Lords of Darkness and Shadow (128 page)

It was brisk and clear. Cantia glanced back at the shelter that had housed them through the night; it was made from leaves, rocks, pieces of wood, basically anything that would fit together and hold a shape. They were in an area that had some rolling hills to it and this particularly shelter was backed up into the base of a rise so that the back end of it was pushed into the dirt.  She stood by the door, looking around the area now that daylight had come, and she could see an entire camp spread out before her.

There was a surprising amount of people milling about, collecting wood for the fire and water for cooking. A small stream ran over to her left, about a dozen yards away, and she could see both men and women drawing water.  There also seemed to be a massive cooking fire off over to the right, just outside of a hedge of trees, and she could see a few people gathering around it. 

Increasingly puzzled, she stepped away from the door, growing more interested in her surroundings, when someone abruptly grabbed her by the wrist.

Startled, she shrieked as he yanked her away from the stone and wood shelter, pulling her with him as he walked towards the massive cooking fire in the near distance.  The man who had her in his grasp wasn’t particularly large, but he had a strong grip as he pulled her along.  He looked at her and Cantia could see that he was older, with stringy dark hair and flashing dark eyes, and his body was lithe and wiry.  Then he smiled at her, a rather insane gesture, and she was stabbed by fear.

“See who I have!” he bellowed to anyone who would listen. “Our prize has awoken!”

Some of the people began cheering and Cantia tried to pull away from him as he dragged her over to the cooking fire.  He yelled some more, drawing a crowd, and people began to come out of their lean-to’s and shacks to see what all of the commotion was about.  By the time they reached the cooking fire, Cantia was nearly in full blown panic, trying desperately to pull away from the man.  As they came to a halt in a crowd of dirty, smelly, loud people, he slapped her across the face when she tried to kick him.

“That will be enough from you, woman,” he growled, his mad-like grin vanished. “Behave yourself.”

Cantia’s hand flew to her stinging cheek. It hadn’t been a hard slap, but it had been enough to smart. “Behave
myself
?” she repeated, angry and afraid. “You abducted me and my son, and you have the gall to tell me to behave?”

The crowd snickered as the man just looked at her. Then, that crazy grin returned. “Ah,” he said, almost sweetly. “Listen to her speak. She is a fine, fine lady with a noble background. Is that not correct, little chicken?”

Cantia glanced around at the crowd nervously. “Who are you? Tell me your name.”

The man snorted. “Still, she makes demands. This is a woman used to having her way.”

The crowd cheered and jeered and Cantia was struggling not to become completely terrified. “I was not making demands,” she clarified, hoping she didn’t sound arrogant.  She didn’t want to appear demanding in front of this rather rough group. “I was simply asking a question. Who are you and why did you abduct us?”

Without letting go of her wrist, the man bowed deeply. “M’lady,” he said mockingly. “I was under the impression we were saving you.”

Cantia’s fight came to a halt, stumped by his statement. She looked at him, shocked. “What… what do you mean?”

The man mimicked her expression. “Were you not in danger? Were you not about to be abducted by that knight, perhaps even worse?”

Cantia was at a loss, suddenly not feeling so completely frightened. “You saw what happened?”

The man nodded confidently. “We had been trailing your party for some time,” he said. “We saw the knight kill his two colleagues and set upon you. So we saved you and your children.”

He seemed very proud of himself. Cantia was completely baffled. “You
saved
us?” she repeated. “What in the world is going on here? Why were you following us?”

The man shrugged. “Because you were there,” he said simply. “To tell you the truth, we were going to rob you but when we saw the knight turn against you, we decided to act. Perhaps it was because of the children or perhaps it was because we still seek your riches. I do not know. Perhaps we may kill you after all.”

Cantia was back to fear again. “Please do not kill us,” she begged softly. “If it is money you seek, then I can promise you a handsome reward if you return us to Rochester Castle.”

The man’s careless and rather humorous posturing fled and he peered at her, clearly interested.

