“They are not sent away, my lord.”
“You know this for certain?”
“Aye.”
“Then what happens to them?”
Andressa closed her eyes as if to ward off the question, but she was too deep into her ghastly tale to refrain from answering. “I… I have seen the Mother Abbess take the stairs down to The Chaos,” she whispered. “When she goes, she always takes her staff with her. It is a big, heavy cross, taller than a man, and she calls it the Staff of Truth, but it is not as it seems. When she has come up from The Chaos, one of the nuns is always waiting for her with a piece of linen. The bottom of the staff, you see, is a dagger. A long dagger that is set within a wooden sheath made to look as if it is part of the staff. I have seen the nun remove that wooden sheath to reveal a bloodied blade. She uses the linen to wipe off the blade before replacing it into the wooden sheath. Do you not understand, my lord? The Mother Abbess kills those who go into The Chaos with her Staff of Truth and believes she is doing it with God’s blessing.”
Maxton sat back, hand to his mouth in astonishment as he pondered what he’d just been told. “Are you serious?” he gasped. “She kills them?”
Andressa nodded her head quickly, wiping at her eyes, at the tears of fright. “I swear upon our Holy Father that it is the truth,” she said. “And you swore upon your oath that you would not repeat it. If you do, I will end up in The Chaos, and I do not wish to go there.”
Maxton was horrified. “But why in God’s name should she kill those she sends to the vaults?”
She shook her head. “I do not know,” she said. “I have been asking myself the same question, except I overheard the nuns speak one day. They said that they had received the regular donation from Lora’s family because they were able to purchase fine meat for the Mother Abbess’ table.”
“Then her family does not know she is missing? Or dead?”
“If they did, they would no longer send the donation.”
That information hit Maxton like a punch to the chest. The family had not been informed so the Mother Abbess could continue collecting the family’s donations. That was greed on an entirely new level. “God’s Bones,” he muttered. “The woman kills the charges who displease her, but doesn’t tell the families? She continues to take their money?”
“Aye, my lord.”
He threw up his hands, agitated and outraged. “Someday, the families are going to know that something is amiss.”
Andressa remained calm. She had lived with this terrible secret for years and it was something that no longer outraged her, only terrified her. “We are not allowed visitors at St. Blitha,” she said. “They would not know the truth and if they did, I am sure they would be told that their daughters died of an illness or an accident. Anything but the truth.”
“But you have seen the bloodied staff.”
She appeared pale and sickened. “I have seen everything but the actual killing, my lord.”
“God help us,” he muttered in disbelief. Then, he pointed in the direction of the street outside. “And this is the same woman who lets her charges run loose in the streets of London, begging for food?”
She nodded again, swiftly. “As long as we do not speak against her and as long as our chores and prayers are completed on time, she has no conscience about it,” she said. “As long as we do not disrupt her life, she cares not what occurs. It has been like that since I have been there.”
It was a truly ghastly story. Maxton could hardly believe it. But in the same breath, he knew what the pope himself was capable of. He had experienced it first-hand. Therefore, it didn’t surprise him that this Mother Abbess was capable of the same, vipers in a church that was full of men and women hiding behind the veil of religion. Therefore, it took very little thought for him to be utterly convinced that Andressa was telling the truth, as dreadful as it was.
“I will not repeat this,” he assured her. “But you cannot go back there.”
Andressa looked at him with some surprise. “I must,” she said. “I have nowhere else to go.”
He was starting to think quickly, thinking of a place where he could take her. The poor woman couldn’t return to the hell of St. Blitha.
“I will think of something,” he said. “You said you had an older brother once? I will assume his role. I will not let you suffer any longer than necessary, my lady. Yours is a horrible story. I am sure I can find a place for you, somewhere. St. Blitha is not a fit place for you, or for anyone.”
She bolted to her feet. “Nay,” she said, moving away from the table so she was out of his arm’s length. “I must return, my lord. You do not understand. She would find me no matter where you take me because I have seen it happen before. Pledges have tried to leave her, but she always brings them back. I… I cannot leave!”
With that, she dashed away from the table, running into men and even knocking over a chair. Maxton stood up, rushing after her, but she was moving faster than he was. She raced from the entry and by the time he got out to the street, he saw her down the avenue, running as fast as her slender legs would carry her.
Very quickly, she was out of sight, but he didn’t go after her. To do so would surely cause a scene and she’d made her wishes known. Something in that godforsaken abbey had her terrified, so terrified that she couldn’t leave it. But from the story she told, he didn’t blame her for her fear – a Mother Abbess who murdered her charges, and a woman who was apparently all-knowing and all-seeing.
It was the most appalling thing he’d ever heard.
As he turned back to the tavern to pay for the meal they’d so abruptly left, thoughts of Andressa du Bose were lingering in his mind. That lovely, pale-faced woman with the tragic life had his attention. He wasn’t sure why, but she did. He was interested in her, but no longer in an altruistic way. He’d mentioned assuming the role of her older brother, to protect her, but that wasn’t why he did it. He did it because if he simply announced he wanted to protect her, it would have been improper considering they were not betrothed or even courting. Moreover, she was meant for the church. A relationship with a man wouldn’t be part of that plan.
