Shield of Three Lions (5 page)

I fell atop her mutilated body, still warm, the blood still warm. I would have kissed her dead face only it was detached, not there. Oh, surely ’tis a nightmare! This cannot be real! This blood, these tears, oh, God!

No nightmare.

I lay on her, my breath shallow. How can I face Dame Margery? How can I live with my guilt? How can I live without Maisry?

Should I have come out when he said my name? Could I have saved her? Another guilt: aye, I could have offered myself for it was I he sought.

With harsh sobs, I hugged her close, my smiling curly-mouthed Maisry gone forever. I prayed for her, talked to her, hoping her soul was still near. Gradually we grew cold together, she in her thickening blood, I in my ditch water. My teeth chattered and I listened to the heavy stillness around me.

There above, the screech of a kite come to peck at Maisry, and I spread myself protectively over her. Then more silence.

The drum in Dunsmere—when had it stopped? Where was the sun in its run? Had I been here long?

I thought of the incubus-knight. He would have had time to get back to Dunsmere by now, to search for me, to ask people if they’d seen me with Maisry. Surely someone had and someone would talk when they heard that silver jingle. I sat up, my brown garb sticky with blood.

The fields seemed different, ominous, evil. I
should have
saved Maisry, but soothly she had died to save me. Was I going to betray her sacrifice by becoming still another victim? Methought I heard hoofbeats though it could have been my own heart, but I knew I must get back to Wanthwaite.

Quickly I bent over the dear tangled body to give it its last rites and ministrations. I said a fast prayer and blessed her on her journey, crossed her arms, arranged her head so it seemed to be part of her again, closed her eyes, weighted her kerchief across her face with a stone. From her clenched fist, I took the red ribbon for remembrance.

Then I stood and got my bearings. Wanthwaite’s towers were visible to my left though a heavy cloud had settled on them while the sun, now small and pale as a sparrows egg, hung timelessly above. Grimly I picked a course along hedgerows in case I was forced to hide again.

I wanted my mother.

THE CLOUD OVER WANTHWAITE WAS SMOKE.

Dazed, I stood on the far side of the river and tried to understand. Flames still rose from the swaled bailey, but what was the damage behind? Heavy chains squeezed my heart so that each beat was painful, but I fought to keep a clear head. Surely the iron gate
had held, surely my father had long since returned and raised the moat bridge, surely all within were safe.

Still, best be cautious.

I dipped my headband in the water and tied it across my nose and mouth against the smoke, then began my slow ascent. No worm in the ground ever moved more invisibly than I did as I climbed through the hanger, flattening myself against one tree trunk after another, ever alert to human sounds or movements.

My horse Justice was gone, and I trembled with fear. As I neared the palings, I relaxed my vigilance somewhat for the flames were still flickering and there was so much burning stuff on the ground that I had to keep my eyes low. Moreover I didn’t imagine anyone was lurking in the midst of the fire.

At last I reached the moat, prepared to turn into the kitchen courtyard gate on the other side of the bridge, but instinctively first sought the donjon where my father might be stationed.

There was no one at the window.

And the iron gate was open.

As I took in the awful significance of those facts, an iron gate inside my own head clanged shut:
Don’t look ahead, take each revelation as it comes
. For I had to proceed.

The bailey smoke was cast behind me now so I could remove my kerchief. The acrid smell was stifling and there was a constant crackle of timber burning; otherwise ’twas eerily still. No humans, no animals; even the flies had departed.

After many tentative starts, I rested my weight on the plank bridge across the moat and began to cross, picking my footings with care. Even so, one board squeaked and sounded to my ears like a tree crashing! I paused a long moment, waiting for a response which didn’t come. I continued.

Rather than go through the main gate, I again turned to the kitchen courtyard. Inside I saw a stew still bubbling, and in spite of myself felt a surge of hope. Then I went through the second gate to the main courtyard.

I leaned weakly against the wall, not understanding the grisly sight before me. All the flies in the world had descended upon
Wanthwaite and formed a living buzzing mountain in our court. The enthusiasm of the beasts sickened me as I gazed at their blue-black bodies.

One round whitish object lying apart took my attention and I stepped forward to study it. ’Twas a bald human head, its open eyes crawling with flies—Sister Eulalie!

I clapped my hand to my mouth to hold back my scream.

The whole mountain—aye,
all
of it—my friends and servants, the knights, hacked, chopped to bits.

And my family?

I began my awful search. John Leggy, Father Michael, old Robert and young Arthur in loose embrace, all, all.

All but my mother and father
.

When I was sure, I entered the castle.

I gazed in disbelief at the animal hall where the bloody pulps of pointer pups lay mixed with brilliant parrot feathers. At least the parrots weren’t there. Could they survive naked in these northern forests? Our poor old mastiff Courage, his toothless gums bared in a feckless effort to guard our home.

Slowly, in a trance, I walked up the steps.

No one in my chamber.

I paused. Not a sound.

I stood in the arched doorway of my mothers chamber and gazed inside. The first thing I saw was her torn ruby tunic lying in a heap on the floor.

Her beautiful white body lay almost as I’d last seen it and I thought for a moment that she slept. Then I saw the deep gash across her throat where the murderer had drawn his sword, not deep enough to sever but deep enough to kill. And her legs splayed obscenely.

And her skin, scratched and imprinted by the mail of the incubus-knight, plain as a signature that she’d died in Maisry’s manner. Still, she might have been alive except for her eyes, bluer in death than in life but the rays no longer leading inward, for the soul was departed. I reeled and pitched forward.

The chamber faded into oblivion.

I woke, hours or days later, I didn’t know.

My mother?

I may have screamed though I heard naught. I wanted to die. To die and be with my mother. How could I live without my mother? Mother!