“Rochester Castle?” he said, somewhat incredulous. “Is that your home?”

She nodded eagerly. “Aye,” she replied. “My... my husband is Viscount Winterton. He will pay you a great deal of money if you return the children and I unharmed.”

The crowd rumbled restlessly and the man seemed to lose some of his confidence. In truth, he looked rather uncertain.

“Winterton,” he repeated. “Is he not part of East Anglia?”

By his tone, Cantia wasn’t so certain that was a good thing. She didn’t like the way he said it. But she didn’t back out, not after she’d already divulged the information.

“Aye,” she said, eyeing him, eyeing the crowd. “Please return us to Rochester. I will make sure you receive a goodly reward.”

The man let go of her wrist.  He seemed to be oddly subdued, unusual for a man who had been so animated moments before. He looked around the fire, at the faces of the dirty and destitute people, seemingly lost in thought. Cantia watched with mounting apprehension as he seemed to ponder her offer.

“He will kill us,” he finally said.

Cantia shook her head. “Nay, he will not,” she insisted. “You did indeed save us from a rogue knight.  My husband will greatly reward you, I promise.”

The man’s gaze lingered on her. “Winterton is a man without mercy. I should know. His army burned my village and destroyed my home. My family and I had to take refuge in the forest because we have nowhere else to go. Now we live here, with these fine people, and we take what we want.”

With that, he grabbed her wrist again and yanked her roughly in the direction they had come.  The crowd yelled and cheered as the man spouted all of the terrible things he planned to do to the prisoner.

Terrified, Cantia was back to fighting him again, scratching and kicking, until he tried to slap her again but missed.  Then she threw herself to her knees, trying to stop the momentum, but he simply pulled her along, dragging her through the grass and dirt, collecting leaves against her knees as he pulled.  By the time they reached the shelter where Hunt and Arabel were sleeping, she was verging on panicked tears.

“Please,” she begged. “Do not hurt me.
Please
.”

He didn’t reply other than to yell victoriously at the crowd in the distance and throw open the shelter door, tossing Cantia inside. 

Cantia fell to the ground, nearly landing on Hunt.  The boy had been awakened by all of the commotion and was sitting up, rubbing his eyes and crying when he saw his mother sprawled on the ground.  His weeping woke up Arabel, who lay next to him but was too weak to sit up as he was doing.  She just lay there, crying, with her hands over her face.

On the ground, Cantia cowered as the man entered the shelter behind her and slammed the door.  She was horrified at what she was sure was about to happen, in front of her son and Arabel no less, and the tears began to come. Still, she didn’t give up; as the man came close, she put up a booted foot to kick him away. She was going to fight him or die trying.

But instead of descending on her, an odd thing happened; the man veered over to the wall where Cantia’s satchels sat, fairly intact.  Cantia watched him, terrorized, and saw he was going for the bags.  As she watched, he unfastened the leather ties and opened up the satchel.  Then he began to rummage around.

“You have some fine things,” he said, pulling out a luscious topaz-colored silk surcoat and holding it up to the muted light. “This is beautiful. Where did you get it?”

Cantia was still on the ground, confusion mingling with her terror. She slowly began to push herself up.

“I... uh, that is to say, I bought the material in London,” she said hesitantly.

“Did you sew it?”

“I did.”

The man looked at her over his shoulder and she saw a glimpse of that insane smile once more. “You have great skill,” he said, turning back to the contents of the bag and pulling out a blue cotton. “If you are the viscount’s wife, do you not have women to sew for you?”

Cantia eyed Hunt as the boy wiped tears from his face. “I do,” she said. “But I enjoy sewing.”

The man simply nodded, throwing the topaz silk over his shoulder as he continued to rummage around in the bag. “My mother used to sew, and sew very well,” he told her. “I developed an eye for fine work. Based on your wardrobe alone, I believe that you are Winterton’s wife. It takes money to purchase what you have.”

