Viper's Blood

by David Gilman

  The blacksmith darted forward, bellowing defiance, but Blackstone sidestepped him and brought his fist down behind his ear. The dull thud of the man’s body sprawling face down sounded as if an ox had been felled.

  The accused men cried out for their wives and children. They begged Blackstone for their lives. Blackstone ignored them as his men-at-arms held them.

  ‘And where is the woman known as Madeleine Agillot? The barber’s wife. Where is she?’ Blackstone’s voice carried across the square.

  The barber turned, wide-eyed, and then fell to his knees. ‘Lord! No! I beg you!’

  The crowd parted revealing a tearful woman dressed in the clothes that Aelis had described to Blackstone, taken by this woman, who had also seized charms and potions when accompanying the men who assaulted the healer’s daughter. She looked terrified.

  ‘You stole from a woman your husband mutilated and raped. Women thieves are punished by drowning.’

  The woman screamed. Her legs gave way and she fell to the ground. ‘Lord! We have children! They will be orphaned! Mercy, my lord. Mercy!’

  Blackstone faced the townspeople. ‘I am Sir Thomas Blackstone and I have no mercy to give.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The ten men of the tithing were hanged on the elm trees beyond the town’s walls. Their bodies were spaced along the track that led from the open countryside as a stark warning to anyone who considered Balon undefended. Blackstone had denied Aelis the right to castrate her attackers. Allowing her to wield the knife would have been a punishment too far in the eyes of the townspeople. A devil’s whore being given such a right would have inflamed the town and risked insurrection and greater slaughter. The four men who raped and tortured Aelis screamed as Meulon emasculated them, then they quickly fell silent as the noose tightened around their necks. The barber’s wife was bound and carried, shrieking the names of her children, to the river where a basket of stones was tied around her waist and she was pushed into the deep water.

  Thomas Blackstone had widowed nine women and made orphans of twenty-eight children. And he had instilled fear and respect into the town’s population. No sooner had he inflicted punishment on the town than he made a proclamation. The town’s men would cut timber from the nearby woodland and reinforce the town’s walls under the guidance of Blackstone’s men. And Blackstone would pay the mayor and the burghers of Balon in gold moutons to have the church roof restored and a new altar built. The gesture softened the town’s anger. Some began to say that justice had been served and that the Englishman had inflicted God’s punishment on those who deserved it, ignoring their own culpability and enjoyment in watching the old man burn at the stake. Eighty-seven people had paid the pardoner for indulgences. Ten of them had been hanged so Blackstone gave each of the seventy-seven men and women the opportunity to lay one strike of the whip against the pardoner’s back. Blackstone gave the crow priest the responsibility of overseeing the beating, a task he relished. False pardoners stripped the Church of penance, payment and prayer.

  ‘It serves a purpose,’ said Will Longdon in answer to Henry’s question as to why his father had allowed such punishments. ‘We hang rapists and make a town afraid. Now they see that we don’t tolerate any wrongdoing. Makes ’em good Christians. Forces them onto their knees at night begging the Lord to keep them safe from indiscretions and an Englishman’s retributions. Your father allows some of them to vent their anger on a man who lied to them. It’s like clearing the bowels when you’ve been blocked. Makes you feel better.’

  The bloodied pardoner was untied from the stake and carried away. The crow priest stood hunched in the early morning chill next to Blackstone as the town buzzed with the excitement of being allowed to inflict their own punishment. ‘You’ll conduct Mass for these people,’ Blackstone ordered him. ‘I gift you to the town of Balon.’

  ‘Stay here?’ the priest said as if being handed a punishment.

  ‘Aye. A new church and altar to give them hope and a stipend to keep your greed under control. You’ll no doubt find a way to grease your palm further. I won’t be here to see it, but if you corrupt your congregation I will give the mayor and his burghers the right to have you stripped and flogged and sent out to the forest and the wolves like the pardoner. Know a generous offer when you see it, priest. It won’t be given again.’

