The Sorceror's Revenge (38 page)

             
Melloria cleansed the skin surrounding the area that had been cauterised then applied healing salves, moss and herbs, in accordance with the instructions in Nicholas’s journal.  Then she bound Robert’s arm with clean linen.  He was moaning as he regained consciousness.  His eyelids flickered as she held a cup to his lips and commanded him to swallow.  He obeyed her and she smiled as his head turned to one side, his eyes closing.

             
‘He will sleep for a while,’ she told the steward.  ‘When he wakes you should give him a spoon of this mixture every four hours, but be careful not to exceed the dose for too much could kill him.  If he should become worse or develop a fever, you must send for me again.’

             
‘Will you not stay to nurse him, my lady?’

             
‘No, I think not,’ she said.  ‘I have done what I can for him.  I have shown you the dose you need to give him ease until the pain abates.  If I am required urgently I shall come again.’

             
‘He needs you, my lady,’ the steward said.  ‘It is not for me to tell you your duty – but he has not been himself for a long time.’

             
‘I am sorry I cannot remain here,’ Melloria said.  ‘At the moment he is too weak to threaten me, but when he recovers his senses he will try to force me to stay here as his wife.  I must go now while I can.’

             
The steward bowed his head, making no attempt to prevent her as she walked past him.

* * *

‘Thank goodness you are back,’ Beatrice exclaimed as Melloria walked into the convent just as dusk was falling.  ‘I was certain it was a trap.’

             
‘Robert was in too much pain to threaten me,’ Melloria told her.  ‘His steward tried to persuade me to stay but I would not be swayed. I know that Robert would seek to keep me there once his strength returns.  I have done what I can for him.  Next time he summons me, I shall not respond unless he is truly ill.’

             
‘If he sends for you, I shall go in your place,’ Beatrice said harshly.  ‘He will not imprison you against your will again, sister.  Most women would have refused to help him if they had been treated as you were.’

             
‘Thank you, I believe that may be for the best.  If his steward follows my instructions Robert should recover well enough.  The wound was not deep.  I removed the arrowhead and his flesh was seared to burn any infection, then I packed it with herbs and moss and a healing salve.  He should soon feel better. I believe he hath suffered worse wounds in the past.’

             
‘It is a matter of restoring the balance of the four humours,’ Beatrice remarked, nodding wisely.

             
Melloria did not contradict her sister for the belief was widely held, though not by Nicholas.  His writings stressed the importance of fighting infection and the herbs he himself had used in many cases would quite possibly save Robert’s life.

             
A wry smile touched Melloria’s mouth for she had done everything she could to save the life of her husband.  If he were dead she would be free to go to Nicholas, but while Robert lived she must live in fear of his revenge.

             
‘Why do you smile so, sister?’ Beatrice asked.

             
‘It would have been so easy to give him too strong a dose of the poppy juice,’ Melloria said.  ‘He would never have woken from his sleep and I should have been free.’

             
‘Free in one sense,’ Beatrice agreed, ‘But your conscience would have haunted you, Melloria.  I know that you could not deliberately take life. You are a healer. It is not in you to do murder.’

             
‘No…’ Melloria sighed.  ‘I fear you are right, sister.  I long to be free of him, but I would find no happiness if I bore the sin of murder on my conscience – and I would not have Nicholas kill him either.’

             
‘Then you must accept the will of God, sister.’

             
‘Yes,’ Melloria said.  ‘I fear I must.’

51

Kerrin scowled as he heard what was being said in the village of Devereaux.  The earl had been wounded and lay sick in his bed but was like to recover soon enough.   What fool had missed his chance?  If the opportunity to shoot the earl when he was out riding alone had fallen to Kerrin, Devereaux would be in his grave by now.

             
‘Damn him to hell!’

             
Clearly there was only one way to see Robert Devereaux dead and that was to do the work himself.  After coming so close to death it was unlikely that the earl would ride out alone in the future.  Kerrin’s plan to watch and wait had misfired, and that meant he must somehow find a way to enter the castle and get close to the earl.  The best time to strike was now while Devereaux was ill – but how could he penetrate the castle defences?  The earl’s men were bound to be on the alert and any stranger would be stopped and searched.

             
Kerrin’s eyes were drawn towards the monk.  He was distributing food and medicines to the villagers, clearly a gentle, unsuspecting soul.  A smile touched Kerrin’s mouth.  The earl might be in need of cures or a few words of encouragement from a man of God.  It should be a simple enough matter to follow the monk, kill him, take his habit and his cures and then go to the castle to offer his help to its sick master.

             
The plan was perfect.  All he had to do was to wait until the monk left the village and then a cord around the neck would dispatch the man to Heaven – or mayhap to Hell.

             
‘No doubt we shall meet there one day, my lord,’ Kerrin murmured, a smile of pure evil on his lips.  ‘But you will be there before me…’

* * *

Kerrin dispatched the monk with ease.  He was old and gentle and he put up far less of a fight than Count Santos had that night in the catacombs of Rome. One twist of the cord and the monk died with a whimper.  As he looked down at him, Kerrin felt neither guilt nor pleasure.  He was discovering that he needed his victims to fight to regain the thrill that taking life had once given him.  There was a sour taste in his mouth and a strange emptiness inside him.  Only one thing mattered and that was Robert Devereaux’s death.

