Fortress of Mist (16 page)

“But my lord, you know both questions were impossible for me to answer.”

Thomas’s sigh reached Katherine with as much clarity as his light-hearted tone had done before. “Gervaise, much as you pretend surprise, you expected that decision from me. You know, as I do, that many are now tempted to forsake work for the ease of charity meals.”

Gervaise chuckled. “What do you propose? Every day, one or two more appear at the church doorsteps.”

“Get the Father to deliver long sermons. Ones that must be endured as a price to pay for the meals.”

Laughter from both.

Then a more sober tone from Thomas. “I jest, of course. Instead, find work on the church building or its grounds,” he said. “Any work. Let those who are able contribute long hours, enough so that it is more profitable for them to seek employment elsewhere. You will soon discover who is truly needy.”

“Excellent,” Gervaise said. “I look forward to our evening walk and discussion. You may tell me more about Katherine.”

In the chamber, Katherine’s ears began to burn from embarrassment. It was one thing to spy for noble purposes, another to listen to a
private conversation. Yet she found herself straining to catch every word.

“Yes. Katherine. If she were another, my world might be perfect …”

Katherine could not help but feel a warm flush of hope at those words. Another … did he mean her? Was he thinking of the time she had been allowed to reveal herself to him in the moonlight? Or did he still dream of Isabelle?

She was given no time to ponder.

“M’lord. One waits here outside,” a sentry called into the throne room.

Katherine, of course, could only imagine the silent good-bye salutes between Thomas and Gervaise, and the voice she heard moments later sent an instinctive fear deep inside her.

“Thomas of Magnus.” Not a question, but almost a sneer. The voice was modulated and had no coarse accent of an uneducated peasant.

“Most extend courtesy with a bow,” Thomas replied, immediately cold.

“I will not prolong this through pretense,” the voice replied. “I am here to discuss your future.” A pause. Then the voice spoke quickly. “Don’t! You draw breath to call for a guard, but if you do, you will never learn the secrets of this symbol, nor of Magnus.”

The Druid messenger.

Katherine no longer felt the ache of stiff limbs. Every nerve tingled to listen further.

“I grant you little time,” Thomas replied.

“No,” came the now soft and triumphant voice. “I have as long as I like. Dread curiosity is plain to read on your face.”

“Your time slips away as you speak. What is your message?”

The sneering voice came like a soft caress. “The message is simple, as when you first heard it from Isabelle. Join our circle, remain earl, and gain great power beyond comprehension. Or deny us and lose Magnus.”

“Why should I not have you seized and executed?” Thomas asked after a long silence.

“For the same reason that you still live. After all, we have a thousand ways to kill you. An adder, perhaps, slipped into your bedsheets as you sleep. Undetectable poisons. A dagger in your heart. You still live, Thomas, because your death does not serve our purpose. Just as my death now would not serve yours.”

“No?” Thomas asked.

“No. You and I, of course, are merely representatives. Your death would only end your life. It would not return to us the power over the people of Magnus, who—before your arrival—were sheep to be handled at our whim.”

Short silence. Then from Thomas, “And you represent?” He said it with too much urgency.

The messenger laughed, a cruel sound to Katherine in her hiding spot. “Druids. The true masters of Magnus for centuries.”

“Not possible,” Thomas said. But Katherine heard enough of a waver in his voice to know he did think it possible.

“Not possible?” the voice countered. “Ponder this. Magnus is an incredible fortress. A king’s fortune ten times over could not pay for the construction of this castle and the protective walls. Yet to all appearances, Magnus is located far, far from the bases of power. Why go to the expense, if not for a hidden purpose?”

No!
Katherine wanted to scream.
Lies!

“And,” the voice moved like an arched finger slowly scratching a cat’s throat, “why has Magnus existed so long without being seriously challenged by the royalty of England? The Earl of York leaves it in peace. So did the Norman kings. And the Anglo-Saxons before them. Would not even a fool decide great power lies within Magnus, great enough to deflect kings for centuries?”

No!
Katherine raged inwardly.
Thomas must not believe this!

“Why did the former lord, Richard Mewburn, take Magnus by the foulest treachery?” Thomas said with hesitation. “If you speak truth, it would seem to me that your circle would control this castle’s destiny.”

“Of course,” came the snorted reply. “That’s exactly why Mewburn was allowed to conquer Magnus. He was loyal to us. The earl before him …”

“Yes?” Thomas asked with ice in his voice.

“Don’t be a child! We know you were raised at that forsaken monastery, but by someone who told you lies about Magnus.”

“She did not!”

“And what evidence do you have to prove it one way or another?”

No reply.

Katherine almost needed to force herself to breathe. She dimly felt her nails biting into her palms but still did not unclench her fists.

Thomas, don’t accept their lies! Please, don’t force me to be your executioner!

In the heartbeats that followed, Katherine agonized. Thomas did not know enough to make a decision, yet there was no way she and those she served could have risked giving him the truth.

“I have considered the possibility that she lied,” Thomas said
finally. “And logically, there is no reason against it. I was an orphan and depended upon her for much. It would be difficult for a lost child to recognize the difference between truth and falsehood.”

