“You heard the shouting of the men-at-arms
and the workmen who were at that side of the castle,” Brice
continued. “They saw Alda fall and heard her last scream and ran to
her. And then they all stood back in horror until I arrived, for no
one dared to touch her. My lord, I have no doubt the body was
Alda’s, but it was so changed—so fearfully changed.
“It was the face of an old, old woman,” Brice
whispered. “All the dreadful things Alda had done in her life were
written there, in the lines of her face, for all the world to see.
There was no beauty left in that hideous visage.
“Mirielle.” Brice raised his eyes to hers.
“Could a person so vile, who is a sorceress, make herself appear to
be a great beauty, even while she rots from within because of
wickedness? Was Alda’s enticing, unchanging loveliness no more than
an illusion conjured by a sorceress?”
“It is possible.” Mirielle knelt beside her
cousin and laid a hand on his knee as she used to do before they
had come to Wroxley, while they were still as close in heart as
brother and sister. “A woman who could conjure up a room that did
not exist would certainly have the power to make everyone who
beheld her imagine she was a rare beauty. But over time our actions
and our characters mold the faces we were given at birth until in
old age our true selves are revealed. Alda was a murderess. She
plotted and schemed constantly to gather ever more power to
herself. My old nurse, Cerra, used to say that the gift of magic,
which is an inborn quality, should be used for the good of others
and the welfare of the earth, rather than for personal gain. We
know that Alda violated that rule. It is only reasonable to think
that all the evil deeds she committed marked her face until in the
end, her original beauty was gone and all she had to show to us was
her misused magic. Then, when she died her magic died with her and
her true face was revealed.”
“She hated this room,” Brice said, looking
around. “She refused to come in here.”
“No doubt because this is where she fed the
final doses of poison to my father,” Gavin put in. “She would not
sleep in the bed where he died by her hand.”
“I am responsible for a large part of what
has happened in these last weeks,” Brice said. “Were it not for me,
Donada might still be alive.”
“I am at fault, too,” Gavin told him. “I had
planned to move against Alda as soon as I was sure she was involved
in wrongdoing, but each time I resolved to begin, something
prevented me from acting.”
“Your will to action was restricted by the
enchantments Alda had placed on Wroxley and on everyone who lived
here, or who came here,” Mirielle said. “Gavin, Brice, you must not
blame yourselves so severely. Now that Alda is gone, the spell is
broken. Soon we will all return to our usual selves.”
“Let us hope so,” Gavin muttered.
“Perhaps that same enchantment explains why
you have not moved against me, my lord,” Brice said. “It is your
right to punish me for lying with your wife.”
“I believe you are at heart a good man,”
Gavin responded, “though perhaps overly ambitious. Your care of
Mirielle must count to your credit. She would not love you if you
were completely unworthy.”
“It is hard now to remember how certain I was
that I could one day supplant you and hold Wroxley in my own name.
Alda convinced me of it.” Brice rubbed at his forehead as if that
disloyal thought pained him.
“Given all that has happened, I believe I
would be wise to allow you time in which to prove yourself as
seneschal before making any decision about whether you ought to be
punished or not,” Gavin said.
“Thank you, my lord.” Brice said his thanks
as if his life depended on his choice of words. Then he returned to
the original subject that had brought him to the lord’s chamber. “I
have ordered the carpenter to put Alda’s body into a plain coffin
and to nail the lid down tight. I did not think you would want to
see her as she is now. I wish I had not seen her body. The sight
will haunt me to the end of my life.”
“You did well, Brice.” Gavin’s hand rested on
his seneschal’s shoulder. “She cannot lie in hallowed ground, so I
will have her buried in the fallow field, out by the edge of the
forest. We will do it now, today, before the midday meal. The
sooner we put this unhappy time in the life of Wroxley behind us,
the better it will be for all of the inhabitants.”
On the highest watchtower a dark presence
brooded unnoticed by the men-at-arms who were on duty there. Slowly
the cloaked figure moved to the crenel from which Alda had fallen.
