Knight Errant (12 page)

He was about to march out of the gate when it opened and a ragtag crowd of beggars, cripples, and dirty urchins tumbled through. Herding them all into the inner courtyard were Juliana, Henry, the two guards, and one very large Nubian.

“Where have you been, and who are all these people?” he asked Juliana.

His Beguine patted a few stray hairs into place and fixed on that cursed smile, the one that made both his heart and body hurt most pleasantly and tended to fog his brain. She folded her hands in front of her. “These are folk we intend to help, and this is Shabaka, our cook.” She gestured at the Nubian.

“And?” Robert placed one hand on each hip. He was not fooled by her outward calm. Her knuckles were practically frozen white.

“And, what?” She attempted to walk past him with a jaunty step.

He grasped her arm and dragged her into the garden. “Where have you been?”

“That should be obvious. I went to Palermo to find a cook.”

A hummingbird flashed between them.

“You cannot simply bring anyone to this house.”

“Why not, pray? Is this not a beguinage? Am I not a Beguine?”

“What and where you are is not the point. As a Beguine, you have enemies in this city. If you do not take great care who you invite within these walls, we may find ourselves suffering the same fate as the previous occupants.”

“I know you believe that is true, but if we can show the people here enough kindness, they will learn they have naught to fear from us and that Beguines are not heretics.”

“Kindness will never be enough. Once made up, people do not change their minds about anyone they fear, no matter what you do to help or aid them.”

“That is a very sad way of thinking.”

“It has served me well.”

“Nonetheless, I cannot agree with you. Kindness goes a long way to helping people change. Besides, my sisters and I are not so different from the citizens of Palermo.”

“In the eyes of the locals, you are very different. You neither speak nor behave like the women they know. You compete with the weavers in their home city for their customers. Worse, a very influential priest has labeled your community heretics, and killing heretics is worthy of heaven. The poor here may take your charity, but if the choice came between you and the weavers or Basti’s assurance of heaven, you would be dead in moments.”

“Oh my.” She sat heavily on the wide rim of the now clean and functional fountain, her smile reduced to a faint quirk of the lips. “You have a point.”

“I am glad you realize that. I am also glad you had the good sense to take Henry and the guards with you.” Feeling that he had scolded her enough, he said this last more gently.

“Still, this is the work we came here to do. We cannot simply send those people back to the streets.”

“Why not?”

“If we did that, they would believe Beguine charity to be meaningless lies.”

“What does it matter if a few beggars think your charity false?”

“It matters a great deal. We cannot further the Beguine cause if we confirm the ill opinion that Basti and those who follow him have of us. We must keep our promises.”

Robert admired her determination and loyalty to principles, but would such dedication lead her to heartache? His own commitment to a promise had already led him into much regret. He tried another approach. “Once you feed these beggars and care for the cripples and children, others will come.”

“’Tis what we hope for.”

“Then restrict them to the courtyard and have Henry or one of the guards about at all times.” He clipped his words. Her refusal to face reality made him wish to shake her. She needed a keeper. And she would have one as soon as she wed. He was almost glad someone else would bear the frustrations of guarding Juliana.

“Aye, we will do that,” she concurred.

He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.

“Good. Tonight I will go into the city to the shrine of Saint Olivia and pray for our speedy and safe journey to England.” He would also pray for strength to resist the temptation Juliana represented. If protecting her was his chance to atone for his father’s crimes, he was not doing a very good job. She was too great a distraction. He needed absolution before he could attempt the journey back to England. He would pray for that as well. Heaven help them both if his prayers went for naught.

“You are leaving us?” One hand went to her throat, although the faint smile remained on her lips.

Concerned and oddly pleased at the slight signs of her distress, he took the hand that trembled at her waist and soothed his thumb over the backs of her fingers. “Does the thought of my absence trouble you? ’Tis only for one night, milady.”

“No.” The tiniest quaver shook her voice before she gave a delicate swallow. “Of course I am not worried,” she said more firmly. “Henry and the men you hired will keep us safe in your absence.”