Cantia didn’t know what to say to that. She pushed herself to her knees and crawled over to the pallet where Hunt was sitting.  She sat beside him, wrapping her arms around the boy to comfort him.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

The man finished with one satchel and began digging around in the other.   Then he looked up at her, flashing that toothy grin. “Steal your clothing.”

Cantia didn’t say anything. She wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, so she looked down at Hunt, kissed him on the forehead, and reached out a hand to hold on to Arabel, who was still lying there, weeping.

“Please,” she said after a moment. “Can you not see that this child is very ill? We must return to Rochester.”

The man glanced over his shoulder at the young girl still lying on the pallet.  She was very tiny, very thin, and seemed to be unable to use her arms or legs very well.  He shouldn’t have cared about it but he was curious nonetheless.  In that curiosity was a fraction of inherent pity.

“What is wrong with her?” he asked.

Cantia held Arabel’s hand tightly. “She was born this way,” she said softly. “She is crippled and I am sure the abduction last night has severely weakened her. She cannot take such excitement. Please... have mercy and return us.”

The man’s rummaging slowed to a halt. He looked at the trio on the pallet, seeing their scared and tired faces.  For the first time that morning, he began to show signs of uncertainty and perhaps even remorse.

“My name is Gillywiss,” he finally said. “These people,
my
people, live here because one way or the other, we have been chased or scattered from our homes by men such as your husband. Why should I show mercy to you?”

Cantia wasn’t without pity. She knew that those who did not live in castles were subject to terrible things. She knew that times were dark and desperate.

“Because the children and I have done nothing to harm you,” she said softly. “We are innocent, just as you are innocent. Would you punish us for things beyond our control?”

“No one is innocent,” he snapped softly. “Your husband is evil, lady.”

“My husband is a good man,” she replied, anger now joining the other emotions she was feeling. “He is kind and generous and sweet, and he cares very much for his family.”

“He is a murderer!”

“He is commanded by those in power and does what he is told to do,” she fired back. “He does not murder for the sake of murdering. He is part of this terrible war that is going on, brother against brother, where all men suffer.
I
have suffered. I have suffered great loss because of this foolish contention between Stephen and Matilda, so do not think to lecture me on the evils of battle, for I have lived them.”

He was not convinced. “What have you possibly suffered?”

She looked away from him. “Death,” she muttered. “The death of someone very close to me. Never imagine you are the only one who has suffered through death and loss.”

“Who has died?”

Cantia looked at Hunt, her gaze soft and lingering. “His father,” she replied. “He was killed in an ambush, more than likely by people such as yours. You think my husband a murderer? Perhaps you should see it from my perspective.”

“Winterton is not his father?”

“Nay.”

Gillywiss stared at her, surcoats in hand, preparing a sharp retort that simply died on his lips because she would not understand, anyway. But she had a point. He was an odd man, odder still because he stood up and pulled the surcoat over his head and tried to fit into it. Cantia watched, increasingly baffled, as the man tried to pull a substantially smaller garment onto his frame.   When he caught Cantia and Hunt looking at him rather strangely, he flashed that crazy smile.

“Lady, you will scream now,” he told her. “Scream until I tell you to stop.”

Cantia still wasn’t over their conversation, but he apparently was. Like someone had lit a flame, his demeanor change was instantaneous. When he waved his hands at her as if to encourage her to obey him, she took a deep breath and screamed, perhaps fearful of what would happen if she didn’t.

“Again!” he commanded. “Scream as if I am violating you in every possible way. Do it!”

She let go of Hunt and moved away so she wouldn’t be screaming in his ear.  She howled and cried, on and on for several minutes as Gillywiss tried on her surcoats and fine things.  Belts that wouldn’t fit around his waist were put on his head, like a diadem, and he pulled the fine silk stockings on to his arms, smelling them.  In fact, he smelled and touched everything, and when he came to a vial of expensive perfumed oil, he spread it liberally on his hands and inhaled the heady rose scent.