  Blackstone could almost hear the thoughts that scuttled through the crow priest’s mind. Blackstone had given him the opportunity of status and authority in a town badly in need of a priest. Market days would bring in villagers with their wares and an even bigger congregation. And, if he employed patience, he would soon become known as a good priest who offered salvation to those in need. Then he could send a letter to the Pope begging the right to legally sell indulgences on behalf of Mother Church and that would put a few extra sous in his pocket.

  ‘I accept wholeheartedly,’ said the crow priest.

  ‘I thought you might,’ said Blackstone.

  *

  Aelis de Travaux had stayed out of sight on Blackstone’s orders while the town was gripped by his punishment and then soothed with his generosity. By the end of the week, when Blackstone’s judgments had been carried out, Killbere was conscious.

  ‘I am as weak as a damned kitten,’ he complained as Blackstone spooned broth between his frail lips.

  ‘Then you’ll do as you’re told,’ Blackstone said.

  ‘I have a choice? My guts churn and I can barely make the pisspot.’

  ‘We thought you dead on more than one occasion and your stench nearly finished us all. At times I didn’t know who would be better served by your death: you or me.’

  ‘Ah, selfish bastard that you are.’

  ‘I’ve a gift for you when you’re up and on your feet. A beaver-pelt hat. It’s from a pardoner who doesn’t need it any more.’

  ‘Ah. Good. Those bastards wear quality.’ He glanced at the foot of his bed and the empty bench where a wounded man’s armour might lie. ‘You haven’t sold my sword and armour, I suppose?’

  ‘No. Henry cleans it and keeps the blade sharp.’

  ‘Good. I can’t remember much of the fight but I remember the gold. You got it?’

  ‘We did. But we are no longer at Cormiers.’ Blackstone related their journey and what had happened at Balon. ‘The woman who saved you tells me it’ll be another two months before you’ll be fit to ride.’

  ‘Bollocks. A month. No more. We must get back to Edward, we’ve already been away too long.’ He lapsed into silence for a moment. ‘How long have we been gone?’

  Blackstone shook his head. ‘I don’t know. It must be February.’

  Killbere grunted. ‘I must have slept the sleep of the dead. Tomorrow, you get me on my feet. I want to be on a horse in a week and then… well… then…’ Killbere drifted away.

  Blackstone turned to where Aelis sat on a chair in the corner of the room.

  ‘The draught I give him makes him sleep. He needs it to heal and recover,’ she said.

  ‘Can he be left alone?’

  ‘Yes. I will still need to attend the wound but the danger has passed.’

  ‘Then it’s time you went into the town.’

  ‘I cannot,’ she said. ‘They will blame me for the revenge I took on them.’

  ‘The town’s fear and anger has been thrown into the task of cutting trees and dragging them across the fields to be laid against the walls. I gave these people comfort with a new church and a priest who will bear testimony that you are no witch. He will say what I tell him to say. You do not use heretic magic, you heal with God’s grace and the skill your mother and father passed to you. You won’t be harmed.’

  ‘Can you be sure?’

  ‘If you are at my side no one will –’

  ‘No,’ she interrupted. ‘Can you be sure I do not use magical powers?’

  He remembered the false dream he had had of her. He had been trapped, unable to move, knowing now that he had witnessed her lying with Killbere. She must h
ave drugged him.

  ‘Was it a potion I drank, or a narcotic powder thrown onto the flames? What did you do to me? I know it was no dream and I know what I saw that night.’

  The vision of her nakedness had remained in his memory but now she sat before him fully clothed. She had been found suitable garments the morning after Killbere had survived the night. She was dressed simply with no adornments and wore a working woman’s linen cap that covered her tufts of hair. Her dress, tucked at the ankle, was overlaid with an apron.

  ‘I am an enchantress,’ she said. She smiled when she spoke, but Blackstone was still unable to settle the unease he felt when she said it. For all he knew she had brought spirits of the night into the room to heal Killbere. She had thrown a veil over his own mind as surely as a fish was caught in a net, yet she had allowed him to witness her lying with the veteran knight.

