Authors: Lord of Light
The old man was holding
Alisanne’s hand, his expression concerned.
“Problem?
What would that be?”
Albert briefly explained
the situation, starting with Roane and the Hospitallers and ending with Roane
and Edward preparing for execution. Hearing Albert repeat it in his inebriated
swagger made Alisanne think it was a wild and sordid tale, indeed, an
unimaginable tale of crisis and woe.
The
old man listened carefully, still holding Alisanne’s hand.
“Then her lover and
father are slated for Purification?” Ovier said when Albert was finished. “That
barbaric and brutal end is a weapon of the devil.
It is not right in any civilized world.”
Albert nodded, eyeing
Alisanne and noting her distressed features. “Nay, it is not, which is why I
intend to help her free them,” he said, sounding a little less drunk. “But
there is more, Uncle; the lady has an affliction of the eyes.
I was hoping you could examine her and see if
you are able to help.”
The old man immediately bent
over to peer at Alisanne’s eyes and she naturally recoiled from his proximity
and intent expression.
Albert saw her
reaction and hastened to reassure her.
“My uncle is a physic,
my lady,” he said. “He is very skilled. He learned his craft in the Holy Land
and knows many wonderful and mysterious ways of healing. You must trust him.”
Alisanne wasn’t sure
about letting the old man touch her, realizing the smell she had first
encountered upon entering the hut was coming from him.
He
smelled rotted and old. Resisting the urge to pinch her nose, she flinched with
the old man reached out and lifted her eyelid with a gnarled finger.
“Hmmm,” he said,
studying both eyes. “Do your eyes pain you?”
Alisanne nodded
fearfully.
“Aye.”
“Are they crusted over,
especially in the morning?”
“Aye.”
“How is your sight?”
“Bad,” she admitted.
“Everything is hazy. Sometimes it is very dim.”
“Do you see better in
sunlight?”
“Much.”
Ovier inspected her a
moment longer before dropping his hands and moving over to a large, chipped
table with one leg that was held together with an old piece of rope.
A fat brown cat nested beneath on a bed of
scraps.
The table was strewn with all
manner of bowls and cups and phials, wax from burnt candles and burn marks
marring the surface.
Ovier collected an
oil lamp in the middle of the table, bringing it over to Alisanne so he could
better inspect her eyes.
She watched his
expression with some apprehension.
“My… my uncle had the
same affliction,” she said as the old man inspected her left eye closely. “He
had one bad eye that was glazed over.”
Ovier moved over to her
right eye. “It was milky white?”
Alisanne nodded as much
as she could with the old man peeling back her eyelid. “Aye,” she said. “Our
family has a history of bad eyesight.”
“It was only in one
eye?”
“Aye.”
“Was it red and angry?”
“Not that I recall.”
Ovier let go of her
eyelid. “Then that is different from what you have,” he said. “You have a great
poison in your eyes. It looks as if it has been there a very long time.”
Alisanne didn’t know if
she felt better or worse. “What do you mean?” she asked. “I will go blind with
it, won’t I?”
Ovier moved back over to
the table and began busying himself.
“If
I can get the poison out, then I do not see why you should,” he said. “But your
eyes are damaged.
I can see the injury
on the surface caused by the poison. I fear your sight will always be poor, my
lady, but I do not believe you will lose it.”
Alisanne was
stunned.
“Then… then I am not going
blind?”
“I do not believe so.”
It was the first time Alisanne
had been given hope for her eyesight and she was truly surprised.
All of the things that Dodge had told her,
that the physic had told her,
came
tumbling down upon
her and she was starting to think that mayhap his physic from Worcester had not
been a very good one.
Mayhap it had all
been part of a greater scheme for Dodge to obtain more land and wealth and
titles, by telling a young heiress that she was going blind and marrying Dodge
was her only hope of being cared for once such a thing occurred. Like fools,
she and her father had allowed themselves to be coerced.
Dodge’s lies to a frightened young woman had
gotten him what he wanted.
She was
coming to feel very, very stupid.
