Shield of Three Lions (13 page)

“What be that tall spire on our left, mistress?” I asked.

“St. Paul’s Cathedral in the new Gothic style. ’Twas only just completed and is the greatest cathedral in all Europe.”

“And that pile beyond?” Enoch inquired. “The massy battlement tinted pink.”

“Westminster, where the king holds court when he’s in London.”

“When
he’s in London?” I cried shrilly. “Where would he be if not London?”

“Caaaa! Caaaaa! Caaaa!” hooted the silly hussy, only she had no
chickens to take up the chorus. “‘Where would he be?’ asks the pretty little boy. Why lad, he could be a thousand miles distant in Aquitaine, or across the Channel in Normandy, or in Anjou and he’d still be in his kingdom. King Henry rules the world, that he does. Would he could rule his family as well. Caaaa! Caaaa!”

“Do he still keep his queen in prison then?” Enoch asked, much amused.

“In
prison!”
I gasped, horrified. “King Henry has put his own wife in
prison?”
’Twould make him hardly better than Northumberland! Were all such great lords so cruel and heartless? My heart tumbled to my yellow boots.

Dame Gladys leaned forward and patted my hand kindly. “Don’t be so stricken, laddie. Queen Eleanor be not in a dungeon, such as the likes of us would be if jailed. She’s kept in a tower, I believe, and probably comfortable enough.”

“And she be lucky not to be hanged,” Enoch added. “She gaddered her sons into an army against their father, and they all rode against the king. Yet he forgave them—at least to the point of sparing their lives.”

“But he put his queen
in prison,”
I repeated. “How long has she been there?”

“Hmmm, my Harry died in …” Dame Gladys counted on her fingers. “It be fourteen years now.”

“Fourteen years!” Longer than I’d been alive. Such dreadful information on the king’s character must bode evil for my chances of a happy marriage if he chose my husband.

“Sae lang as ye’re askin’ all these questions, Alex, come to the mast important one. Where be yer uncle?”

Gladys turned, smiling. “I don’t know everybody in London, but I do know how to contact most everybody one way or t’other. What’s his name and what’s he do?”

I bit my lip and stared as my mind raced. “His name was Frank from Denoigh but I know not what name he took in the Church.”

“Be he a clerk? Or a priest?”

“No.” Then I was inspired. “He’s of the Carthusian Order.”

“That’s part of the Benedictine,” said Enoch, frowning.

“Aye, it means he’s taken a vow of silence.” I lifted my eyes innocently to the Scot.

“Then how—?” He stopped himself in deference to Gladys and studied me speculatively.

“La, a vow of silence, how miserable. I’d never make such a vow, might as well be dead as not talk. Well, now let me think. Carthusian? There be a man from Oxenford I used to play with—when we were children, of course—that became a priest at St. Paul’s and listens to confessions on Sundays. Mayhap he could tell us where the order can be found in London.”

I thanked her and asked to be excused. She and Enoch wanted to walk out until curfew but I was too tired and too fearful of being seen. Even Enoch donned a blue chape as disguise.

Left alone in my annex, I lay on my stomach before the low window and gazed out on the tiled and thatched roofs of London where they stretched under the tapered heaven. Somewhere in the maze Roland de Roncechaux, his knights and his men awaited me. I shuddered though the air was warm. The king’s court at Westminster—I would question Jasper Peterfee about it tomorrow, how it could be reached and what days ’twas open.

Meantime, there was the immediate problem of Enoch. Our relationship was fast coming to an end for, as he’d said, he’d gotten me to London safe and sound. ’Twould be easy to disappear in this vast city but less easy to discover exactly where I should go and how subsist.

Until I saw the king.

MY ANNEX COULD BE ENTERED ONLY THROUGH A low chute hardly big enough for a rat. The next morning I was wakened by a cursing and grunting from the hole as Enoch tried to reach me.

“Waesucks! ’Twas made fer rigwoodie hags, methinks.”

Finally he sat under the eave and glared down at me.

“Now, young fellow, ye and me mun talk a bit. Tell me agin about the uncle what won’t say a word. How can he help ye?”

“Mayhap he can write,” I said. “Leastways my father was certain he could restore Wanthwaite or he wouldn’t have said so. Father knew he was Carthusian.”

