, as well,” said the Prince.
“So this pale young man whose name is not Murray is likely part of Hood’s damnable coterie.” DeSteny studied the fire as it took hold of the stacked wood.
Prince John said nothing for a short while, then: “Do you think he’ll make another attempt?”
“Not among Alcott’s whores. We’ll have to approach Perkin and Gwynnett as well as Mother Onore,” deSteny said. “I will post watchers near their establishments, but tell them not to be obvious—it would interfere with business, and none of the brothel-owners would tolerate that, especially during the Fair. We need their help, and to get it, we must not lessen their earnings.”
“Do you suppose you will have success from this?”
DeSteny’s breath whistled through his teeth. “I hope so, and quickly. The Fair has one more day to run.”
“Tomorrow the prizes are awarded, and the honors are given,” said Prince John. “Sir Gui and I will have our time accounted for.”
“But it will be over before sundown,” deSteny said. “And those getting no prizes may leave in the morning, after a rousing last night tonight.”
“And they aren’t the only ones facing a busy evening—the play is tonight, for All Saints Eve. It will be difficult for you or I, or Sir Humphrey, for that matter, to get away from the castle.” Prince John sighed. “But not attending the performance would offend Sir Gui, and that would be a problem for all of us. His nose is already out of joint.”
“No doubt,” deSteny agreed contemplatively.
“Do you suppose that Sir Gui would consider postponing the play for one night?” Prince John didn’t wait for a response. “No, of course not.”
“He’s smarting enough at having you here.”
“He has made that very apparent,” said Princ
e John. “Still, he must be aware that we have to protect the people of Nottingham as well as the Fair-goers.”
“So long as it isn’t an imposition upon him, I must suppose that’s true,” said deSteny, his tone prudently neutral.
“He will aid us, if for no other reason, to curry my favor,” said Prince John.
“Yes,” deSteny agreed. “For an opportunity for favor, he would kiss a pig—which is no reflection on you, only on him.”
“And what of Mother Barnaba?” Prince John asked, ignoring the awkward apology the Sheriff had proffered. “Is she still willing to assist us?”
“She’s the most redoubtable female,” deSteny approved. “She’d stand at the mouth of Hell itself if it meant avenging her kinsman.”
“And you? What of you, Father Hugh?” Prince John asked provocatively.
DeSteny concealed his wince quite well. “My ordination was years ago and I no longer have a sense of my chrism, but I am ready to do whatever I must to rid England of these vampires.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Even if I must assume my old duties; I would do so with a heavy heart.”
“And your soul? I have been told you do not Confess except at Easter.”
“My faith has gone,” deSteny said reluctantly. “I do not Confess because I doubt that God cares what I do, or think, if He exists at all.”
“But you have kept your vows,” said Prince John.
“As much as a man may, in the world,” said deSteny.
“Then we must prepare for our battle,” said Prince John.
“And all men say Amen,” said deSteny with the full weight of irony.
How the Eve of All Saints Began
THE RAIN had turned to mist by afternoon, and the last of the day’s contests had been finished. Now there was only reveling and celebration to herald the Feast of All Saints, and the preparation for the final awards the following day. A third of the visitors were already half-drunk on the free ale and mead that Sir Gui had authorized be dispensed, many of them out on the streets in rowdy groups. Sir Humphrey doubled his Guard and ordered them out among the merry-makers while the Bishop excoriated those attending Mass for their lack of piety. Nottingham rollicked and the clergy exhorted in vain.
“The players are coming,” said Sir Gui as he rode up into the castle, his cloak of Antioch velvet damp and sodden. Unfazed by this inconvenience, he dismounted and handed his cream-colored mare to a groom, then held out his arms to the men who rode behind him. “Come, my friends! Let us surrender to insouciance and gaiety for the evening. There is a banquet waiting, and players coming to perform for us.”
“Magnanimous of him,” deSteny murmured to Mother Barnaba, who stood beside him in the shelter of the eaves of the tack-room.
“He wants to shame Prince John,” she said. “He will find some means of casting aspersions on your attempts to catch Hood and his band.”
“A risky thing to do, I would have supposed, since his own efforts have been lacking,” said deSteny. “Not that I am in any position to carp.” His face showed how abashed he felt.
“You have done all that you could, and more than most,” said Mother Barnaba.
“It’s not sufficient,” said deSteny.
Mother Barnaba took deSteny by the shoulders and glared at him. “Do not take all this upon yourself. It is not you alone who has failed to expose the vampires.”
“Perhaps not,” said deSteny, “but how am I to present any exculpatory—”
“You have much to be proud of, no matter what results may come. I have seen many and many fine young peacocks like him, and I know they long for display, thinking that admiration gives them authority. A good thing his father isn’t here. Lambert deGisbourne would be most distressed to see how his son amuses himself. The old Baron is not one to look lightly on these festivities; you’ve met him, Sheriff, and you know his demeanor.” She laughed briefly. “I’ll watch from the gallery, with the other women, and I’ll try to not make mock of him, though he is as great a fop as any I’ve seen.”