             
It took no more than a few moments to strip the monk of his clothing, dress and then hide the body.  He tied his horse to a bush, then decided to hide his money too.  The bags of silver he’d stolen from the Abbess were too heavy to carry with him into the castle.  He would hide the money under a bush and walk into the castle with nothing but the monk’s cures and the knife he had hidden beneath his robes.

             
His pulses began to race with excitement as he turned back the way he had come.  It wanted but an hour or two to dusk, giving him just time enough to enter the castle, find the earl’s bedchamber and kill him.  He must leave again before the gates were locked for the night, because once it was discovered that Robert Devereaux was dead, there would be a hue and cry.

             
Kerrin felt coldly elated.  He had a feeling that he was about to meet his destiny but it was what he wanted, what he had waited for all these years.  Now at last he would have revenge for Rhoda and for himself.

* * *

Kerrin drew back into the shadows as the steward passed him, and then walked quickly to the door he had just left and entered the earl’s bedchamber.  He felt a flicker of triumph as he saw the man he hated lying with his eyes closed.  It had been so easy.  The soldiers had searched every other man entering the castle, but his disguise had carried him through.  A few blessings and a cure for chilblains and he was directed to the earl’s chamber.  What fools men were to trust just because a man wore the robes of a monk.  His superior intelligence would always give him the edge over more humble beings.  He was carried on a wave of euphoria, his usual caution forgotten.  Now was his chance for revenge.  He approached the bed, his heart thumping with excitement.

             
‘So, my lord, we meet again.’

             
The earl opened his eyes and looked at him, then frowned as recognition came.  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

             
‘I have come for revenge,’ Kerrin said.  ‘I could have killed you as you slept but I wanted you to know why you died.’

             
‘Call the guard…’ Robert said his words slurring one into the other.  He struggled to move or cry out but he had just drunk a full measure of Melloria’s cure and his limbs felt heavy and he could do nothing but stare at the man towering over him.  ‘W…why now?’

             
‘I have waited for my time to come. I have watched you and savoured the moment of your death.’

             
‘Money…’ the word was difficult to form.  ‘Give you money…’  Robert tried desperately to bargain for his life but the fog was clouding his brain, binding his limbs so that he felt as if he were paralysed.  He was drugged to kill his pain and now Rhoda’s lover would take his revenge.  The irony of it was amusing but he could not find the words to tell the man who was glorying in his moment of triumph.

             
‘Melloria, forgive me.  I loved you. I always loved you.’

             
The words were in Robert’s mind though they did not leave his lips.  He was surprisingly calm.  Perhaps he welcomed death.  Hell could not be worse than his dreams.  Why had Melloria stopped loving him?  What had he done that was so terrible?  She was his wife. All he had asked was that she should do her duty.

             
His eyes would not focus.  The assassin’s face was only a blur.  He could neither speak nor think.  His will had been taken over by the numbing drug.  His enemy was saying something but he was so far away…so far away.

             
‘You would buy me as you bought Rhoda,’ Kerrin snarled, a look of scorn in his eyes.  He had expected his enemy to put up more of a fight.  ‘No, Robert Devereaux, money will not buy me.  You took what was mine and now you must pay.’

             
Kerrin pulled the knife from beneath his robe.  The blade was long and curving; it flashed in the light of the candles as he raised his arm and brought the blade down with force.  He plunged it into the earl’s chest, ripping through the flesh and laying his organs bare. The pumping heart writhed horribly for an instant and then stopped. For a few moments his victim’s eyes remained open staring at him in horror and disbelief as the blood bubbled out of his mouth.

             
‘What have you done?’  Kerrin blinked as he became aware of a man standing in the doorway.  ‘Guards!  Murder!  The earl has been murdered…guards to me…’

             
Suddenly, Kerrin felt the sense of elation drain away.  He looked down at what he had done and wondered why he was here and what had driven him to this desperate act.

             
‘No…’ he blurted out as the guards poured into the room.  ‘It wasn’t me…he made me do it…I don’t know why…’

             
Rough hands took hold of him.  He was dragged away as the steward bent over his master and suddenly the castle was alive with shouting screaming men.

             
‘Hang him!  Hang him now.’

             
‘I am entitled to a trial.  I was bewitched…’ Kerrin cried, struggling helplessly against the men as they dragged him out into the courtyard.  ‘This is against the law.  You cannot do this…’

             
Hot urine stung his legs as he watched one of the guards throw a rope over a wooden strut that was used to haul sacks of flour up to the loft of the storage barn.  Nothing seemed real. This must all be a nightmare. He did not know why he had come here. He had been driven by a force outside himself. All around him men were yelling and shaking their fists at him.  Their voices were angry, their faces dark with hatred, and their eyes filled with the bloodlust of an enraged mob.

             
‘Hang the bastard.’

             
‘I am entitled to a trial…’ Kerrin blubbered, suddenly terrified.

             
‘
There is always a price to pay. When the time comes you will know
.’

             
He could hear the voice in his ear, though he could see no one.  He had been warned that one day he would pay but he had not believed it would happen now, today, when he was young and strong and filled with confidence.  It had all been so easy for him, almost as if it had been preordained.

             
‘I was bewitched,’ he muttered as they put the noose around his neck.  He saw the men volunteering to pull on the rope.  They were eager to hang the rogue who had killed the earl.  ‘Why…why do you care what I did to him?’ he mumbled, bewildered by how swiftly everything had changed.  ‘He was not a good man…he took what was mine…’