Thaddeus made the sign of the cross. ‘Where is the heresy in describing how Lady Anne has protected her people from the pestilence?’ he asked mildly. ‘Do you doubt God blesses Develish when not a single person there has died of it?’
‘You cite God when it pleases you—not otherwise.’
‘As do all men, even Father Aristide when he sees wickednesses that don’t exist.’ Thaddeus turned his head to look at the servants. ‘He’s taught these people to fear God instead of reminding them of His love. They should know He weeps as surely as they do over every innocent life that is lost.’
The young guard spoke into the silence that followed. ‘How can you know the dead were innocent?’
‘For the same reason you do, my friend. Our sins are more numerous than Little Sparrow’s can ever have been.’
‘Would she have lived if she’d been in Develish?’
‘I believe so.’
‘Why?’
‘Milady is skilled in medicine and has taught her people that the best way to cure a disease is never to catch it. The merit of this lesson has been proved many times in Develish. The sick are treated in a hospital away from the village, and by such means illnesses rarely spread.’ He paused to see if the guards and the servants understood him. They seemed to. ‘When news of the pestilence first reached Develish, Milady reversed the method by secluding the healthy. She withdrew her people inside her moat and barred entry to all others, thereby keeping the sickness out.’
Confiteor unum baptisma in remissionem peccatorum et expecto resurrectionem mortuorum et vitam venturi saeculi.
‘And all still live?’
‘They do.’
‘Was it for the same reason that Master d’Amiens ordered the gates barred here and forbade entry to townsmen?’
‘Yes.’
A woman stirred. ‘I helped Little Sparrow over the wall one night so that she might visit her mother in the town. It was forbidden to do such a thing but it broke my heart to see her cry. She loved her mother so much and missed her so greatly. Should I blame myself that she died? I thought her too sweet and innocent ever to warrant God’s punishment.’
Thaddeus glanced from one to the other. ‘Did you all view her in the same way?’
They nodded.
‘Then believe in her goodness and know that God loved her as much as He loves you.’ He turned back to the woman. ‘Don’t blame yourself, mistress. If you were persuaded wickedness was the cause of the pestilence, you had no reason to think an act of kindness would cause her death.’
‘There were many who wanted to care for her when she fell to the fever,’ said another, ‘but the priest wouldn’t allow it.’
‘She was forced out as the three before her were,’ said a man. ‘Would Lady Anne have done the same had any succumbed in Develish?’
‘There would have been no forcing,’ Thaddeus answered. ‘All were agreed that, for the good of the demesne, sufferers would take themselves willingly across the moat to spend their last days in the hospital. There was no other way to protect the healthy.’
‘Are you saying the priest was right to do what he did?’ asked the guard.
Thaddeus glanced towards the entranceway. ‘He was . . . though his reasons were less than honest. He had no cause to berate the maid and none to berate the townsmen now. They’ve shown mercy to every sufferer who’s come to Blandeforde and their compassion has cost them dear. Any grief you feel for Little Sparrow is far surpassed by theirs for their dead families.’
Whatever he’d hoped to provoke by his statements, it wasn’t that Hugh de Courtesmain would pull out a knife and plunge it into the flesh of his shoulder. Thaddeus took the stab for a punch until de Courtesmain rose to his feet with screams of ‘heretic’ and ‘corrupter’, and began chopping down at him with a bloodied blade. The assault was so fierce, and Thaddeus so unprepared for it, that he took several more blows in his arm and shoulder before, with a grunt of pain, he thrust himself out of his chair. All was confusion. The Frenchman’s cries were overlaid by shouts from the guards and panicked wailing from the maids, and the only thing Thaddeus could think to do was block de Courtesmain’s next strike with his left hand.
It may have been a second only that he stared into de Courtesmain’s eyes as the steel drove through his palm. It felt longer. He clamped his right hand over the Frenchman’s wrist to prevent him withdrawing the weapon, and he had time to wonder if the frenzied creature was acting for himself or the priest. The priest, he thought, when de Courtesmain loosened his grip in order to pull himself free and an embossed cross, much smeared with gore, was revealed on the dagger’s haft.