  Blackstone stood up, anger flashing across his face. ‘Don’t play foolish games with me. I have had men mutilated and slain as payment for my friend’s life. I could throw you to the crowd now and let them tear you apart. I will not be enchanted, I will not be drugged and I will not remain ignorant of what happened.’

  She appeared to be unafraid of his anger. ‘You were vigilant and protective. But you were tired and needed sleep. I burned herbs in the fire and you breathed their fragrance. Herbs that I am immune to because I have used them for many years. I put a few drops of a potion in your drink. Had I not held you in a stupor I could not have done what I did and your friend could have died. And so would I because you had threatened to kill me. You would not leave me alone with him so I did what I was forced to do.’ She paused and then said, ‘What you forced me to do.’ Her eyes widened, questioning whether he believed her.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘You walk with me through the town so everyone knows you are protected.’

  ‘Even you cannot protect me, Sir Thomas. If a townswoman sought revenge for the death of her husband she would find the opportunity to slip a knife in my ribs. You would never find my murderer. She would become a shadow and no one would expose her.’

  ‘Shadows cannot hide if the town is in flames,’ he said. ‘You’re safe with me.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The dead men’s carcasses rotted slowly, the crows pecked away their soft flesh but the north wind that chilled ordinary men’s bones caused no such hardship to the corpses. It swayed them gently on the gibbets beyond the walls. They also served as a warning to brigands: on more than one occasion those on watch sighted groups of riders on the low hills, but the brigands came within a half-mile of Balon and then turned their horses. At night the sentries heard creatures snuffling at the bodies. They were strung too high for wolves to reach them but that did not stop the smell of decay enticing them out of the forests. Sooner or later the ropes would fray and the men’s carcasses would be dragged away and devoured.

  It was the wrong season to replace the church roof with thatch but the people of Balon had been inspired by the promise of a new priest and a place of worship, and that Thomas Blackstone would pay them in gold moutons for their labour and materials. Despite the persistent rain and sleet the townspeople busied themselves both inside and outside the walls.

  Perinne was given the responsibility of using the cut timber to reinforce the town’s crumbling walls and over the days that passed it was not uncommon for Blackstone to be seen cutting and laying stone. Aelis had awakened desire in him that he wished to be rid of and the physical effort demanded by the rebuilding of the walls helped him push that lust away.

  ‘Have you bedded her yet?’ said Killbere one day as Blackstone helped him down the steps into the courtyard below the mayor’s house.

  ‘I have not and I will not,’ he answered.

  ‘Sweet Jesus, Thomas, she is ripe for it and you will forgive me for saying that you need to shed whatever burden you still carry for Christiana.’

  Blackstone had not yet told the veteran knight that it was he who had already enjoyed the mysterious woman’s carnal attentions. He was not sure why, but he sensed the time was not yet right and that it was best to let Killbere think that he had enjoyed his long-lost nun in his dream.

  ‘That’s not easy for me, Gilbert. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of her. She’s still with me.’

  ‘Bid her farewell, my friend. Carry her in your heart if you must, I can understand that, but your life is in front of you now. You and the boy. You need a woman and this Aelis girl owes you her life. Nothing like gratitude for a good hump. Blow the cobwebs away, man. Bed her.’

  ‘I cannot,’ said Blackstone, the tone of his voice telling his friend that the matter would not be discussed further.

  Killbere had remained silent. It was unnatural for a man not to lust after a woman and this witch they had saved from the stake put the spittle of desire on a man’s tongue. He allowed his friend’s strength to help him down the steps and sit him on a stool as the sun broke through the low clouds. Its warmth for a few hours would do more good than days in bed.

  ‘Go and lift those damned rocks for the walls. I’m glad I’m wounded otherwise you’d have me laden like a donkey.’

  ‘The men need work and they need to keep up their strength.’

  ‘And I need to get off my arse and back on a horse. Leave me my sword so I can feel its comfort, Thomas. But at least think on what I’ve said.’

  ‘I have already. She’s not the kind of woman a man should cleave to, Gilbert. She has a mystery about her that troubles me.’