Still…
Maxton suspected that in the days to come, he would find her out on the streets again, looking for food.
And he would be waiting.
CHAPTER SIX
Farringdon House
It was a chamber filled with knights.
In fact, the very walls reeked of power… swords… and blood. They had absorbed such things over the years, walls that had seen much of the politics of England.
The first floor solar of Farringdon House was a meeting place, one that William Marshal used to summon the great and powerful of England. It covered nearly half of the floor, and it was a very big floor, so there was easily room for fifty or more men in the solar with its great stone hearth, exposed beams overhead, and painted walls. The floor was made from wide slats of wood, heavy, but pocked from men who had walked upon it with their spurs and heavy boots. It was a spectacular room, meant for men of greatness.
This morning was no exception.
After his encounter with Andressa, Maxton had returned to Farringdon House, entering through an arched and secured gate built into the house itself and protected by several guards. Once inside, he passed through a tunnel that led into a damp, enclosed courtyard. To his right were stalls for the horses and a small corral, but stretching above that were four stories of a great stone house.
Windows faced into the interior courtyard and he could hear voices coming from the open panels – servants, people moving around, and the smells of baking bread. To his left was another arched doorway, heavily fortified, and there was another guard standing at it. He passed through with ease, entering the ground floor of the house, which was mostly servants’ quarters, a big armory, and the kitchens. It was low-ceilinged and dark. A stone walkway through the ground floor led to a large mural staircase, and he took the stairs two at a time as he made his way
to the first floor above.
This floor was bigger, with higher ceilings, and bright with windows. It was also the floor with the enormous solar. Maxton could hear men in the solar and as he entered the room, which was lit by the morning sun because the windows facing west were all wide open and the sun was filling up the sky, he could hear Kress’ voice.
“Finally!” Kress declared. “We were about to send a search part out for you, Max. Where have you been all night?”
Maxton quickly realized there were several powerful knights in the chamber, all of them turning to look at him as he sauntered in. In fact, his reply to Kress caught in his throat as he looked at the familiar faces, some men he’d known for years, and men he’d served with in The Levant and even before.
He was, in truth, shocked to see such a collection, and it looked as if they were all waiting for him. Every eye was on him, including The Marshal, who was sitting near the window with a cup of something steaming in his hand.
“Well?” William said, gesturing with his cup. “Answer de Rhydian. Where have you been all night? We have been waiting for you.”
Maxton’s attention was drawn to The Marshal, but he was distracted by several grinning faces of men he considered his friends, for the most part. “I was not tired last night,” he said evenly. “I sought to enjoy all that London has to offer.”
“To indulge?”
“To think.”
William came away from the window and approached him; he didn’t appear genuinely perturbed at Maxton’s disappearing act, merely curious. “Good,” he said. “I hope you have been thinking a good deal. That is why I have brought these men with me. Some are friends of yours, I believe.”
Maxton nodded, now looking at some of the men who were starting to crowd around him. “You said you had a meeting with the king and the marcher lords,” he said. “I did not realize that you meant they were gathering here, at Farringdon House.”
William was rather humored by the man’s surprise. “They weren’t until last night,” he said. “I sent word to them and asked them to join me here this morning. And not all of these men serve marcher lords, either, but are simply men loyal to England. I will come to the point, Maxton – I have told them of the threat against the king. They know of your mission. That is why they are here. They want to hear of your plan to keep the king alive and they want to know how they can help.”
Looking at the group, Maxton respected those he knew a great deal, but he really didn’t want or need their help. Moreover, there were a few men he didn’t know and he wasn’t pleased that they were in on his mission. Too many men with that knowledge and he might not have the edge he hoped because men, even trustworthy ones, had been known to talk. That was the truth. Nay, he wasn’t pleased at all. But that irritation was pushed aside when he focused on Christopher de Lohr, the very same knight he had told William he wanted no interference from.
Odd how the usual resentment and even annoyance he usually felt for the man wasn’t there at the moment. All he saw was a fellow knight, someone he’d been allied with for years, for better or for worse.
In truth, he was actually glad to see him.
“Chris,” he said evenly. “I see you made it home from The Levant in one piece.”
Christopher de Lohr, a blond god of a man, smiled at Maxton but didn’t go so far as to offer a hand in greeting; that wasn’t the kind of relationship he and Maxton shared. They were critical of each other, perhaps far too competitive with each other, and there had always been the threat of a very nasty fight breaking out between them. However, they were also men who would defend one another to the death. Christopher was the light to Maxton’s darkness and they both knew it.
Even the night must have a day.
“I did,” Christopher replied after a moment. “And I see that you did as well, although it seems to have taken you a very long time to come home. I was told of your troubles, Max, and I suppose I should say that I am glad to see you made it back to England at all.”
Maxton shook his head. “Do not say that,” he said. “It would make me feel all warm and giddy, and I could not stomach it, not from you. Remember how much I detest the sight of you.”
“And I, you.”