Thaddeus watched dispassionately as the guards wrestled de Courtesmain to the ground and then resumed his seat, placing the edge of his hand on the table. ‘Will you be kind enough to bring me a bowl of heated water and some salt, mistress?’ he asked the woman who’d spoken first. ‘Also clean, boiled rags for binding. The wound will mend faster with a little care.’
She stared at the four-inch blade piercing his palm, and the blood dripping onto the table, then raised her eyes to his, clearly wondering if she would be right to help him. Whatever she saw seemed to persuade her. ‘I will, sire,’ she said with a nod, beckoning to three young maids to accompany her. ‘Whatever the reason for your wounds and shackles, I wouldn’t want you thinking My Lord’s household less charitable than his town.’
Lady Anne had taken Ian’s advice to remain mounted during the Mass, which meant they remained at the rear of the crowd, close to where the driveway entered the forecourt. To descend would have put them on the same level as the men of the town, and while none seemed to be showing signs of the pestilence, there was no knowing if they were hiding fevers or carrying fleas. Ian had fewer qualms about entering the house. Like Thaddeus, he took the barricaded gate and the guildsmen’s tale of the young maid’s expulsion to mean the steward had used the same measures as Lady Anne to keep the pestilence out. Even so, he kept a constant watch for rats.
Lady Anne was more interested in the steward and the priest. She sat with bent head, apparently at prayer, watching them from beneath her lashes. Both gave every indication that they knew the pestilence was caught and not imposed by God. D’Amiens stood well apart from the kneeling crowd on the other side of the forecourt, surrounded by the guards who’d kept the townsmen at a distance as they’d shepherded him up the driveway. The priest remained within the arched porchway, ready to retreat at the first sign of trouble.
She wondered if she’d ever seen a man so nervous. He found every reason to maintain a good space between himself and the crowd, ordering them to their knees at the centre of the forecourt and making it clear at the outset that, without unleavened bread, there could be no Eucharist. All he could offer was the liturgy and a blessing. He chastised the men for their impatience and urged them to leave and return the following day, when the servants had had time to prepare the proper repast; but Master Slater called out that they’d take what Father Aristide could give them now rather than gamble on the morrow. The irony in his tone told everyone they would wait through eternity before the priest found the courage to draw close enough to place bread into their mouths.
Lady Anne’s reaction to the homily was similar to Thaddeus’s. Though spoken in heavily accented English, she thought it sounded rehearsed, as if Father Aristide had delivered it every day since the pestilence first entered Blandeforde; but, unlike Thaddeus, she saw the impact his accusations of fornication and thievery had on his listeners. They eyed each other in puzzlement, as if to ask where such ideas had come from and, were it not for the ingrained respect they had for the Mass, she felt sure one or more would have asked the question aloud. Certainly, the restless movements of Master Miller and his supporters suggested they were far from pleased to be charged with sins they hadn’t committed.
The priest raised his voice at the end of the Credo to remind the crowd of his authority. ‘I believe in one Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church. I confes
s one baptism for the remission of sins, and I look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come. Amen.’ He stood in silence for several long moments as the kneeling men crossed themselves and then began the bidding prayers.
Only Joshua was close enough to hear the shouting in the great hall. Before the Mass began, he’d steered his horse and the pack ponies towards a tethering rail which was attached to the sill of a window to the right of the entranceway. He was too curious not to look inside as he leant forward to loop the ponies’ halters around the bar. The sun outside was very bright and the gloom of the interior very dark, but he felt certain he could make out Thaddeus seated at the end of a long table.
Dimness and distance obscured the man’s features, but he appeared a head taller than those around him. He seemed at ease and Joshua wondered sourly why they’d wasted so much energy on him since the chances were he’d already convinced the steward he was Athelstan. He willed Thaddeus to look in his direction, but his friend’s interest was fixed on the priest in the entranceway.