“Or mayhap he has connections in court,” Enoch mused. “Aye, ’tis possible. But let me speak a few words, for I’ve taken no vow—and list to me good. If by chancit this uncle turns out not to be able to help, or—and this be worse—if by chancit I learn that ye’ve told me another lie, then ye and me be gang to settle in our own way. Do ye ken?”

I understood his hot blue eyes all right, but not that word “settle.”

“Not exactly. Only I’m not lying.”

“I mean twa things: yif ye’re lying, yell be whipped; yif the uncle cannot help, then ye still owe me half yer estate and we’ll work out another way to get it. Now am I clear?”

“Aye,” I whispered.

He backed out the hole and left me to my thoughts.

Mistress Stump had prepared to take us over all of London that Saturday. Enoch accepted her invitation but I declined, for I was too fearful of being seen to enjoy a holiday. In fact I would have preferred that Enoch stay inside also, for Roncechaux would follow the Scot as quickly as he would me, but there were greater advantages in letting him go. I
could have
escaped in his absence except that as yet I had nowhere to go that was nearly as safe. As it was, I sent for some hot water and washed both my person and my clothes in the wooden tub put in Enoch’s chamber. The hot sun dried my clothes and hair quickly at the window and I then sauntered downstairs to seek Jasper Peterfee.

The crippled host proved most helpful. Westminster was close to our inn in the hamlet of Charing. He didn’t know if King Henry was in London, but the chancellor listened to grievances every day except Saturday and Sunday and I could learn from the courtiers
what the king’s schedule was. For a silver livre, Peterfee agreed to remain silent about my activities.

On Sunday Fortunes Wheel turned against me, for Mistress Stump postponed her homecoming another day. Enoch insisted I attend Mass at St. Paul’s in order to meet Gladys’s friend, the priest from Oxenford. I balked and argued against it for I feared Sir Roland would go to St. Paul’s if he went anywhere, but in the end I lost because Enoch claimed that if I refused ’twould mean I’d been lying.

Gladys led us directly to a confession box after Mass and called for Father Lucas. The holy father was a lusty-looking man who seemed disappointed that Gladys wasn’t alone. When she told him our problem, however, he was most sympathetic. He turned soft lickerous eyes down on me and clucked his tongue.

“The Carthusian Order. Frankly ’tis not a popular order and I’m not sure they still have quarters in London. If you’ll let me speak with some of my superiors, I’m sure I could give you directions this time tomorrow.”

“That will be fine,” Enoch answered for me, and we left.

Dame Gladys and Enoch escorted me back to the inn and left me there alone again. This day was less pleasant than yesterday, however, partly because I’d made what arrangements I could, thought of every conceivable variation on what might happen, and had naught to do now except worry. Gradually my gloom centered on Enoch. If he was as late returning this night as last, I’d already said goodbye to him. I couldn’t wait to be free of him, yet he’d saved my life. Aye, more than once, for I pictured Sir Roland searching for me in the inn, the chase through the forest. I didn’t want him to think me a deceitful, ungrateful boy who took what I list but would not honor my word.

I dined alone in the salle, peering all the while from the window for sight of the Scot and his dame but they didn’t come. Finally I crawled into my hole and made ready to sleep, for I must be up well before dawn to make my escape. Enoch would just have to hate me if that’s what he wanted. I twisted and turned in the mildewed room, vaguely disturbed by scratching inside the walls.

Curfew bells woke me and I heard Enoch moving in his quarters. Good, I could still say goodbye—without doing so openly of course—and let him remember me sympathetically after I’d gone. Happily I crawled through the passage toward a flickering candle at the other end.

Enoch was naked on his pad when I arrived and I stood uncertainly a moment, for he was twisting so that I thought him in pain. His buttocks rose and fell as he groaned and grunted.

“Enoch?” I said softly. “Are you all right?”

“Aye, now, now, oh, careful …”

With disbelief I heard the voice of Gladys Stump coming from under Enoch and by leaning close I saw that she was there indeed, held by her wrists and crying out …

And I was seized by a manic disposition—head pounded—eyes saw red—I lost all reason! Horror o’erwhelmed me and I once again heard my own voice screaming over the inert body of my mother as my throat tore:

“No! No! No! No!”