  ‘Be troubled between the blankets. You don’t have to marry her! God’s blood, if I were more agile I’d have her myself.’

  Blackstone grinned and said no more.

  *

  Each day carts went out under escort to the abandoned manorial lord’s house a few miles away. It had already been stripped by brigands and English scavengers months before Blackstone had arrived at Balon, but none had needed the slates on its roof. The tiles were hoisted up scaffolding to repair the town’s church. Will Longdon, Jack Halfpenny and Thurgood hunted for fresh meat while Killbere went from being nursed at the fireside to walking unaided. Within days he was seen taking further steps to recovery as he swung his sword in the courtyard, practising the skills that had kept him alive through countless battles.

  ‘See here,’ said Will Longdon to Henry, ‘this is what’s needed to bring a man back to full strength when he’s been wounded and lies helpless.’ He took the boy into a cow byre and tied a rope around one of the beasts’ neck. ‘Winter’s a hard time for everyone. You might not remember that growing up because your mother and father kept you fed and nourished. Hobble her,’ he said, handing the length of rope to Henry, who took it and clambered below the stall and secured the cow’s front hooves.

  ‘I do remember,’ he said. ‘Father always made sure that his villagers had enough firewood and food.’

  ‘But did he show you how to bleed a cow?’

  Henry shook his head.

  ‘Well, no man in his right mind will slaughter all his beasts in winter. All right to wring a chicken’s neck for the pot when it’s stopped laying, but eggs will keep a family alive for weeks on end. If he’s any sense he gathers in his fodder and keeps the beasts alive. There’s wool to be had for warmth from goats and ewes, as well as their milk, just like Madam Cow here. That gives a man cheese. No need for a man to starve if he has his noggin working proper. Put that pail just there,’ he said.

  ‘Are we to kill her?’ said Henry.

  ‘Didn’t I just tell you that a man does not kill that which he needs?’

  ‘You have the knife ready.’

  ‘Watch what I do,’ he said. ‘Hold her leg, to help keep her steady.’

  Henry reached forward and gripped the cow’s leg above the hobbling rope.

  ‘Find the vein… here… see it?’ said Will. Henry nodded. ‘Then… you slip the point of your blade in and release the blood. She don’t feel nothing. She quivers is all. There… now we catch the blood in the pail.�
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  Henry’s father had always said that his friend and archer could provide the men with food wherever they fought. He could hunt and cook and now Henry watched as Will Longdon’s skill bled the cow.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘That’s enough. Pack a bit of mud and straw on the cut and then release her.’

  Longdon took the boy back to where the men cooked and slept. The fire was always lit and the smell of pottage steamed in the room.

  ‘Fetch that pot, Henry, and a few handfuls of oats from that sack. Good lad. Now we mix the blood and the oats and…’ He rummaged for a smaller sack, tied off at its neck. ‘…herbs. Always need some herbs if you can get them.’ He offered the open neck to Henry. ‘Fingers in, take a healthy pinch.’

  Henry did as he was told. ‘That enough, Will?’

  ‘Perfect. In the pot with them. And then…’ He copied Henry’s actions and dipped his fingers into an earthen jar. ‘Salt,’ he said. ‘We stir and then we set the pot in the embers. Needs a slow cook and needs watching. When it gets thick we scoop it out and let it cool. Blood cake. Gives a sick man strength. You remember that because one day when I’m not around you can help save a man’s life with it.’

  ‘I will,’ said Henry, gazing at the oats absorbing the blood.

  ‘Good lad,’ said Longdon and ruffled the boy’s hair. He had a great deal of affection for the boy. It was not that many years ago that the archer had scaled a castle’s wall with John Jacob and helped release Henry, his sister and mother. He had seen Henry’s courage when he and his sister had been held captive by the Savage Priest. The lad had offered himself up for death, prepared to sacrifice himself to save his sister. That kind of courage earned respect. Will Longdon had never had any bond of fondness for woman or child, but the loyalty he felt towards Blackstone and the warmth towards Henry told him that such feelings were somehow precious.