The Sorceror's Revenge (14 page)

             
‘You imagined it,’ she grunted and pulled a dry crust from the food pouch she carried.  ‘Chew on this until we can buy more bread.  You must be hungry and your mind plays tricks on you.’

             
‘But I’ve seen him before.  He smiled at me and once he asked me my name.’

             
Marta shuddered, a ripple of fear slithering through her.  Why would anyone ask Mary’s name – unless Marta’s crimes were about to be exposed?  Angry and guilty, she reached out and slapped the child’s face.  Tears sprang to Mary’s eyes but she did not cry out.

             
‘You will not speak to strange men.  I have told you to be careful.  There are bad men and they do terrible things to little girls.’

             
‘He is not a bad man,’ Mary said but she whispered it so that Marta would not hear. 

Her cheek was stinging where her mother had hit her but she was used to it.  Marta did not beat her with a stick but she was free with her hand and Mary often received a sharp slap.  More than that was the hurt her mother’s neglect inflicted.  Marta could be kind when she felt like it but she never took Mary in her arms and held her when she cried.  Even when she fell and hurt herself, it was Will who picked her up and comforted her. 

Mary liked Will but she liked the man who was following them more.  He was nice, even nicer than Will Hern, who was not her father but sometimes gave her sweetmeats if he had money in his pocket.  However, she had more sense than to tell her mother that the man who was following them had given her sweetmeats and a little toy.  If her mother knew about the pretty trinket she had hidden inside the bodice of her gown she would take it from her and sell it.

It was her secret and if she talked to her
nice
man again, she would be careful not to let her mother guess that she had seen him.  She glanced over her shoulder and saw his hooded figure.  She knew he had a scar on his left cheek and she wondered if he wore the hood so that people should not notice it.  He was also wearing a long black cloak that hid most of the gown underneath it.  Mary thought it was the gown a nobleman might wear, for she had seen the rich nobles with their ladies at the fair, buying silks and spices. 

The man smiled at her and she smiled back.  It was exciting to have a secret from her mother.  And it was not the only one, for Mary knew that there was more than one man following them, but she would not tell her mother. If she saw her
nice
man at the fair again he might give her a sweetmeat.

18

‘Are you having a new gown made, Melloria?’

             
‘Iolanthe is the one who needs new clothes.  She is shooting up.  I think she will be tall like her father.’

             
Robert’s gaze fell on his daughter.  She was very beautiful.  One day she would no doubt break hearts, but she was afraid of him.  He knew that it was his fault.  She had been terrified when he had snatched her from the people who were caring for her while Melloria was in the hermitage.  She had screamed for hours and even when he handed her over to the woman Joanne, she had sobbed as if her heart would break.  Melloria had comforted her when she returned from her period of fasting and prayer, and the child had become calmer, but even now Iolanthe would not accept him as her father.  Whenever he told her she was his daughter she shook her head and backed away from him, running to her mother or her nurse.  He tried not to be angry for he wanted to love her but her behaviour wounded him and sometimes he let his frustration show.

             
‘Yes, I can see how fast she is growing.  She will be tall like me.  She is your image, Melloria – but she will be taller I think.’

             
‘Perhaps…’ Melloria’s eyes were cold.  ‘Is there something you need, Robert?’

             
‘If there is I shall not get it from you.’

             
He turned on his heel and left the room, smarting and seething with temper.  She looked at him as if he was something to be scraped off her shoe and he was tired of her coldness.  For a moment he remembered his wife, Rhoda Morgan. She had always been eager to share his bed, and he had been harsh with her because he wondered if she was chaste – and he loved Melloria.  Sometimes now he thought it might have been better to find a way of separating from the cold woman who refused to lie with him and making Rhoda his true wife.

             
He needed a woman in his bed.  Robert had always had a strong physical appetite and he needed to satisfy the carnal urges that were sometimes so strong they became a physical pain.  He could go to Joanne.  She was honoured to be his mistress and would spread her legs for him whenever he snapped his fingers, but she bored him.  She lay in his bed like a lump of clay to be moulded as he pleased.  Robert needed more – a woman of spirit.  He had not bothered to visit her since his return, because she did not stir him.  He wanted Melloria but she was stubborn.  She would not yield even though he had done his best to find the missing child.  It was his opinion that the girl was dead but he must try again for it seemed it was the only way he could force his wife to do her duty.  If he found the child, Melloria would have no valid excuse not to lie with him.

             
He was still brooding on his wrongs when a page approached him, handing him a sealed message.  He took it, broke the seal and then dismissed the lad.

             
‘There is no reply.’

             
Leaving the hall, he called for his horse to be saddled.  What he needed was a good gallop in the fresh air.


     
* *

Alfreda Carter was gathering herbs and roots in the woods.  Her mother was a good cook and her stews always tasted delicious, because of all the herbs and roots she used.  Alfreda’s father was not a rich man but he was better off than many in their village, because he had his own cart and made money working for anyone who would employ him.  Unlike most of the villagers, Jack Archer was a freeman and owed no allegiance to the lord of the manor, other than that of a tenant living on the lord’s land.  He paid in coin for his land and had built his own house on common land, according to the law.