“I simply cannot believe it might
be true,” she whispered. “I have been told that I would be blind. And now you
say it is not so?”
“It is not so.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, tears
of joy and relief and disbelief. “Then what will you do?” she asked, her voice
choked. “Can you help me?”
The old man was banging around on
his table.
He put something into a
wooden cup and poured hot water into it that had been boiling over the small
hearth.
He stirred it a bit with his
finger before bringing it over to Alisanne.
“Here,” he said, handing her the
steaming cup.
He pulled out a small
three-legged stool from against the wall and directed her towards it. “Sit and
drink this. It will make you feel better.”
Alisanne obediently sat, sniffing
at the wooden cup. It smelled of flowers. “What is this?”
Ovier was back over at his table,
now indicating for Albert to assist him.
“A warm brew of rose
petals, nettle, mint, raspberry leaves, and petals from the flower of mercy.
Drink it.”
Alisanne did.
It was a slightly sweet brew that was very
warming and as she sipped, she watched Albert and Ovier fuss around at the
table, evidently concocting something.
Albert was attempting to help but he was still so inebriated that Ovier
finally chased him away.
The more
Alisanne
drank,
the warmer and more languid she began
to feel.
She was having a difficult time
keeping her eyes open, exhausted and weary from the trials of the day, but the
brew was also having an effect on her. It was making her feel very strange and
fluid. Finally, Ovier turned away from his table and approached her.
“Come, my lady,” he said, taking
her by the arm and pulling her up from the chair. “You will lie down while I
apply this medicine.”
Alisanne could hardly move. She felt
very drunk.
She practically fell onto
the cot as Albert put her legs up onto it.
Ovier rolled her onto her back and in the dark smelliness of the squalid
hovel,
he hovered over her with only the faint hearth
for light.
His profile had a surreal
countenance in the weak light.
“Now,” he said, taking the bowl
of medicines he had been mixing. “You will lie very still, do you hear? You
must sleep in order for this to be effective, so be very still and go to
sleep.”
Alisanne was nearly incapable of
speech.
She looked at the old man just
as he took a long stick, dipped it into the bowl, and let the droplets from the
end of the stick fall into her eyes. She flinched as it stung, closing her
eyes.
Ovier then dug his fingers into
the same bowl and began smearing something cold and fragrant over her eyelids.
“Keep them closed,” he murmured
as he finished putting a paste over her eyes and began to wrap her eyes up with
a piece of boiled linen. “You must sleep now. We shall see how your eyes are in
the morning.”
Alisanne couldn’t argue with him;
in fact, she couldn’t move. Whatever was in the brew had her floating on a sea
of languid bliss, warm and delirious and calm.
Very soon, she drifted off to sleep, carried away by the strains of
unknown narcotics.
She never even put up
a fight.
Ovier was aware when she drifted
into the safety of deep slumber. Her body relaxed completely and her breathing
steadied. He finished wrapping the linen around her head, binding her eyes,
before setting the bowl down that held the remains of the paste. The cat crept
out from underneath the table and began licking the bowl. Meanwhile, Ovier wiped
his hands off on his dirty brown robe, watching the lovely lady sleep
peacefully.
Albert, who had been
watching the entire thing from the end of the bed, glanced up at his uncle.
“What did you give her to make
her sleep like that?” he asked.
Ovier’s gaze lingered on his
patient. “The flower of mercy has such an effect,” he said. “It is most helpful
for inducing sleep as well as relieving pain. She will sleep for quite some
time.”
“Flower of mercy?”
“Aye,” Ovier replied. “I
discovered it whilst in the Levant.
It
is a mysterious flower from the far east with great pain-easing qualities.”
Albert understood, his gaze trailing
back to Alisanne. “What did you put in her eyes?”
The old man stood up wearily.
“Cow’s milk,” he said frankly. “There is a property to it that tends to rid the
body of poisons. I have seen it many times. Then I put a mixture of herbs and
milk on her eyes to help heal them.
If
it is truly just a poison that infects her, then this should help it
substantially.
We shall see come the
morning.”