I saw Maisry bleeding, saw my own blood dripping after my first night with Enoch and knew the truth at last! He
was
a demon-killer!
Did
have a serpentine tool to murder by night! I flung myself on his bare back snarling and scratching to slay him dead!

Up and down I rode, as I had on Maud’s swelling stomach, only this was to the death instead of the birth and nothing would stop me till I had the Scot’s blood!

“Don’t worry, Gladys, I’ll save you!” I shouted.

“What? What the—”

“My God, ’tis a bogle on my back!” cried Enoch, rolling over suddenly and throwing me on the floor. I was on my feet again when he rose and I saw my enemy clear by candle glow, a writhing, rising snake glistening purple. I lunged at the monster to twist its head off!

“Eeeeoooo! He’s attackin’ my terse! Quhat ails ye? Hae ye gan woodly?”

Whereupon his fist struck my jaw like a Lochinvar ax and I fell hard against the wall!

“Yow!
Eeow! Oh, I’m gelded sure! I’ll kill ye, ye blitherin’ toad! Eeeeeoooow!”

“What happened? Oh Lordy be ye sliced off? Who did the deed?” cried Gladys Stump as she leaned to look at Enoch where he clutched himself

“Alex, that heilie fiend that I befriended! He’s the Devil hisself!”

I’d tied Lance before I came, but now the wolf dashed from the hole and leaped on Enoch knocking him to the floor. I heard the beast growl and heard the Scot cry out as his hand groped for his dagger.

“Let me at the beast! I’ll kill him. Ow, he’s after my hurdies!”

Aching in every joint, I fell upon Lance and stopped him by taking his jaws. “Stop, boy, no. It’s all right.” For the Scot would slay him sure.

“Help! Help! Wolf!” Gladys flung the door open and rushed naked into the corridor.

Soon Jasper Peterfee was there, without his wooden leg, followed by servants and gaping guests.

“Let
me
at him!” a voice bellowed drunkenly. “I’ve killed many a wolf in my day, aye and fox too.”

“What happened?” Peterfee asked the groaning Scot. “Are you bad bit?”

“Go to,” Enoch grunted. “I’m all richt. The wolf went woodly.”

Peterfee closed the door leaving Gladys, Enoch and me alone.

“I’d whup the lad till he couldn’t walk, brother or no,” said Gladys. “Are ye all right, dear?”

“Aye, by mornin’ I’ll prove it, only first I mun deal with this wallydrag.” The Scot managed to stand straight and I noted with satisfaction that I’d gotten rid of the incubus monster. “Now, ye, Alex, ye mun have tint yer reason to carry on so, but that be no excuse. Because of our bargain, I’ll let ye off easy this time, but ye mun apologize to Gladys here.”

Outraged, I stared at the naked doxy. “I saved your life,” I mumbled through a mouthful of blood. “You should thank me.”

“Have ye gone daft? If this be dyin’, then give me death say I. I
invited him to my party. Aye, ye must be toty or mayhap a Bulgar. Saved my life!” And the lady hooted with laughter. “Caaaa! Caaaa!”

“He was killing you!” I shouted. “I can prove it. Didn’t I see the same thing happen twice before?”

“Quhat a ligging scoundrel!” Enoch bellowed. “Let me at ye! Easy did I say? I’ll beft ye to schit! Tie ye up in jackis and stryppis fer the wild beast that ye air!”

He lunged at me with his fist raised, but was held round the waist by his naked dame. “Oh no ye don’t! Well do I know men’s tricks, for ye’d punch him into a stupor so he couldn’t tell me the truth!
Killed
other women, have ye? Blathered with honey, cracked boast ’bout your bodkin when all the time ye’re full of hoker and pissmar for the fair sex! Take that! And that!”

And she too went for the monster as Enoch screamed like a Scottish banshee!

“Thank ye, Alex. I misjudged ye true!” And the naked lady flounced out trailing her tunic behind her.

“Gladys, wait!” Enoch started after her, then turned and hissed. “Ye stay here. When I finish wi’ thee, yer buck’s horn will ne’er make a toot. I swear ye’ll kick a new moon before ye swonk any dame’s hole!” And he was gone.