The Assassin's Wife (56 page)

* * * * *

They burned Nerys on the next market day and the crowd roared at her death like hungry dogs over a morsel of meat. Bishop Stillington had me watch just as she predicted but I couldn’t rejoice at her freedom. It was a cruel death. The crackle of the flames kept me from sleep many days.

I didn’t need to see Master Raymond’s toys again. The sight of that fire loosened my tongue. I longed then for absolution and thought it would come in death but the bishop oozed kindness. One morning he told me Miles had come to take me home.
 

“The Book of Leviticus is very clear about relationships between men.” The sinister voice purred, slick with satisfaction. “I’m sure you understand how the Church grieves over unnatural vices among its brotherhood.”

A single flame fluttered illuminating the ruby ring on an exquisitely groomed hand. Behind the light, locked in shadow, a hooded figure brooded, patient with menace.

A familiar, smoky aroma permeated the dank chamber.
 

“You are silent, Brother Brian. Perhaps you need time to consider the implications of these accusations?” The voice caressed, soft with solicitude. “Of course, if you could help us in another matter we might be persuaded to recognise this regrettable familiarity as mere kindness, a foolish fondness—”

Wax dripped from the candle. It congealed on the trestle in a tear-shaped puddle. The slender fingers began to tap and the ruby danced, a drop of blood in a circle of light.
 

“The matter grows urgent, Brother. Why delay?” The mellifluous tone vanished, its melody destroyed by pitiless, barely contained rage. “Must I call upon Master Raymond to assist you? Come, look upon his curious array of implements—A few easy words are all we require—After all, we know from your letters you share a close acquaintance with the woman. She revealed a secret to you, did she not? A secret that threatens the exercise of justice in the kingdom. Surely you wouldn’t have a lie perpetuated?”

Flames leaped upward. A sickening stench of scorched flesh tainted the air. Scream upon scream rang through the dark—
 

Choking and flailing, I woke in the small guest room where they kept me now—no longer a prisoner, but still guarded. Last night’s embers glowed in the hearth lighting the curled form that slept before it. Nothing woke this lumpish waiting woman. Outside, in the corridor someone passed, keys jangling. No glimmer crept through the shutters. I huddled down into the blankets burying my face in my hands, trying to shut out the terrible knowledge that Brother Brian had been tortured.

Chapter Seventy

Miles locked me in so fierce an embrace I felt his heart thudding.

“I thought I’d lost you. Thank Christ we’ve powerful friends.”

“And powerful enemies too.” I buried my head against the comforting warmth of his shoulder.
 

Tilting my face so he could look into my eyes, he placed a warning finger on my lips.

A knock at the door announced a bold-eyed tavern wench carrying a tray laden with food. “Will I set this on table, sir?” She smiled at Miles, thrusting out her voluptuous bosom.

“Aye.” He returned her smile, his eyes appraising the jutting curves. “It looks most appetising.”

“It’s pork, sir.” Her hips wiggled as she stirred the pot and spooned the meat into two bowls. “Our Will’s famous for his stews. There’s bread here, sir.” She gave him a saucy stare, pouting her lips mischievously. “Let me know if you want more.”

Turning to the doorway to frown at the gawky girl clutching a pitcher and two tankards against her stained shift, she said, “Shift theesen, Nell. Set jug upon table. Folk don’t want to be kept waiting while food gets cold.”

How could we afford the best room in The Fox in Pontefract and dine in such extravagance? Who’d paid for all this? I looked at Miles’ face for answers but his expression remained unfathomable.
 

“Eat, Nan.” He steered me from the hearth where the landlord had provided a generous fire. “You’re nearly as skinny as that simpleton. If it tastes as good as it smells, it’ll put some flesh on your bones.”

I swallowed a mouthful of tender meat stuffed with almonds and saffron, spiced with cinnamon and wild garlic, swimming in a gravy of onions, mushrooms, herbs and wine. Its unaccustomed richness quickly overwhelmed me.