Through the opening in the stone it was possible to see the place
on the far side of a currently fallow field where a deep hole had
been dug and into which a plain wooden coffin was being lowered.
Only the servants who had done the digging and who were now holding
the lowering ropes, and two noblemen and a lone woman were present
at the makeshift funeral.
“Foolish Alda,” the dark presence murmured.
“I warned you, but subtlety was never your concern. Now you have
lost everything. But I -” Here the figure paused for a moment,
leaning forward to look over the edge to the grassy spot far below,
where just a few hours earlier Alda’s broken body had lain. “I
shall not make the same mistakes. There will be a way for me to
seize what you let slip between your fingers. I have long been
patient, I am used to waiting. Just a little while more…a death or
two…or three…”
Sorcerers could stir up strife…
among friendly folk, provoke epidemics,
and raise Storms.
Grillot de Givry
Witchcraft, Magic, and Alchemy
Alda’s death produced some interesting
repercussions. Out at the main gate a group of men-at-arms who
counted themselves loyal to the late Lady of Wroxley got into an
argument with a dozen or so men-at-arms who held a different
loyalty. The result was a brief but bitter swordfight that ended
only after intervention by Gavin’s squires, Hidern and Bevis.
Hearing the clash of weapons the two squires sent a messenger to
Gavin. Becoming impatient while waiting for the lord of the castle
to appear, they gathered some of their fellow squires and a few
pages about them and waded into the fray. One man-at-arms died with
Alda’s name on his lips, various cuts and bruises were sustained by
other combatants, and half a dozen brave young men ended the
morning with aching heads.
When Gavin and Captain Oliver arrived on the
scene, Hidern and Bevis were holding the worst malefactors in a
corner of the gatehouse. Thinking an immediate reward for loyalty
would serve as a good example to all who had been involved in the
fight, Gavin knighted his two squires on the spot, along with four
other youths who had proven themselves worthy of the honor. Those
who had begun the quarrel were also used to set an example. They
were confined to the dungeon until Gavin had decided what to do
with them.
Despite the resulting high spirits of the new
young knights, who eagerly recounted the story of their prowess in
battle to the prettiest of the serving girls, the midday meal was,
from Mirielle’s point of view, a somber feast. Neither the behavior
of those at the lower tables nor the conversation among the men
sitting at the dais with her gave her cause to think all problems
had ended with Alda’s death. Looking around the great hall she saw
reason to fear that more violence was possible.
Those men-at-arms who remained loyal to Alda
and who had escaped blame for the battle at the gatehouse grumbled
and frowned and kept themselves apart from the other, more cheerful
men. Mauger the watchman, who had not been present during the
battle, came late to the meal. He ate little, drank much, and
listened with a sour face to the men who complained that their
mistress had not been given proper burial.
“I see the potential for further trouble
there,” Captain Oliver said to Gavin, voicing Mirielle’s own
concern.
“Watch them well,” Gavin responded. “I want
no one sent to the dungeon unjustly, but neither do I intend to
allow another fight to occur. If you detect any hint of a quarrel
brewing, lock up Mauger and his friends.”
“We might do well to turn those men out of
Wroxley,” Brice suggested.
“In which case they will probably take to the
woods and become outlaws,” Gavin said. “Better to keep them here
for now, so we have some control over them and they are not turned
loose to rob and rape and murder as they please.”
Listening to this discussion, Mirielle lost
her appetite. She could not eat and only sipped a little wine.
Aside from her worry over the immediate future she was intensely
aware of Gavin sitting next to her. While he appeared to be
listening with scrupulous attention to Brice and to Captain Oliver,
Gavin frequently turned to her and the heated looks he gave her
plainly said that he wanted to carry her off to his chamber, there
to complete the romantic interlude that Brice had interrupted.