He placed her hand back at her side. “Then I shall be off.” He turned to walk away.

“You do not ride?”

He turned back.

“I go to pray. Where would I keep a horse?”

Juliana nodded. “’Tis appropriate. A supplicant should be humble, and the truly humble walk.”

“Aye.”

Robert made to go once more.

“Wait.”

He halted.

“You have forgotten your sword. I will get it for you.”

He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Nay. I have no need for a sword during a night of prayer. My purpose is not to pray for my knightly prowess, nor to renew vows already made new on my pilgrimage to Jerusalem.”

“Then what?”

’Twas the perfect opportunity to speak of the guilt that consumed him. Tell her of the ravening beast that threatened to break loose at the slightest provocation. ’Twas fitting for her to look on him with distrust and horror. It would remind him how much stood between them. He should tell her of the evil that lived in his soul.

He could not.

“Our journey, Lady Juliana,” he reminded her gently. “I go to pray for God’s help to keep us safe while we travel to England.”

The smile grew wide, but her eyes grew cold, and her hands folded together at her waist. “Of course.”

She could deny her nobility all she wished, but the woman was too gentle for her own good. Unable to speak his heart, he growled, “Be ready to leave for England as soon as I return.” He forced himself to walk away.

• • •

Robert’s prediction about the increase in beggars, cripples, and orphans proved true. Though she worried about him keeping lonely vigil, Juliana was too tired to do much more than fall into bed that night. She could not even worry how to oppose the departure for England he had threatened on his return.

The next morning, she tended the blisters on a beggar’s feet. Pus filled the oozing sores. That the man could walk at all amazed her. The line of poor and sick behind him wound all the way around the courtyard and out the gate. She could not possibly tend them all today, and tomorrow there would be more. Berthild and Gretle were as exhausted as she. They needed help. She prayed that more Beguines from Ghent would arrive soon.

Just as she sent the beggar hobbling to rest near the fountain, a murmur ran through the crowd and the line dispersed.

She looked up to see a monk standing before her. An escort of six men stood just inside the gate to the street. What kind of monk caused beggars to flee? For a brief moment her heart stopped, then began to race as fear and worry washed through her. Had Basti sent his deputies to search for the letters? Did Berthild and Gretle stand in harm’s way?

“You are
Sorella Juliana
, the healer?”

She wiped her hands clean on her apron. “Yes, I am Sister Juliana, and I care for the sick, although I make no claim to the knowledge of a healer. How may I help you?”

“I am Fra Giovanni from Il Castellaccio in Monreale. The archbishop’s clerk of books is ill, and His Excellency begs your assistance to nurse the man.”

“While I am honored that the archbishop believes I may be of some small help, why does His Excellency not have his own physician attend the secretary?”

“Sadly, the physician died of the same illness three days past, and the appointed replacement has not arrived from Rome.”

“Please tell the archbishop I am sorry for his loss. What of other physicians from Palermo?”

“Most of them are Saracen and the well-being of a Christian can hardly be trusted to an infidel. The situation is most urgent,
sorella
. I must insist you come with me now.”

Juliana pressed her lips together. So many poor and sick here in Palermo needed her aid. To neglect them in order to help just one man seemed wrong. Yet to be of aid to the local archbishop would show that he held Beguines in high regard and might help ease tensions with the weavers’ guild. However, to travel alone with a stranger to an unfamiliar place was no small risk. She should go nowhere without an escort she could trust, even if she wanted to help the archbishop’s clerk. Guilt ate at her over the knowledge that she did not truly want to help the man. She wasn’t a selfish person, so she must go, but perhaps not just yet. She would delay until Robert could come with her. The thought gave her pause. When had she come to trust and depend on him?

She nodded. “I will go, but I must organize things here before I can leave.”

“Thank you,
sorella
.” Fra Giovanni bowed. “The archbishop is deeply grateful.”

“Yes, well, you and your men may wait in the courtyard while I finish here. I will have our cook bring refreshments. I must also make some preparations before we leave. How distant is Castellaccio?” She sent one of the few beggars who lingered nearby in search of Berthild.