Joshua’s position left him exposed to the eyes of the townsmen, and he felt obliged to pretend a greater devotion than his companions, who were behind them. He lowered his head and closed his eyes but, being deeply weary after two anxiety-filled nights, the dreary drone of the priest’s sermonising sent him to sleep. He couldn’t say what woke him unless it was his dogs’ restlessness. They were ranged as a pack slightly in front of his mount, hindquarters quivering and muzzles pointing towards the entranceway.
His immediate assumption was that the priest’s decision to advance onto the forecourt was unsettling them. His black cope fluttered around him as he walked and his chants grew louder and more strident. For those in front of him, the sound of his voice drowned out all others, but Joshua distinctly heard the wailing cries of women from inside the house. He turned in alarm towards the window, but the sun was reflecting off the panes and there was no seeing through them. He guessed there were other cries he couldn’t hear when one of the mastiffs began to inch forward with growls rumbling in his throat.
Joshua hadn’t time to debate the rights and wrongs of what he did. He flung himself from his saddle, drew his sword and ordered the pack on. He might resent this one dog’s annoying loyalty to Thaddeus, but he was no more inclined than the animal to stand idly by if his friend was in trouble. As he ran towards the entranceway, he saw the guards around the steward reach for their bows, but he was well inside before any had nocked their arrows.
There was such a confusion of people in the hall that the dogs ran hither and thither, barking ferociously. Joshua saw women and maids scattering in terror towards the walls, while a group of liveried men seemed to be struggling with a prisoner. He thought he recognised him as Hugh de Courtesmain but scarce gave him a glance, for his eyes were fixed firmly on the manacled figure at the end of the table. With a command to his dogs to come to heel, he strode down the room and positioned himself at Thaddeus’s side, stationing the pack around him.
‘Your mastiff sensed you were in trouble, My Lord, and he would seem to have been right.’ He looked at the knife through Thaddeus’s hand and the seeping gashes in his coat. ‘Did the guards do this?’
‘No, Buckler. They’ve shown me only courtesy. You may lower your sword. No harm will come to us from them, though you have my permission to set the pack on de Courtesmain if he slips their clutches.’
Joshua stared at the Frenchman for a moment. ‘They’d make short work of him, sire. There’s not enough flesh on him to satisfy one dog, let alone seven. Should I pull the knife from your hand?’
‘Not yet, my young friend. It’s all that’s staunching the flow. I’ve been promised water and bandages by a kindly servant.’
‘You’re bleeding from other places, My Lord, and those wounds might be as bad. We should remove your coat so that Lady Anne can tend to you. She is outside and will know better than servants what to do.’
A faint smile lifted Thaddeus’s mouth. ‘Indeed, but even she will have to remove my shackles first.’ He watched the doors darken as the captain and several fighting men entered the hall with swords raised. ‘Place your weapons on the table and step away from me,’ he murmured. ‘Let them see you’re not a threat. There’s no reason for any more blood to be spilt.’
Lady Anne placed a warning hand on Ian’s wrist as half the men surrounding the steward set off in pursuit of Joshua. ‘Do nothing,’ she whispered. ‘To fight would be madness. Thaddeus will be saying the same to Joshua.’
‘What if he can’t, milady? Joshua wouldn’t have entered unless he thought him in danger. They could both be in trouble.’
‘Then they must help each other. I will not allow you to imperil the lives of the townsmen by acting foolishly. I gave a pledge of peace and will not break it.’
She said no more and Ian sensed rebellion coming from his twin as the dreary Latin ritual continued. Why had she refused the steward’s orders for them to disarm if she wasn’t prepared to let them fight? Perhaps the question was his own, for he felt the same frustration. But he also knew the answer. No lord would have accepted orders from a man of lower status. For Lady Anne to obey d’Amiens would have been to acknowledge that his rank was above hers, and she would have lost the townsmen’s respect.
But was their respect worth having, Ian wondered, as he watched the dutiful crowd respond to every prompt the priest gave? Not one seemed to wonder why he had advanced onto the forecourt and raised his voice. To Ian it was obvious that some noise had erupted inside the house which the priest was trying to hide. But what? Had Thaddeus called for help? Was Joshua expecting his friends to follow him? Ian knew he hadn’t imagined the barking of the dogs afterwards.