“Don’t slander Stillington.” Miles spoke with his mouth full. “He and Gloucester hold the key to justice.”

“Justice!”

“Aye, justice.” Miles set down his knife. “What demon possessed you to withhold information about the Butler marriage?”

“I promised Dame Eleanor. And the king, himself, told me to keep it secret. Cecily Neville knows the truth but Gloucester daren’t put her to the question. He’s as much in awe of his mother as King Edward was. Stillington shut us up at Norwich to keep the rumour quiet but now he’s eager to flaunt it to the world. I’m certain Dame Eleanor’s chaplain was murdered for what he knew. Do you wonder then why I kept quiet?”

“Drink some mead.” He poured the honey-scented brew, slipping an arm about me, drawing me close. “The landlord assures me of its medicinal properties. It might put some colour in your cheeks. You’ve a shocking prison pallor.”

“Blame your precious Stillington for that.”
 

“Stillington’s an unscrupulous rogue.” He resumed his meal. “But for the moment, Gloucester needs him.” He gave me a searching look. “Did you say Stillington knew about the contract between the king and Eleanor Butler?”

“He suspected it. And he shared those suspicions with Clarence—” I flashed him an implicit glance. “And I’m sure you remember what happened to him. Don’t you see? Stillington wants to set brother against brother. His actions will tip England into civil war again. Edward was just a stripling when he made that foolish promise to Eleanor. Hasn’t he proved himself a good king all these years? We’ve had peace in the country. Do you want to see that destroyed for the sake of this so-called justice?”

“Would you let a bastard sit on the throne?” Miles threw down his spoon. Flint sparks lent his eyes added brilliance. “Do you think the Wydevilles will surrender power when Edward’s gone and the witch’s son inherits the kingdom?”

“Would you give your allegiance to a corrupt cleric intent only on feathering his nest and an ambitious younger son who seeks to seize his brother’s crown?” I rose from my place, my voice shrill with exasperation.
 

“I’ve sworn my loyalty to Gloucester.” His eyes blazed, steel-hard. “I’ll not swerve. As for Stillington, I’m not afraid of him. Remember, Gloucester saved you from the fire and for that alone I’d follow him to death.”

“Gloucester will demand your soul,” I answered softly.

Miles didn’t speak. He cradled me in his arms, holding me fast against his tense body. Silence grew between us. Below, the throb of the tavern with its raucous laughter, jeers, and stamping feet seemed a world far away.

“Gloucester abhors witchcraft but he spoke up for you. When he questioned me I told him you’d bewitched me long ago and that was the only witchcraft I knew you practised. He laughed at that. He said all women knew such spells to snare men, having learned them from the cradle. I swore I knew nothing of any fortune-telling.” His hands gripped my shoulders forcing me to meet the steely eyes which intimated complicity. “Do you understand?”

I wondered then if he knew about the cards hidden behind the fireplace. What had Amy Sadler told him? Had Lady Anne spoken of them to her lord?
 

“Before you last went to London I begged you to leave the Duke’s service—”

“Gloucester’s a patient man,” he said. He kissed the top of my head, his body relaxing as if his anxieties had evaporated like steam. “He won’t squander his strength without cause. While Edward rules he’ll play the loyal subject and you and I will profit by this forbearance.” He poured more mead. “One day we’ll laugh about all this. And I promise I
will
take you and Dickon somewhere safe when all’s done.”
 

Taking my chin in his hand, he turned my face to his. The tenderness in his brilliant blue eyes made my stomach lurch with that old passion that had first drawn me to him. He kissed me softly, his lips warm. “Those wenches at Middleham won’t ask any questions. Everyone’s been told your arrest was a mistake.” He kissed me again and his eyes smouldered with the beginnings of desire. “Why, if the queen’s mother can escape the taint of witchcraft, can’t you do it too?” But no humour coloured his laughter then. I knew the reference contained a warning. Only the intervention of influential friends had saved the Duchess Jacquetta from trial for sorcery.
 