Albert’s gaze remained on the
woman now sleeping deeply before him. “Mayhap it is best if she remains here,”
he muttered. “I must free Roane and her father and it would be much better if I
did not have to worry about her. There is something else I did not tell you –
the bounty hunter who forced her into marriage is in town. That is why we fled
here; we saw him not a half hour ago at the tavern near the church.
You must keep the lady here. Do not let her
out of your sight; otherwise, that damnable bastard might find her and all will
be lost.”
Ovier nodded.
“She will be safe here,” he said. “What are
you going to do?”
Albert drew in a long, deep
breath. “I am going to see Roane,” he said. “We have plans to make.”
“But how are you going to free
the man?” Ovier wanted to know. “It ‘twill be impossible to free him from the
vault. There are too many barriers and too many guards.”
Albert was aware of that. “I have
been thinking that the only opportunity to release him will be when they move
him from his cell to the gallows,” he said. “I can ensure that I am on the
detail that escorts him to the executioner. Once I free him, it will be of
little consequence for the two of us to kill the other five guards.
Then we can flee.”
“It is very risky.”
“I do not believe there is a
better alternative.”
Ovier was serious. “What is this
knight to you that you would risk your life so, Albert?”
Albert sobered, his jaw ticking
faintly. “He is my friend,” he said quietly. “I knew it was wrong when the
brotherhood accused him of Heresy.
I
knew it was wrong when they brought him here and savagely sentenced him.
I have known this was wrong all along but
still I did nothing until now.
I have
much to atone for. I cannot see an innocent man, my friend, purified for no
reason at all. I could not live with myself.”
Ovier was pleased to see that the
usually rigid young knight was finally developing a conscience.
“Then you will need help.”
Albert could see just by his
expression that he meant he should, in fact, be the one to help. Albert
grinned.
“You?”
“I was not a bad knight myself,
once.”
“That was a hundred years ago, Uncle.
Can you even hold a broadsword these days?”
“One does not need to hold a
broadsword in order to fight.”
Albert’s smile faded; he was
correct.
The planning for Roane and
Edward’s escape began at that moment.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Who is that fool at the
gate?” the sergeant in charge of the watch could hear bellowing outside of the
Clavell Hill’s gatehouse. “Is that the same man who has been demanding to see
de Garr?”
Albert was standing on
the second floor of the gatehouse, watching the scene below. The man Lady Alisanne
had identified as Dodge de Vere, her husband, was standing at the gate and
commanding that he be admitted inside.
It was a foggy morning, misty, and having left the lady at Ovier’s hovel
the night before so that he could return to his post at dawn at Clavell Hill,
Albert had been listening to de Vere howl since before the sun rose.
At first he thought the man was drunk but as
time passed and the behavior continued, Albert simply thought he was an idiot.
He didn’t even know the man but already he disliked
him intensely.
“Aye,” he replied after
a moment, he dark gaze never leaving the men below. “Mayhap I should go down
there and find out why he wants to see de Garr so badly.”
The sergeant grunted.
“You can go down there and tell him I’ll let the archers loose on him if he
does not go away.”
Albert liked that
thought. It would solve at least one of his problems.
With a grin, he headed down to the gatehouse
entry, ordering the gates open.
The
portcullis was down, a massive fanged barrier made from iron and wood, and he
approached it as the old gates slowly cranked open.
It was dank and dark in
the passageway beneath the gatehouse, the path uneven and smelling of mold. Dodge
and his men were waiting as the gates opened enough so that they could slide
inside.
However, when they saw the
portcullis was down, the demands started anew.
“Open this portcullis!”
Dodge ordered. “You will admit me immediately!”
Albert reached the
portcullis, his patience already thin. “You do not give commands,” he growled.
“Who are you and what do you want?”
Dodge was incensed. “I
am Sir Dodge de Vere,” he snapped. “If that name does not mean anything to you,
it should. I come from the House of de Vere. I am a son of Aubrey de Vere, the
deceased earl, and you will show me all due respect.”
Albert wasn’t
impressed.