             
Alfreda was acknowledged as a pretty girl by all.  She had long red hair that curled about her face, even though she wound it in tight plaits like a coronet about her head.  Her dress was plain and simple, very like that of every other village girl, in shades of russet or brown, though her father had recently bought her a length of green cloth, which she was making into a tunic for her wedding day.

             
Alfreda was betrothed to Rhys Archer.  At the moment he was serving with the king and had been from home for some months, but they had been betrothed for years and Alfreda knew that he would wed her on his return.  Secure in that knowledge, she worked diligently for her mother and father, sometimes accompanying her father on his trips to the market, but more often assisting her mother with the chores of caring for their pigs, chickens, goats and ducks.

             
There had been a storm the night before and there were several new fungi pushing their way through the debris on the floor of the forest.  Busy at her work, Alfreda did not hear the sounds of a man’s footsteps until she heard a twig crack.  Startled, she looked up to see a man she had previously seen only as he rode through the village.  Her heart beat wildly and she stared at him in fright.  The earl was a powerful man.  He owned the forest and anyone caught taking game from his woods could be severely punished.  Most overlords allowed their people to take fungi, firewood and roots – but of late the earl had been stricter than he was used to be and she held her breath as he approached her.

             
‘What do you here, mistress?’

             
‘I am gathering herbs and fungi,’ Alfreda said in a breathy voice.  Her heart banged against her ribs as he approached.  He looked down her, his eyes seeming to scorch her as they went over her.  She felt as if he stripped her naked with his eyes and wanted to escape but her feet were rooted to the ground.

             
‘Do you not know these woods belong to me?’

             
‘Yes, lord.’  Alfreda waited, fearing the worst.

             
‘You must pay a forfeit,’ Robert said and reached out.  Before she knew what he would do, he had her clasped against him, his mouth fastening greedily on hers.  Alfreda fought him desperately but his tongue pushed at her mouth until she opened it, allowing him access and his hand moved between her legs, clamping on her sex and holding her as she wriggled and tried to free herself.

             
As he released her mouth, Alfreda cried out for pity.  He laughed and then let her go, a mocking smile in his eyes.

             
‘A small price to pay for such delicious food,’ he murmured.  ‘I would be willing to pay more for other pleasures.  Tell me, mistress, are you virgin?’

             
‘Yes, my lord.’ She raised her head proudly.  ‘I am to be married.’

             
‘Indeed?’  Robert stared at her for a moment longer.  ‘Continue with your work, mistress. I shall not disturb you again.’

             
‘I have collected enough,’ Alfreda said.  She picked up her basket and walked away, her shoulders back and head in the air, but once she was certain he could no longer see her, she took to her heels and ran, her heart racing.

             
She did not stop until she reached the village.  Breathless and shocked she went straight to her father’s cottage and put her basket on the kitchen table.  Her mother was out and Alfreda was glad of a moment to recover her senses. 

             
She’d been kissed by the earl!  At the time she’d been so shocked that she had struggled to escape, frightened of what he might do, but when he’d smiled at her she’d realised how handsome he was – far more handsome than Rhys.

             
A feeling of shame crept over her as she realised that she’d enjoyed the kiss.  Indeed, had she not been so frightened, she might have kissed him back.

             
What a wanton girl she was!  If Rhys knew he would disown her and she would be sent to a convent.

             
As her mother entered, she turned away to start tying the herbs into bunches for drying.  She must get rid of those wicked thoughts and she must be very careful when she visited the woods again.

19

The room above the tavern was crowded with men, all of them nobles summoned here to this secret meeting by their leader.  At the table where he sat, candles flared, but much of the room was in shadow for it was late at night.

‘Somehow, Henry must be brought to an understanding that he cannot simply dismiss the promise he made.’ Simon de Montfort said to the men who sat round the table with him.  ‘The King is not above the law and a vow is sacred.’

             
‘Not if the Pope grants absolution by a papal bull.’ A man standing in the shadows spoke out.  ‘I have information that Henry has made such representation and that the Pope may be moved to grant his wish, though not immediately.  You still have time to act, if you are of the same mind?’

             
‘Will Henry listen?’ someone asked and a chorus of voices agreed that it was unlikely. The King had shown his dislike of the restrictions placed on him, dismissing the council and ordering that decisions were delayed until he returned from talks with King Louis of France.

             
The tall man with the thin intelligent face stepped forward into the light of the candles.  All eyes were drawn to him for there was something about him that commanded attention. More than one man watching felt a shiver of ice slither down his spine

             
‘If you could bring someone to him, a man he trusts more than most – if this man could persuade him, all might not yet be lost.’

             
‘Henry trusts only a few men.  He would not listen to any of us. He is at odds with his own son, though no one truly knows where the prince stands.’

             
‘He might listen to the man they call the King’s Champion.  He might listen to Robert, Earl Devereaux, for if the earl deserted his cause he would be that much weaker. Many more might follow if Devereaux came over to you.’

             
A snort of laughter greeted this suggestion. ‘Devereaux would never join us.  He has been asked more than once. He is firm for the King.’

             
‘If he will not join us then he may be dealt with,’ the man said calmly, undisturbed by the mocking laughter. ‘If someone he trusted were to approach him with our offer he might agree.  It is only a matter of time before things come to a stage where there must be war.  Either Henry abides by the oath he swore or the country will be torn apart by civil strife.  Is that what you wish?’