He observed the captain emerge from the entranceway, relieved to see that his sword was sheathed and his livery unruffled. Nevertheless, the man appeared a reluctant bearer of news as he whispered a hesitant explanation into the steward’s ear. Whatever he said was met with anger. D’Amiens’ eyes narrowed to slits before he whispered a command and then dismissed the captain with an abrupt nod.
‘Keep faith,’ Lady Anne breathed as the captain set off at a run towards the western end of the building. ‘If anyone is dead or dying, the steward would have ordered him brought outside to the priest. They both hold too fast to Church ritual to deny a man the last rites.’
‘What if you’re wrong?’ whispered Olyver.
‘Better two die than fifty.’
In her own way she was as ruthless as Thaddeus, Ian thought, and he wondered if she would react as coldly if he challenged her decision. ‘As Athelstan’s men, we should be at his side, milady. A lord’s soldiers are pledged to protect him. The steward must be wondering why only Joshua has gone to his master’s aid.’
‘Did you honour your pledge two nights ago?’
Ian shifted uncomfortably. ‘You know we did not, milady. Thaddeus wouldn’t allow it.’
‘And wouldn’t now. It’s not force that can release him, only persuasion.’ She nodded to the far corner of the house. ‘I see the captain returning. Can you make out what he has in his hand?’
‘A ring of keys, milady.’
‘How strange,’ she murmured. ‘I wonder what purpose they have if they’re kept outside.’
The captain refused to approach until Joshua and his dogs had retreated ten paces. ‘I need your parole, sire,’ he told Thaddeus. ‘The steward won’t allow me to release you from your chains unless you make your pledge before witnesses. Speak loud enough for the servants to hear.’
Thaddeus glanced towards the assembled household. ‘You are the captain’s witnesses that I give my parole gladly and will make no attempt to escape.’ He turned back. ‘Will that suffice? In truth, I’m too tired even to stand at the moment.’
The captain tut-tutted as he used one of the keys to unscrew the metal bar that held the manacle in place on Thaddeus’s left hand. ‘I hope you don’t blame my men, sire. They thought he was slapping you until they sa
w the knife.’
‘I also. Take care not to touch it. I doubt the pain will be so easily borne if the blade moves.’
The captain eased off the hoop of the shackle and dropped it onto Thaddeus’s lap. ‘It can’t stay there forever, sire,’ he said, moving around the chair to unlock the other manacle. ‘Would you have me draw it for you?’
‘No thank you, my friend. I’ll do it myself when the servants bring me the means to cleanse and bind it. What keeps them so long?’
A woman stepped forward. ‘You asked for clean, boiled rags, My Lord.’
‘Is that an unusual request?’
‘It is, sire. We have no store of clean rags. Mistress Wilde is scrubbing a threadbare kirtle with tallow soap in order to cut it into strips for boiling. She begs your pardon for the time it is taking.’
‘And I hers for putting her to the trouble.’ Thaddeus thought for a moment. ‘Is my charger outside, Buckler?’ he asked.
‘He is, My Lord. He carries Lady Anne.’
‘Then perhaps the captain will allow you to retrieve the packs from behind the saddle. There are some linen braies inside which I know to be clean since I’ve yet to find a use for them.’ He smiled at the ripple of laughter that ran through the women at this mention of undergarments. ‘You would pity me if you knew of the folds linen braies form inside my britches when I’m riding. They rub most severely.’
‘My Lord says the same, sire,’ called a man. ‘He too refuses to wear them, never mind how much Milady begs him to follow the customs of the King and his court.’
‘Milady would beg even harder if she had to launder his britches,’ said a woman’s voice.
The jest brought laughter from all the servants, but there was a tinge of wildness to their merriment which seemed to speak less to humour than the release of long pent-up emotions. Thaddeus beckoned Joshua forward as the sound rippled on. ‘Will you permit my man to go?’ he asked the captain. ‘This blade will be harder to pull the longer it stays in place and I need clean wadding to stem the flow of blood.’
The Turn of Midnight Page 29