“San Benedetto Castle is but three leagues. However, when he fell ill, the clerk of books was at His Excellency’s country home, and that is a full day’s ride from Palermo.”

She indicated where the men should wait, then turned, speaking directly to Fra Giovanni. “I must bring my personal belongings and medicines.”

“You need pack nothing. The house is well supplied. All will be provided.”

“The archbishop requested my help, and I will give it in the best way I know how. For that I insist on bringing a few of my belongings and supplies. Else you should find another to care for the clerk of books.”

Fra Giovanni blinked in surprise. “No, no,
sorella
, His Excellency asked for you. Thus no other will do. Since you insist, I will await you here with the archbishop’s guards.”

The monk’s words were oddly rushed, as if the man panicked. Was the archbishop so harsh a taskmaster?

Harsh or not, Juliana had promised to help. “Thank you, Fra Giovanni. I will hurry.” Before she had gone five steps, Berthild came bustling to her side. “What are you doing to go alone with this monk?”

Juliana explained the situation. “Will you see to their comfort, while I prepare for the journey?”

Berthild eyed the monk and his six guards. “Are you certain traveling with him is wise?”

“I am far from certain, which is why I insisted on packing my things first. I hope to delay long enough for Robert to return from his vigil.”

Berthild smiled. “Excellent. Sir Robert will send the monk on his way.”

Juliana looked over at the waiting group. “No, I promised to go. A man is seriously ill, and deserves what little help I can offer. Besides, if we are seen as friendly with the archbishop, perhaps the weavers will be more inclined to negotiate with us.”

“But a monk? What if he is one of Basti’s deputies?”

“I doubt that. But if Robert comes with me, he will stand as witness to my safety, and they can do me no harm.”

“Robert is only one man.”

“True, but I dare not take our guards. ’Twould offend the archbishop and leave you and Gretle vulnerable. The weavers here are not our friends yet.” She walked toward the house mentally preparing a list of what she would need and hoping for Robert’s speedy return.

“I agree.” Berthild paced beside her. “However, our negotiations with the guild are going well. I have hopes that all parties will be satisfied very soon. Then peace can reign, and we can get on with our real work.”

“That’s wonderful news. Helping the archbishop can only further our cause. By the time the rest of our sisters from Ghent arrive, we should have all prepared. Now, see to the refreshments for Fra Giovanni and his men. Try to distract them so they don’t realize how much time I am taking to pack.”

“I will.” Berthild strode back to the courtyard.

Juliana ambled to her room and with no particular hurry packed her personal supply of medicines. She lifted the cloak that had been tossed with apparent carelessness over her writing table. She had been called away abruptly this morning to help with the beggar’s maimed feet, and the cloak had been the only quickly available means to hide the items on the table. Setting the garment aside, she gathered the vellum sheets on the desk, the letters Angelina had given to her care and several copies made over the past weeks. Juliana moved to the mosaic, bent to remove the bricks, and put the vellum into the iron chest. Leaving all in the secret niche, she replaced the bricks, confident that the letters would be secure until she returned. Later she would seal the copies in wax and sew them into hidden pockets within her cloak. If Robert managed to force her to return to England, those copies would go with her, and she would turn the originals over to the care of another Beguine.

Worried that Fra Giovanni would begin to lose patience, she hurried to gather the rest of her things and tried to conjure other plausible reasons to delay. Robert could not return soon enough.

• • •

Hot and tired from his vigil and the walk from the shrine, Robert entered the beguinage courtyard. He wasn’t greeted with an army of beggars as he expected, but with the sight of six men at arms surrounding a monk who handed Juliana onto the saddle of an elegant, white mare. With worried looks, Berthild and Gretle stood off to one side.

When Juliana settled, the monk headed for his own mount.

Robert felt a knot grow in his stomach. If she planned to escape her return to England by embarking on some new journey, she would find her plans changed. In no mood for his charge’s tricks or her smiling obstinacy, Robert stalked through the mounted men and grabbed hold of her mount’s bridle. “Lady Juliana, what are you about?”