If Katherine could have slumped in that cramped hollow, she would have. Instead, it felt as if her blood drained into a pool at her feet.

I now wish he had never looked into my eyes
, she told herself,
and had never raised hopes of love
.

“Good, good,” the voice said, now as if it were the cat satisfied with a finger soft against its throat. “We much prefer that you choose to live as one of us. You will share the mysteries of darkness with us, and anything you wish will become yours.”

“It must have a price,” Thomas said, almost defeated. “The rewards may be plain to see, but loyalty has its demands.”

“Thomas, Thomas,” the voice chided. “We wish only one thing as a test of your commitment.”

“Yes?” Now the pleading of total defeat.

“Your hidden books of knowledge. We must have them.”

If he agrees
, Katherine told herself,
nothing will ease the pain of my duty. Yet he cannot lead them to the books. I must force my hands to betray my love for him, and tonight he will die
.

“Go,” Thomas said with sudden strength and intensity. “Go back to the isle of the Celts!”

Katherine blinked in her darkness.

“Yes!” Thomas raged. “Report back to your murdering barbarian masters that Thomas of Magnus will not bend to those who brand the chests of innocent men.”

“Yet—”

“Yet it appeared I might pledge loyalty? Only to see what it was you
truly wished. Now, I shall do everything in my power to prevent you from attaining that desire.”

“Fool!” The word sounded as if it were molten iron, spat bright red from a furnace. “Magnus shall be taken from you as it was given. By the people.”

“That remains to be seen,” Thomas said in a steady voice.

T
he Earl of York stared in disbelief at his son, Michael, a tall, thin young man with a bloody bandage on his head, who held out a small, circular piece of flesh in the center of his palm.

The two of them were alone in the stables at his castle in York.

The earl had been about to ride his favorite black stallion on an inspection of nearby fields of grain, but news of the return of his son had delayed it. Now the earl stood beside the saddled stallion, his hand on the horse’s ribs where he’d been patting it when his son had approached.

Unaware that his hand had frozen against the horse’s side, the earl glanced at the piece of flesh in Michael’s open hand and then back to the blood-stained bandage that covered the top left side of his son’s head.

“Bandits?” the earl said. “They shall be hunted down and hung without trial.”

“No,” Michael said. “Thomas of Magnus.”

“What?” The earl was stunned.

“Furthermore, he told me to show you this and asked me to pass along a message.”

“Thomas cut off your ear,” the earl said heavily, still unable to absorb what his eyes told him.

“He cut it off himself. And took satisfaction in doing it.”

Normally, the smell of hay and straw and horse comforted the earl. He loved to ride and hunt. On horseback, away from the burdens of his power, he felt the most free.

As the earl drew in a deep breath, none of those smells gave him the usual enjoyment. Instead, he fought an outburst of rage.

The earl let out his breath, feeling under control again.

“Thomas also gave me a letter for you,” Michael said.

Michael fumbled with a pouch, a difficult move because he was obviously reluctant to simply drop his own ear and throw it away.

“Straight from Thomas of Magnus,” Michael said, handing a sealed letter across to the earl. “I watched him write it myself.”

The earl examined the wax seal and satisfied himself that it showed the emblem of Magnus. He opened it and read it from where he stood beside the horse.

I have no interest in accepting an invitation for a place of honor at your victory feast. My obligation to you was fulfilled when I led the defeat of the Scots. Further, I will only agree to a pact of allegiance once I receive a payment of gold for my services during the march against the Scots. Ensure that it completely fills the chest I have sent back with your son. If it does not arrive within a fortnight, I will consider your inaction to be a declaration of war. As proof of the seriousness of my intent to wage battle against you if you do not send the gold, look no further than the ear I have taken from your son.

The earl slowly folded the letter. “I still cannot believe Thomas did this.”

“I am your son. You think I tell a lie?”

“You have lied to me before. Let’s not fool ourselves. It would serve you well for me to war against Magnus, for then it would belong to you someday.”

Michael showed scorn. “If I were to lie about this, I would have to keep my head covered the rest of my life around you.”

Slowly Michael unwound the bandage.

He turned a side of his head toward the earl, showing a bloody ridge.

The earl gritted his teeth.

“Make note of what I have sworn in this moment,” the earl said between those gritted teeth. “We shall keep your ear. After Magnus falls, I’ll ensure that Thomas eats it before he faces the hangman.”

T
homas paced his bedchamber as late-afternoon sun lit the stone floors through the shutters he’d thrown open to the window on the west side.

Eyes closed, Thomas ran his fingers along one of the walls.

The ultimatum delivered by the messenger had served to remind Thomas of what he’d set aside because of the war against the Scots—his need to understand how the ghost of Isabelle had come to him in his bedchamber with a similar message.

He was almost prepared to believe that the event had not occurred, that it had been hallucination. After all, to himself he’d nearly proven without doubt that his food that evening had been laced with a type of poison that would alter his senses. The notation in his books about the symptoms of henbane matched very closely how he’d felt upon waking to the presence of Isabelle—sluggish to the point of immobility, the sensation of being tied in place.

Then, his tamed mouse had gone in those dizzying circles from a taste of stew, dropping as if dead, only to wake slowly a short time later.