Voice Of The Demon (Book 2) (56 page)

Robert took a step back and shook his head. ‘A man of honour would not have sworn such an oath in the first place! A man of honour wouldn’t have left his country to die alone. A man of honour would never have allowed his uncle to become embroiled in a futile rebellion and any man of honour would have avenged that uncle’s death. No man of honour would have stood by and watched his country be torn apart by a man he once called a friend, nor stood there like a fool as that friend cast him down. A man of honour would not have left you to rot in prison or . . .’ His voice trailed off, but his gaze once again held Aiden in his place. Robert stood there for a moment, then turned away. He reached a hand up to the nearest branch.

Aiden gave Robert a moment to calm down. Gently then, he moved forward a little. ‘What did you do?’

Robert spun around, but the voice was once again self-mocking and harsh. ‘I betrayed her. She trusted me. I swore I’d protect her. I thought I was strong, but I still betrayed her. And all because I was a man of honour and couldn’t leave her in those last few days.’

When Aiden didn’t reply immediately, Robert continued, ‘You’re shocked, aren’t you, Bishop? Still think I’m a man of honour? You should have left me alone.’

‘That’s enough!’ Aiden snapped. ‘I’ve never met a man more capable of self-loathing. You made a mistake – you did something wrong. But the truth is that you did nothing! That’s really why you’re here. Things went wrong and now you’re hiding instead of trying to do something about it. You’ve betrayed yourself, Robert Douglas. No one else. Has it never occurred to you that inaction might not have been your best course? No, you didn’t dare act because you’d have to take a risk. You’d have to put your precious honour at risk. Instead you had to hide yourself away here and drown yourself in?’

‘Self-pity? How original! I don’t pity myself, Bishop, only those poor folk who know me.’ The ghost of a smile crossed his face. ‘It wouldn’t have mattered to you what I’d done, would it? Your judgement would still be the same. Just like everyone else, you assume you know enough about me to make that judgement. Well, Bishop, what if I’d told you I was a thief?’

Robert spread his arms wide and took a step back. ‘What if I’d told you I was a murderer?’

‘That’s . . .’

Robert leaned close to Aiden’s face and murmured, ‘What if I’d told you I was a sorcerer?’

Aiden’s head snapped up at this, but before he could say a word, Robert began moving away.

‘That got your attention, didn’t it, Bishop? Well, there you go. It just goes to show you don’t know everything.’

*

Damien should have been in bed, rather than sitting here in the chapel where the stone floor sucked the heat from his feet with an unquenchable thirst. In less than an hour, the
bell for Matins would ring and he’d most likely yawn his way through the liturgy. But he couldn’t leave. Not when the Bishop was still in such obvious distress.

Keeping his distance, Damien sat halfway down the chapel while the Bishop occupied the area before the altar. At times McCauly would fall to his knees. At others he would stand and stare up at the trium. Most of the time he just paced backwards and forwards.

He spoke, but the words were not addressed to Damien, nor did they even sound like a prayer – and none of them made any sense. But Damien couldn’t sit there for ever. He got to his feet and moved down the aisle a little, not venturing too far.

‘Forgive me, Father, but Matins will ring soon.’

McCauly looked up, stopped his pacing and frowned distractedly. ‘What? Matins? Is it so late already?’

‘It’s past midnight, Father.’

‘Midnight, you say?’

‘Father, is there anything you need? Anything I can get you?’

McCauly shrugged. ‘A confessor, perhaps?’ He reached out for the arm of the nearest seat and sank into it. ‘Am I in need of a confessor? What was it he said? “What if a man is evil by nature?”’

Damien stood by with his hands folded.

‘What do you think, Brother? Do you think it’s possible a man could be born evil? With no choice in the matter? Of course, it is possible, but it would show, wouldn’t it? I mean, you would have seen some sign before now. A thief? A murderer? No. It’s not possible there’re two men inside the one soul. What do you say?’ McCauly glanced up, waiting for an answer.

‘I’m sorry, Father, but I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,’ Damien replied.

At this, McCauly smiled gently and came slowly to his feet. ‘Nor should you. I’m sorry, Brother. I’ve kept you up very late. I wonder, though, if you could do me one last favour.’

‘Anything, Father.’

‘Could you show me where Martin’s room is?’

‘Now? Surely you should get some rest.’

‘Yes, I will, but later. There’s something I must do first. Will you show me?’

‘Of course, but let me get you a cloak. It’s raining outside and Martin’s room is on the other side of the orchard, above the stable.’

‘Then let’s go quickly, before I change my mind.’