He eyed the man through the
gaps in the portcullis. “I have never heard of an earl’s son becoming a bounty
hunter,” he said. “The sons of nobility have more refined professions and do
not make money capturing fugitives.”
Dodge was outraged.
“What I do is none of your affair!”
Albert was trying not to
grin at the man’s indignation.
“Now I
remember,” he said. “You are the man who captured Roane de Garr. I would not think
a son of Oxford to lower himself to deal with common rabble. Moreover, I seem
to recall de Vere having only one son and his name is not Dodge.”
Dodge seemed to lose
some of his confidence but it quickly returned, shadowed by anger. “If you
remember me, then you will open this gate,” he demanded. “I must speak with de
Garr.”
“Why?”
“That is none of your
affair!”
“It is if you want me to
open this gate.”
Dodge grew red in the
face and began to huff. “That is between de Garr and me,” he said. “Open this
gate, I say!”
Albert cocked a dark
eyebrow. “If you do not tell me your business with a prisoner, then you will
leave immediately,” he said calmly. “If you do not leave immediately, then I
will order the archers to let loose upon you. Is this in any way unclear?”
Dodge and his men
instinctively looked to the battlements, noting that, indeed, there were
archers poised upon them.
Startled by
the knowledge, several of them retreated back to the horses in an effort to
remove themselves from the range of the projectiles.
But Dodge pressed himself against the
portcullis as if trying to hide from the threat of arrows.
He wasn’t going to leave until he had
satisfaction or until they dragged him away.
“My wife,” he finally said,
his gaze still glued to the archers above. “My wife has fled and de Garr knows
where she has gone.
He has everything to
do with her disappearance, I tell you.
He
knows
!”
Albert debated his
reply; if he truly wanted to be rid of de Vere, now was his chance.
Mayhap a story or two would send Dodge on a
wild chase, far away from Birmingham and far away from Roane and Alisanne. It
was worth a try. He was relying on the hope that Dodge didn’t seem particularly
intelligent.
“Your wife?” he
repeated. “Why would de Garr have anything to do with your wife?”
Dodge was still eyeing
the archers. “Because… because they were lovers before I married her!”
“How is that possible?”
Dodge looked at him,
exasperated. “She was at Kinlet Castle,” he explained as if Albert was a simpleton.
“Her father is Baron Craven and she was at Kinlet Castle when you and your
fellow priests came for de Garr. She was the bait I used to lure him out of
hiding. Surely you remember her?
A beautiful wench with brown
hair and green eyes.
She was the
only woman in the damn castle!”
Albert lifted an eyebrow
at his condescending tone.
It was time
to play the game, and play it well.
“Aye, I remember her,”
he said, pretending to think. “In fact, you are correct. She did come here. I
saw her.”
Dodge was electrified.
“You did?” he gasped.
“When?
Where is she?”
Albert stroked his chin;
he saw a grand opportunity here and he was not about to waste it. “I seem to
recall seeing her with another man several days ago, in fact,” he said. “I saw
them in town, as I remember, and he seemed to be carrying her off on his horse.
I remember a good deal of screaming.”
Dodge looked at him,
wide-eyed. “Screaming?” he repeated. “What do you mean?”
Albert shrugged as if he
truly didn’t know. “He was carrying her off.
I did not give it much thought at the time, but as I think on it, it was
possible he was taking her away.”
Dodge reached through
the slats of the portcullis and grabbed his arm. “Carrying her away?”
“Abducting
her.”
That only seemed to
inflame Dodge. “Where did they go?”
Albert was casual; it
seemed to enrage Dodge all the more. “They were heading south,” he said. “The
man rode a gray stallion and they were heading south.
He was quite big and frightening looking. That
is all I can tell you.
Now, get out of
here before I tell the archers to let fly.”
Dodge released him and
dashed off in the direction of his horse.
He was yelling at his men as he went, waving his arms, and Albert
watched the main vault onto his horse.
He and his men seemed to be in a great hurry as they tore off down the
road, the one that led through the main part of the town and back off to the
southeast.