“Time to sleep. We’ve a long ride tomorrow.” He closed the shutters against the wet March night. “Shall I call the lass to take the dishes away?”

Over the downstairs roar he shouted for service. “You can leave the mead.” He gave the goggle-eyed kitchen maid a wink. “We’ve a mind to finish it in bed.”

She dropped him a clumsy curtsy as if he were noble-born and after much fumbling, gathered up bowls and spoons, clutching them to her as if they were great treasure.
 

Once among the heap of blankets I surrendered to the fatigue which had haunted me since Pontefract. Sounds of the outer world drifted away.

“The priest betrayed you.” Miles sat propped against the bolster, a tankard of mead in his fist.

“Brother Brian?”

“When I heard you were arrested, I rode from London like a mad man and Jack met me near Middleham. Stillington got his information from the priest, he said. So I rode straight to the abbey.”

“Did you see Brother Brian?” A nail of fear tore me from sleep. “What had they done to him?”

“The Abbot tried to stop me. He said the priest was ill.”

“You didn’t hurt him?” Upright now, aware of the draught on my shoulders, I clawed at Miles my heart thudding with fright and fury.

“Hurt him?” Miles laughed harshly, stilling my hands. “I should’ve broken his skinny neck! But, by the Rood, when I saw him I hadn’t the heart for it. He looked so puny, sick and old. He made no excuses, I’ll give him that. He told Stillington all he knew. He couldn’t take the torture. This cowardice was a worse punishment than any I could give. He begged my pardon but how could I forgive such treachery? His words condemned you to the flames! May he rot in hell!”

“No, don’t say that! They hurt him terribly.” I pressed my hands against my temples. The sudden image of a spiralling fall nauseated me. Clenching my teeth, I clawed at my belly, re-living the priest’s suffering. Terrifying pictures unrolled. The fire-lit room grew distant. “The world’s tumbling into darkness—” I yielded to the lure of hideous images, my voice unstoppable. “A great house is divided. Easter brings sorrow. A woman wails, tearing her hair. She beats her fists against the stones until they turn bloody but nothing will raise the children from their bed. Neighing horses summon to a monstrous battlefield—A great white steed rises above the masses. Its flanks run with blood. Nerys stands laughing out of the fire—and the flames turn into pennants—the red dragon of Wales leaps as if it means to devour the world. A crowd roars as the great horse stumbles on the bridge. I hear clanging metal, the rasp of spades on stone. Two shadowy figures prowl the dark—”

“Stop it! Stop it!” Miles shook me, his face a mask of terrified fury. The tankard skittered away. Opening my eyes wide, I clutched at him, sinking my nails into his flesh.
 

“I can’t stop it!” I howled like an animal in pain. “I’ve never been able to stop it! Ever since I was a little girl I’ve been tormented like this! Do you think I want to see such sights?” I looked deep into his eyes where the old fear lurked like a rabbit deep in its warren. “Promise me, when you’re in London you’ll avoid the Tower.”

Before he could speak the candle guttered out, plunging us into darkness. The fire sank low, the flames flickering blue. Like frightened children we clung together. It was the first and only time we spoke of these terrible events to come.

* * * * *

“I must go to Jervaulx.”

“Are you mad?” Miles’ face whitened, his eyes panicked as an unbroken colt’s. “We’re back but a day and you talk of venturing out—and to such a place!”

“But I must see Brother Brian. I must speak to him.”

“No!” Miles pressed me against the door. “I told you, the priest betrayed you. I marvel you can think of going to him after that.”

“But it was because of me they tortured him.” I clutched at his shoulders, desperate to convince him of the priest’s innocence.
 

“And can you forgive his perfidy?” Miles spat at me. “Jack’s no priest-lover but even he was stunned by the old fool’s cowardice.”

“Jack? What did he have to do with it?”

“He said some pretty boy monk named Edwin proved a useful source of information.” Contempt curled his lip. “It seems the old priest doted on him. Jack gained the lad’s friendship—though by what measures I don’t care to think—and discovered the old man spent time in London before being sent to Jervaulx—”