Wild Wood (45 page)

When the first spoonful went into my nephew’s mouth, I leaned closer to his mother. “My brother believes Godefroi was bewitched. Have you bewitched me also?”

“Is that what you think?” Firelight caught the curve of Margaretta’s cheek as she angled the spoon again.

“I do not know.” I thought of the cavern beneath our feet and the pagan naming of Flore’s daughter.

“No, Aviss. Let me do it.” The boy had tried to grasp the spoon.

“He is old enough to feed himself.”

“You know about babies, lord?” A pleasant enough remark but with a sting.

“Enough. He is a big boy now, aren’t you, Aviss?”

Margaretta hesitated. “He will spill it. And he has so few clothes.”

“There’s a cloth.” One of the cook women had left a rag on the table.

“If he flicks his food all over you, I shall not be blamed.”

She sounded like any other harried mother, but there was a truce between us as I helped her tie the cloth around Godefroi’s son.

The boy fed himself well enough as the cook women left with food for the men. “You see? Excellently done, Aviss.”

“You should go. I can manage him, I always have.”

I did not reply—what was there to say?—but the silence between us was comfortable as we watched the boy.

“Just one more mouthful.” I was surprised by the pride I felt as Aviss steered the food approximately to his mouth. “There. Almost ready for your own knife. I shall give you one.”

“You like him.”

I looked up to see Margaretta staring at me. Her eyes had a silver sheen in the half-light. Tears.

“Yes. He is a fine child.” I reached a hand to her face, and she turned her head away. “Look at me.” When she did, the tears had spilled. With great care I wiped one away and then another. “Do not cry, Margaretta.”

“There is much to cry about.”

This was uncomfortable—the yearning I felt to hold this girl was a powerful surprise, though Aviss, big-eyed, was staring at us both and I would not frighten the boy.

She did not look at me as she said, “When Aviss was born, and our family was so shamed by what Godefroi had done, I was still blamed. That was very hard.” Margaretta shook her head. “But yet I love my son.”

“My brother was at fault, Margaretta, not you. Certainly not Aviss. Of course you love your little one.”

She stared at me. “I do not understand why Godefroi did what he did to me, for my father told the truth that day. He
had
served Hundredfield with loyalty, we all had. How can your brother have been so cruel to us? So cruel to all his people?”

I shook my head. “Maugris and I are shamed by his actions, Margaretta. Shamed for all you have suffered.”

The girl watched her son eat. “When your father said he would send Alois to the monks, he thought he was helping my brother. But Alois did not want to go, and my parents could do nothing to change the old lord’s mind. Even I tried to plead for my brother. It was for this ‘presumption’ that I . . . that Godefroi”—Margaretta swallowed—“that your brother raped me. He said it was my fault; that by punishing me for disobedience, by making me an example, the people of Hundredfield would learn their duty better. And
Alois was still sent away. Then, I was set to wait on the Lady Flore. I thought it a final humiliation and yet it was not.” She leaned down to wipe the child’s face. “There. Have you had enough?”

The little boy nodded, though he was still staring at me.

I took the cloth from Margaretta’s hand. “Help us with Alois, Margaretta. You are his sister. You know what kind of a man he is, what he might do.”

She shook her head. “When he was sent away, Alois did not know I had tried to help him. He cursed us all.” A bitter shrug. “I will do what I can. I do not want my brother to die. Or you.”

One of the cook women had returned from the hall with an empty platter. She was staring at us.

I murmured, “There will come a time after this when we shall speak. And then . . .”

“Yes?”

I ran out of words. Perhaps there would be no “then.” I heard noise growing in the hall as the food was distributed and stood to give Aviss into her hands. “Stay in Godefroi’s chamber, Margaretta. You will be safe there. Lock yourself in; take food and water and do not come out unless it is Maugris or I that calls. And if Alois comes . . .”

I did not finish the thought. There was no
if
—Margaretta knew that. And we both understood what I had asked.

As I left the kitchen, I turned for one last look at that little trinity of souls. And it seemed to me that these three were all that truly bound me to the world.

“The girl is addled. Why hide from us?” Maugris was in the armory. “Where is she now?”

“In Godefroi’s room, with the children. I’ve set a guard on the stairs for their safety.”

“The baby?”

“She thrives.”

“Where were they?”

I hesitated. “I was praying in the chapel, brother, and—”

“No more time for prayers, Bayard.” Maugris yawned. And forgot his question.

“Margaretta will help us when they come. She will speak to her brother.”

A snort. “If Alois does not kill her first.”

“She tried to save her father from Godefroi, you saw that.”

Staring out through the window, Maugris grunted. “The girl wants something—she hopes to profit by playing both sides.”

I was exasperated. “She wants what all women want, Maugris. Food for her son and a safe place to sleep.”

He shook his head, his face stubborn. “Nothing is as simple as that.”

I would not fight with my brother now. We were both haggard ghosts. I said politely, “You have used time well.”

In the armory, open coffers held newly sharp swords and axes, and bundles of arrows were stacked on the floor. “But to prepare for a siege—you think that the best way?”

“We cannot challenge Alois in the forest until we have more men.”

“But there is still the virtue of surprise.”

Maugris said sharply, “Surprise is not enough. No. I have set Robert to tallying stores and the cistern is full. Let them try to take this place. They will break against Hundredfield’s walls, as so many have.”