Albert watched them as
they galloped off, plowing through anything that was unfortunate to get in
their way, peasants included.
He could
hear screaming and shouts once they left his sight and entered the town.
Lingering on the fact that he had just sent
Dodge off on a fool’s errand, he was feeling quite proud of himself as he
turned away and ordered the gates sealed.
He was just emerging from the gatehouse into the muddy mess of the
bailey when the sergeant in charge of the watch approached him.
“Well?” the sergeant said. “What
did he want?”
Albert was careful in his reply, trying to sound as if he didn’t
care a lick. “He was looking for his wife,” he said. “It seems as if de Garr
and the woman were lovers. Now she is missing.”
The sergeant grunted.
“As if we have time for
another man’s problems.”
Albert nodded as if to agree. “He seemed rather concerned,
however,” he said. “I think I shall pay a visit to de Garr and see what he
knows of the woman’s disappearance.”
“Why?”
“Because if he is a murderer as
well as a blasphemer, then Father Bordeleaux should know.”
The sergeant agreed and let Albert head off to the vault without
further question.
Keeping his pace slow
and his manner even, Albert headed down into the bowels of Clavell Hill.
***
Edward was sleeping heavily, snoring loudly from the illness in
his chest he seemed to have developed over the past day.
Being in the damp mold of the cell didn’t
help matters; the man was wheezing and coughing even in his sleep.
Roane was sitting against the cold and mossy wall, listening to
the man struggle to breathe.
He had no
idea how long he’d been sitting there because time seemed to have lost all
meaning.
All he could manage to think
about was Alisanne and how she was faring.
Edward had said she was working in the kitchens as a servant but surely by
now she must have realized something was very wrong. Her father was missing and
she was all alone.
It tore his heart out
to think of her alone and vulnerable.
He
struggled not to go mad about it.
The only light came from the top of the bottle cell, extremely
weak even in the best of times.
He could
hardly see a hand in front of his face.
As
he sat there and pondered Alisanne and her fate, the grate at the top of the
cell shifted and opened, and a rope ladder fell through.
Startled, Roane wondered if they had come to take him to the
executioner.
He’d lost track of the days
somehow.
He sat still as stone, watching
one boot on the rungs of the ladder and then a second boot.
Someone was making his way down with a torch
in one hand, carefully navigating the flexible ladder rungs.
When he reached the bottom, he landed with a
thud against the straw-strewn bottom.
Roane couldn’t quite make out the facial features until the man lifted
the torch in his hand and his head was illuminated.
“Albert?” Roane said
,
peering at him as
his eyes struggled to acclimate to the fire light. “What are you doing here?”
Albert moved across the uneven floor in Roane’s direction. “Keep
your voice down,” he muttered. “I do not want the guards to hear.”
“Hear what?” Roane asked, but he dutifully lowered his voice. “Why
are you here?”
Albert squatted down beside him, eyeing Edward as the man awoke
and began to stir. “Is that Lady Alisanne’s father?”
Roane nodded, his brow furrowing with confusion. “How would you
know that?” he asked, trying to keep his voice down. “Albert, what has
happened? Why are you here?”
Albert sighed faintly.
“Much has happened, my friend,” he said,
quickly and quietly. “Listen to me and listen carefully; I came across your
lady yesterday when she was praying at church. We had a long discussion about
the situation.
Roane, I must ask for
your forgiveness in this matter; I did not help you when I should have. You were
always a faithful friend to me and you must forgive me for not rising to your
defense when the Order accused you of Heresy. I was… foolish, I suppose.
I knew you were not guilty of what they had
accused you of.”
Roane’s expression was steady. Warm, even. “There is nothing to
forgive,” he murmured. “Had you defended me, you would have been in the same
predicament I find myself in.”
Albert shrugged weakly. “Mayhap that was my fear,” he muttered. “I
did not want to end up like you.
But I
find that I can no longer remain silent about this.
After speaking with your lady yesterday, I
have sworn to help you.”
Roane’s features grew serious. “How is Alisanne? I have been mad
with concern for her.”