Maxton held the man’s gaze a moment longer but couldn’t keep a straight face. With a smirk, he turned to the man standing next to Christopher, with somewhat similar features, but shorter and smaller. Given the size of Christopher, and he was a very big man, that wasn’t saying much. Maxton’s eyes narrowed at David de Lohr, Christopher’s younger brother and, perhaps, an even bigger nemesis to Maxton than Christopher was.
“And you,” he said. “Those men I paid to make sure you did not make it home alive took my money and failed to do their job. I am displeased.”
David was the more hot-headed brother, quick to temper, but a hell of a fighter. Still, he knew Maxton was joking for the most part, but was quick to dish out as much as he was given. He wasn’t about to let Maxton get the upper hand with him, not even this early into the conversation.
“Be careful,” he said, holding up a finger. “You should not say such things. You are in the presence of powerful men now.”
Maxton snorted. “Who?” he said. “You? Chris?”
David’s blue eyes glimmered with mirth. He was relishing the expression on Maxton’s face when he told him the truth. “Both of us,” he said. “When you address Chris, you are now addressing the Earl of Hereford and Worcester. Show due respect.”
Maxton looked sharply at Christopher in an expression that satisfied David a great deal. It was one of surprise and, perhaps, even disbelief. Maxton hadn’t heard about Christopher’s titles since his return, something Gart hadn’t bothered to tell him. Gart was deeply entrenched with the de Lohrs, as he served David, but Maxton knew why he hadn’t mentioned it – it was best that he hear it directly from Christopher and David, given his contentious relationship with them. Still, Maxton couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealously at the news, his contemporary who had been given a glorious title.
“My congratulations,” he said to Christopher, wondering if he sounded as if he meant it. “When did this happen?”
“Shortly after my return to England,” Christopher replied. “Remember that I came home several years ago, so it has been about seven years ago. And David was made Earl of Canterbury very recently, after the death of his wife’s father.”
Another de Lohr with a title. The knowledge compounded the resentment Maxton was trying to fight down and he struggled with his reaction.
“Congratulations to you, also, my lord,” he said to David as neutrally as he could manage. “It seems that while I was off fighting other men’s wars, you and your brother were making good for yourselves here at home.”
David simply shook his head. “It hasn’t been that simple, Max,” he said as he turned away. “We’ve had a mess on our hands for the most part.”
Maxton could have questioned him, but he didn’t have the will to. Whatever David meant, he would find out soon enough. Instead, Maxton turned to the other men in the chamber, men who were waiting to greet him, and he found himself shaking the hand of Cullen de Nerra, a mountain of a man who was the son of the High Sheriff of Hampshire, probably the highest law position in all of southern England.
Cullen was a knight’s knight, a powerful young man with great talent, so great, in fact, that he’d been knighted before he’d seen his twentieth year. Maxton had fought beside the skilled young knight many times, but he hadn’t seen him in ten years, since before he went to The Levant. As he shook the man’s hand, he looked him over carefully.
“Bloody Christ, Cullen,” he said. “You’ve grown into a behemoth since the last I saw you. What happened to that giddy young knight with the big dimples?”
Cullen grinned, displaying the dimples that Maxton had referenced. With his sandy-blond hair and dark eyes, the man didn’t want for female attention. If there were women around, they would gravitate to Cullen before anyone e
lse, making him something of a hindrance to his friends at times. Maxton remembered being rather envious of that particular trait.
“He is still here,” Cullen said. “I had to gain muscle and size to compete with the likes of you. You always were my idol, Max.”
“Shut your silly mouth or you’ll have me weeping like a woman.”
Cullen’s grin widened. “’Tis good to see you home, but I am sorry to hear you’ve had such troubles.”
Maxton waved him off. “It was nothing,” he lied. “Thanks to The Marshal and Eleanor, Kress and Achilles and I have made it home in one piece. That is all that matters.”
“Indeed, it is.”
Cullen slapped him on the shoulder in an affectionate gesture, but further conversation was cleaved as William pulled Maxton away from Cullen and towards the rest of the men in the chamber. They didn’t have all the time in the world for pleasantries with old friends and it was time to finish up the introductions so they could get down to the business at hand.
“Or course, you already know Forbes,” William said, flicking a wrist at Gart, who was standing over by the open windows overlooking London. “But I do not think you know the others. Allow me to introduce you to the fine young knights who have come into service since you have been away from England. Remember the names of these men, Loxbeare; these will be knights with great legacies.”
Maxton came face to face with four big and well-armed knights, as deadly as he had ever seen. The first two looked similar in features, while the third one had pale blond hair and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. He thought he recognized the fourth knight, as a cousin to the de Lohr brothers, a rather muscular man with auburn hair and an auburn mustache. William began introducing them, from left to right.
“This enormous fellow is Sir Sean de Lara,” he said. “Sean is young, but he has been in my service for four years and there is no finer knight in the land. Since we have total trust in this chamber, and what is said here will not be spoken of outside of these walls, know that Sean has recently entered the service of the king as part of the man’s personal guard. You will come to know de Lara, Maxton. He will be close to the king at all times and you will have to work closely with him.”
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