The memory of Gavin’s hands upon her stirred
a warmth deep in Mirielle’s being. She was finding it almost
impossible to control her feelings for him. She wanted to sit on
his lap again, so she could feel the strength of his muscular
thighs—and feel that other part of him that had reacted so swiftly
and boldly to her presence. She was not ashamed to admit to herself
that she ached for the firm pressure of his hand and his body
against the exquisitely sensitive place between her thighs. With
his hot kisses and even hotter caresses Gavin had created this
desire in her and only Gavin could assuage it.
She longed to touch him, though she knew it
would be most unseemly to do so when everyone in the hall could see
them. She warned herself to stop thinking about such intimacies.
She could tell by the heat sweeping over her that the color was
rising in her face and she feared that anyone looking at her would
know what was in her mind.
To distract herself she surveyed the places
usually occupied by those who were absent from Wroxley for their
safety’s sake, seats she hoped would soon be filled again. But
there were two places that would never be taken, those that should
have been filled by the women who had died. She found it very hard
to feel pity for Alda’s fate, but for Donada, Mirielle sincerely
grieved. In the face of Alda’s unpredictable tantrums Donada had
been a gentle and steady friend and Mirielle would miss her. It
occurred to her that there was one last duty required by that
friendship.
“Gavin,” she said during a lull in the
masculine discussion, when he had turned yet again to regard her
with a faint smile lighting his face, “we still have not buried
poor Donada. When you send to Bardney Abbey to tell Hugh it is safe
to bring the children home, will you also ask for a priest?”
“I plan to do so. If Robin has recovered as
we hope, he will be well enough to attend his mother’s funeral. Let
us pray that holy service will give the boy a measure of peace
after his ordeal.”
“He will miss his mother sorely,” Mirielle
said. “They were always close.”
“I will see that Robin is kept too busy to
grieve for long,” Gavin promised. “I will need new squires now that
Hidern and Bevis have been promoted to knighthood. Warrick and
Robin seem to me to be ideal candidates.”
Anyone watching them would have seen Gavin
smile politely at Mirielle as he spoke to her. Only she saw the
look in his eyes that nearly reduced her to a quivering jelly like
the one made of calves’ feet that was presently being served to the
diners. Gavin did not touch her. It was not necessary. All he had
to do was glance at her and her heart began to pound. She almost
cried out in disappointment when he took his eyes from her to look
toward the lower tables.
“Hidern, Bevis,” Gavin called.
“Aye, my lord.” The new-made knights were on
their feet at once, hastening to stand before the high table so
they could hear and do their liege lord’s bidding.
“Tomorrow morning you are to depart for
Bardney Abbey,” Gavin said. “I will give you letters to carry to
Hugh and to the abbot. Choose half a dozen men-at-arms to go with
you to act as escort when you bring the children home.”
“Yes, my lord.” The two spoke in unison and
Mirielle could see they were hard put to keep their faces serious
at learning their assignment.
“Your children will be safe in our care,”
Hidern said.
“We will guard them with our very lives,”
Bevis added.
“And die rather than let them be harmed,”
Hidern finished.
“We will keep Master Hugh safe, too,” Bevis
put in, unwilling to allow his best friend to have the last
word.
“I am sure you will.” Gavin sent them back to
their table with an expression on his face that suggested he, too,
was hiding elation. The eyes he turned on Mirielle were dancing
with a humor that did not completely hide either desire or
longing.
“I did not sleep last night,” he said. “Nor
did you or Brice. I think that, once the meal is ended, we would
all do well to retire for a rest.”
“Brice does look as though he would be the
better for a nap,” Mirielle murmured.
“So would I. So, I am sure, would you.”
Mirielle knew what he was asking. She thought
she would faint from the intensity of his gaze. Her cheeks burned.
Her lips were dry and she ran her tongue across them. It was
difficult for her to breathe. She saw that Brice had risen from his
seat and was standing behind Gavin’s chair, waiting to make one
last comment to him before leaving the dais. Mirielle was afraid
her cousin would understand the meaning behind anything she might
say to Gavin.
“Perhaps, my lord,” she faltered, “a pitcher
of wine with some sleeping herbs in it would help you to a sounder
rest. I would be happy to prepare it for you.”