“For your own sake, if no other, be on guard. As we are under siege, we must be ready for assault from any quarter. You are a most doughty woman, and I can rely upon you not to be distracted. We are all exposed this night, and it would behoove you to keep your rosary near to hand,” said deSteny, and left the protection of the overhang to go greet Sir Gui. He approached the elegant fellow with a required show of deference, and knelt respectfully. “Give you good welcome, Sir Gui.”
As Sir Gui looked around, his brows flicked together. “Oh, Sheriff. How goes the preparations for our evening?”
“Everything is in order, as far as I have been told,” said deSteny. “The Prince will join you directly. He asks you to forgive him for not being here upon your arrival, but certain matters of government detained him.”
Again Sir Gui scowled briefly. “It is the obligation of his office,” he said grudgingly, and again motioned to the men accompanying him. “There must be hot wine waiting for us. What do you say, Sheriff?”
“Hot wine, mead, and brown ale, and pages to serve you,” said deSteny as he stood aside to allow Sir Gui and his companions to enter the keep ahead of him.
Sir Gui tossed his head impatiently. “Do your best to be amused by the efforts of the pages here. They are young and inexperienced. They’re as likely to pour your drink down your front as into your tankard.”
Sir Garland laughed a bit too loudly. “Then we must train them, mustn’t we?” The rest of the company echoed the laughter, and it resounded along the stone walls of the short corridor that led to the Great Hall.
The gaudy young men swirled into the Great Hall, each finding a place on the benches at the long tables while those entitled to sit at the High Table stood waiting for the arrival of Prince John. As the noise of the gathering rose to the sound of a storm in the forest, a dozen young pages came in carrying large pails filled with drink for Sir Gui’s guests. Sir Ninian and Sir Olvan joined Sir Garland in toasting Sir Gui’s health, and were joined by others, sharing this praise.
DeSteny moved away from Sir Gui and celebration around him; he went to the inner door from which Prince John was expected to emerge. The low drone of conversation inside stone walls was distracting, and deSteny found himself becoming annoyed at it. He moved away from the doorway, wanting to overhear what was being said by the men.
“... and the food should be adequate ...”
“... as Fairs go, it has been unexceptional. The jousting was ...”
“... nice as a novice and willing as a whore ...”
“... four pack-mules and a spare saddle horse—you’d think I wanted a peck of gold and a fiefdom ...”
“... said it would be The Truest Arrow. I haven’t seen that played in years, not since the last troops ...”
“... and the Prince himself would have to decide ...”
“... of course, the escort will have to accompany us all the way to ...”
“... still, the venison will be good ...”
“... had heard of trouble in the forest, but so far I’ve seen no sign ...”
“... do you think the Bishop will be at midnight Mass? I must rise early and I want to have his blessing before setting out again.”
“... as fine a bawdy house as any you will find outside of London, and all the girls ripe and fresh ...”
“... rumors about demons, but that’s for credulous fools ...”
“… which of the pages are willing to ...”
“... and I will attend Sir Gui’s proxy wedding to Lady Marian de Beauchamp on the Feast of Saint Andrew at the end of November ...”
“... our fill of entertainment ...”
“... mead’s not too bad, but the hot wine’s rough ...”
“... they say the old man’s keeping to his room; doesn’
t like his son’s society ...”
“... and the price of suckling pig is ridiculous ...”
DeSteny reached the edge of the milling courtiers and stood with his back to the fire. At the end of the Great Hall, opposite the minstrels’ gallery, a stage had been erected at a thwart angle so that all could see it without difficulty, and a few of the house-karls were adjusting the curtains the players had provided. One of that company, a pale youth with dark hair and haunted eyes, supervised their activity. Watching them work, deSteny was struck with the notion that these players were a puzzling group, more reclusive than most of their kind.
He moved a little closer to the stage and gave his attention to the activity there. He saw that Morrain—for so the pale young man was called—looked exhausted; this was hardly unusual for anyone attending the Fair. By the last night, everyone was worn out. But there was something perplexing about the lad, and deSteny wanted to determine what that was. He took two more steps and came to the edge of the platform just as a bray on a wooden horn announced the arrival of Prince John. DeSteny broke off his scrutiny and made his way back toward the High Table as the crowd in the Great Hall came to order.
Prince John had arrayed himself in dark green velvet with scrolls of gold on the sleeves and at the hem; his hair and beard were neatly combed, and he carried himself with the grandeur of his rank, a gold collar studded with cabochon emeralds hung around his shoulders. His coronet was in place and he carried his staff of office, and his ring of regency blazed on his right hand. Striding across the Great Hall, he accepted the courtesy of all the men around him. Finally he reached the High Table and he went to the center seat, then motioned to Sir Gui to join him.
This was the signal for all to take their places, and deSteny climbed onto the dais to take his place at the end of the High Table on the Prince’s right. He was next to Sir Humphrey, and greeted him with a nod. “Are you glad it’s almost over?”
“Glad? No, not really. I had hoped we would have those fell creatures in gaol by now, and awaiting the judgment of the Prince and the Bishop.” Sir Humphrey carried a tankard of mead in one hand and, by the look of him, had been drinking more than his share of it for some little while.
Trouble in the Forest Book Two Page 13