I huddled into the wall and prayed for God to take me and I cared not how so long as it was soon. Every moment in this wretched world was now torture. Then I heard footsteps and my heart leaped—my prayer was about to be answered!

“God help us!” Dame Margery filled the archway. “Catherine!”

Then she saw me. “Alix? So it was ye!
Deo gratias!
He’s waiting—in such pain.”

I looked at her dully was folded into her bony arms.

“Your father is under the moat. We heard ye cross.”

I came back from a long distance. “My father?”

“Hurry he’s in a very bad way.”

My father alive? I could hardly believe it.

“Wait.”

I pulled the stopper from the Virgin’s vial to shake out the milk, but the bottle was empty. Quickly I squeezed a few drops of my mother’s blood into the vial, took a lock of her hair. ’Twas all I would ever have of my mother.

“I’m ready.”

Dame Margery made the sign of the cross and we left.

Speaking brokenly and with many omissions, the dame tried to tell me what had transpired after Maisry and I were discovered to be missing. Both she and my mother had guessed early where Maisry and I had gone and Dame Margery had been sent to fetch us home. She’d met that same company of monks I had seen, but they’d stopped her and asked courteously if they could find succor at the castle. She’d assured them that Lady Catherine was ever a devout lady. Later she’d heard the bell, and unlike me, had understood it as a call for help. Immediately she’d turned back and had seen my father with his small band approaching the castle. By the time she’d arrived, the battle was raging. It was then that she’d deduced how the Scots had made their entrance. The Scots? I asked in disbelief. Aye, they’d worn the monks’ robes, then discarded them inside for Scottish war
dress, thus taking our unarmed knights unaware. Dame Margery had hidden under the moat and been able to pull my father to the bank when he’d fallen into the water, mortally wounded.

When we reached the far side of the moat-bridge, she pointed down a steep embankment where a shallow earth-lip extended into the ditch.

“There.” But she held my arm tight so I couldn’t yet move, then asked the dreaded question. “Where’s Maisry Lady Alix? With my mother in Dunsmere?”

Horrified, I looked up into her blinking red eyes. “I—I—” and I swore I’d never tell her the worst. “She’s dead. Killed by one of the knights,” I sobbed. “I’m so sorry, so sorry …”

She weaved unsteadily. “Not Maisry. Why?…”

“She’s dead,” I repeated. “I saw him kill her—I don’t know why.”

But I did: because she wouldn’t tell him where I was.

The dame fell awkwardly to the ground, then threw her apron over her head and huddled in a shaking heap. I patted her and tried to embrace her again, but she waved me toward the moat.

I slipped down the rocky embankment to a narrow ledge by the water where my father lay like a pile of discarded armor, his legs extended into the water. He heard me coming and turned his head. For a short moment we gazed at each other: I saw his left hand kneading his stomach, the trickle of red between his fingers. He lifted his right hand in horror and pointed to my stained tunic.

“You’re not …” he gasped.

“No, no, I’m all right, Father. ’Tis someone else’s blood,” I said hastily and knelt beside him. “Can you walk?”

His breathing was labored but his eyes were clear. “I’m dying, Alix. I waited for you.”

I couldn’t bear his words and started to deny them heatedly, but his eyes stopped me.

“Don’t waste time,” he said with difficulty. “I must instruct you … try to raise …”

“Aye! Don’t talk.”

I slipped behind him and tugged on his torso, using my body as counterweight. He moved but cried out with pain, and I stopped. I
slipped his shield under his head which gave him some relief. But the blood from his wound had now increased, pooling the moat water red.

He waved me closer, and whispered, “List to me well, Alix.”

“Yes, Father.”

“We were … sacked by Osbert, Lord of Northumberland.
Northumberland
.”

Surely he was in a delirium.

“Northumberland? Osbert? Our liege lord?”

His lips made a bitter line.

“And your suitor. He … wants … Wanthwaite.”

I was horrified. I recalled a sour-breathed, croaking warrior, the dreadful things my mother had told me.

His eyes twitched impatiently and I realized that we hadn’t time to discuss my feelings.

“He and his foster son, Roland de Roncechaux …”

I waited.

“… want to make Northumberland a palatinate, their own kingdom.”

I didn’t understand
palatinate
.

“Want our land,” he said.

“Did Northumberland lead the Scots then?”

“No, Roland … brigand knight … beast.”

The knight at the fair with
N
on his shield.
Roland de Roncechaux
. Aye, it must be. And he killed Maisry my mother. I tried not to weep before my father.

“And you knew that they were going to attack?”

He turned his eyes to mine. “Too late.”

I pressed his hand.

“But you can still … go to King Henry …” and his whisper became so low that I could barely hear it. Yet he went on and on, remembering every detail.

“Repeat,” he ordered.

I tried. King Henry was our friend and the only lord great enough to o’errule Northumberland, would give me a royal writ … would assign me to a good husband … send an army back with me
if need be. There was a law in England against the sacking of castles and Northumberland would be punished, only … only …

“Don’t go to the Assize Court,” my father completed.

“Not to the Assize Court. But why?” I’d forgotten already.

“Osbert of Northumberland is the judge.”

But I hardly heard him. All I could think of was that crimson flow from his wound.

“… as a boy.”

“What?”

“
Go as a boy
. Crucial … life depends on it. Boy, Alix …”

“Aye, Father, I will. Dress, name, everything.”

“Find … companion. Never alone. Look … fier. And
boy
.

They’ll ride Scots to border … back soon. Hurry … boy.”

“I’m to go as a boy.” He seemed obsessed by my disguise. “Or I might be abducted.”

“Or worse.”

Maisry my mother. Aye, I would go as a boy.

“And tell
no one but the king
who you are. Don’t be beguiled …”

“No one but the king,” I assured him.