Discussion was useless. Hunched against the wind, men were climbing to the battlements below, and I lifted the latch to join them. “I must go.”

“Wait!” Maugris nodded over the river. “Well?” It was rare for my brother to ask advice.

“Alois must come soon. He will surely know we have sent for aid. Our advantage grows with each day that passes.”

“Then why does he wait?”

“What does anyone wait for? More men.”

Maugris said confidently, “They will win us what time we need.” He meant Hundredfield’s household.

I did not reply. Since I had returned with Godefroi’s corpse, fear had spread like a plague and our supporters decreased each day. Alois was a clever man.

Maugris hesitated. He closed the lid on a coffer and propped himself against it. “If the day does not go well when it comes, there is another way.” He beckoned.

I followed him down to the hall.

The great room was empty and the fire had burned low. The ghost of the meal just eaten still floated in the air as Maugris strode to the high board. After a moment, he took Godefroi’s seat and waved me to the stool at his right hand.

“What would you say to firing the keep?”

“When?”

Maugris actually grinned. “Not now, fool.” The glance he gave was almost affectionate. “If we do not kill enough of them, we burn it down. After that, when we have won, we rebuild. Godefroi gave us the plans. We can improve Hundredfield’s defenses.” He looked almost happy.

It was good strategy to deny the enemy what he wants if all else fails, but it was a wrenching thought.

“We might get caught in our own snare. Denying them shelter, we deny ourselves.”

Maugris got up and strode to the hearth. “Almost dead.” He kicked the ashes, looking for coals.

I stood beside him.

“Look. Under your feet, Maugris.”

“There’s only the floor and the . . .”

The grin grew wider. “Old rushes. Well done, little brother. These will fire well. All that grease.”

“And the trestles and the settles. They’ll burn too.” I would do it, if I had to. “Godefroi’s new hangings are wool. They won’t
take flame easily. But there, above the screens. Do you see?” I pointed.

Years of our mother’s labor had made the tapestries that hung above our heads. They were old and dusty, and the linen backing would burn. “If we start the blaze in the rushes around the hearth and in front of the screens, the hangings will catch and then the rafters.” I did not think our mother would care—she would want us to live.

I hurried to the kitchens. Returning with coals in a leather bucket, I found Maugris piling furniture directly beneath the tapestries.

“There are things we must consider, brother.”

Maugris raised a sweating, scarlet face. “What?”

I tipped the coals on the hearth and piled rushes to cover them. “The silver Christ and the Madonna. They must be hidden.”

He passed a hand across his face. “Where?”

“I know a place.”

“Then do it. Tonight. When there are none about to see.”

41

O
LLIE’S ON
the end of Jesse’s bed. He’s put his head on her knees.

“You’re sure you want to talk about it?” Rory’s back is against the west-facing windows. His face is in shadow.

“No. But I think I should.”

Rory takes note of those unhappy eyes. “You’ve had a very upsetting time, Jesse, and—”

“It’s not what you’re thinking.”

Rory hesitates.

“I did not try to kill myself.”

He says nothing.

“But . . .” A long exhale, and Jesse’s expression changes. She’s staring past Rory.

He resists the urge to turn around. “But?”

“Did Mack tell you about Sister Mary Joseph?”

“He tried not to.”

Jesse finds some kind of a smile. “He’s a good man, your brother.”

“Yes.” A brief admission.

“My mother’s dead, Rory.” Jesse huddles into herself as she
strokes Ollie’s ears. “What a nice dog you are.” Tears drop into the fur.

“Here.” Rory’s found tissues. He takes them to Jesse and sits quietly beside her.

Jesse blows her nose. “Did Mack tell you I didn’t want to come back to Hundredfield?”

“He said your case was in his car.”

“Alicia was very nice at dinner, and she invited me to stay on, but I just couldn’t, Rory. I had to do it, had to move on.” Her voice dies to a whisper. “But then, I saw something.”

“What?”

Jesse gathers herself. “At the river. There was a woman under the water. And before you say anything . . .” She holds up a hand.

But Rory’s silent.

Discomfited, Jesse shifts against the pillows. “
She
was there. It’s her face I’ve drawn, Rory. It’s her I see in the dreams, and when I was on the ventilator in the hospital.” Jesse stops. As clearly as she can, she says, “She did not want me to die, she wanted to give me something. Maybe she knew Mack wouldn’t let me drown.”

Rory’s staring at her.

Ollie barks, shattering the charged silence. He whines anxiously, scrabbling at Rory’s knees.

“Smarter than anyone thinks you are.” Rory scruffs the dog’s ears. “What did she give you, Jesse?”

A Harrods bag is beside the bed. She hands it to him.

Rory unfolds the layers of towel warily. And stares at the eyeless face in his hands.

Jesse takes it back and holds it over her own face.

Rory pales. Living eyes stare out from that immobile, glinting countenance.

Jesse says, “Permit me to speak.”

“. . . so relaxed. More relaxed than you’ve ever been. Nod if you can hear me.”

Jesse nods. She’s lying on a couch in the library. Her hair, spread over the pillows, seems almost to glow as she holds the mask over her face.

Rory injects calm into his voice. He says soothingly, “That’s good, very good. So, I will count down from five to one.”

“There is no need.” Older, deeper, the voice has a tone so different than Jesse’s.

The spools turn and turn. Rory says, “May I ask questions?”

Jesse’s head nods once. A graceful, courtly movement.