*

The footpath was deep in water, a slick of mud impossible to navigate. Damien kept trying to turn him back, but Aiden was adamant. He had to see Robert. Tonight. He couldn’t leave this alone. Perhaps it was pride, perhaps not. Either way, he had no choice.

Damien led him past the orchard and over the tiny footbridge crossing the swollen stream. Engorged by hours of mountain rain, the stream was fast becoming a river.

‘Careful there!’ Damien called, reaching out to steady Aiden as he slid on the mud.

Aiden could hardly see where he was going. The rain pelted down on his hood, blinded his eyes. He stumbled again, his foot sliding knee-deep into the water. Damien grabbed his hand and pulled, but as Aiden reached for purchase on a soggy bush, the ground gave way. Damien slipped to his knees, the bush came away in Aiden’s hand and he fell further into the torrent.

‘Hold on!’ Damien cried. ‘Let me get a better hold!’

But the rain worked against them both. Already Aiden was losing feeling in his feet. His body sank deep into the mud, but his hand held on firmly.

Then there was a shadow in the darkness and another hand grabbed his arm. Damien shrank back as Robert took a good hold on Aiden and dragged him out of the water. Aiden shivered on the slimy bank, unable to move for a moment.

‘Go get help, Brother,’ Robert ordered Damien. As the monk scurried away, Robert reached down and hauled Aiden to his feet.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he bellowed. ‘Are you trying to get yourself killed?’

Aiden struggled for release, but he was powerless in Robert’s grasp. Even in the darkness he could see the rage in the man’s eyes, feel it in the fierce grip. He was trapped. ‘I had to talk to you—’

‘Why? So you could give me some more of your self-righteous judgement?’ Robert’s face was close as the rain poured down on them both. ‘Some priest! You’re just like all the others – worse even.’

With a violent shove, he pushed Aiden back as though he would rid himself of a demon. Robert stood there a moment, oblivious to the rain, clenching his fists and gasping for breath. ‘Why did you make me remember?’

As Robert disappeared into the darkness, Aiden backed away, stunned. Suddenly remembering the river, he stopped and turned, spied the bridge and made his way across. Damien and Chester were hurrying through the orchard towards him, but he waved their concern aside. ‘I’m all right. Just cold and wet. I’ll be fine.’

Like clucking hens they ushered him to his room, brought hot water and fresh clothes. As soon as he could, Aiden sent them away, assuring them again of his health.

Alone, he sat on his bed and pulled aside the curtain. The small window faced on to the cloister. It seemed the rain had done its work. The worst had gone and now there was just the occasional spray driven by an aggressive wind.

He had no choice. He had to go back. Before it was too late. He couldn’t fix what he’d broken, but there must be a way to help the man. There had to be.

*

The stream was still running strongly, but Aiden had a lamp with him this time. He moved slowly, picking his way between the water and the trees.

He came to the bottom of the slope where the Abbey wall crossed the stream. Before him stood the stable, a wide building with a stairway going up the right wall. He reached the top and, taking his courage between his teeth, he put up
a hand and knocked once. There was a movement from within and then suddenly the door was wrenched open.

Robert stood before him, his face chalk-white. Dark rings encircled eyes in shadow of more than mere night. Hollow and tortured, Robert looked like a man who’d walked straight out of a nightmare.

‘By the gods,’ Aiden breathed, ‘what have I done?’

A mere flicker of recognition on Robert’s face made Aiden flinch. Robert slowly stepped back, holding the door open. Aiden moved inside and, by the light of his lamp, studied the man before him, trying to see beyond those haunted eyes. Eventually he whispered, ‘It wasn’t self-pity that drove you here. You really are afraid.’

Robert said nothing and in the gloom, Aiden couldn’t be sure the man was even looking at him. He tried to still the trembling in his hands, ‘Robert, I. . .’

There was movement in Robert’s face, fractional and indecisive. ‘What do you want, Bishop?’

Aiden steadied himself. ‘I came to apologize.’

The silence was long and absolute. Should he continue? By the gods, what was Robert thinking? Why didn’t he speak?

Desperate, Aiden continued, ‘I was wrong. I had no right to judge you. I was trying to find out . . . I mean, I needed – no, I wanted – to know why you were here. Put it down to pride, if you like, but I thought I could help you. I didn’t mean to make it worse.’

There was a pause, then Robert raised his left hand until Aiden could see it. Suddenly a candle flickered into life. Aiden should have known he would do such a thing, but that didn’t stay his shock. He swallowed loudly and glanced back to Robert. Slowly Robert’s expression changed, lost some of the haunted whiteness. His eyes grew focused and clear and gradually he took on more of the aspect he showed to the world. The effect wasn’t wholly successful and seemed to take a lot of effort. Nevertheless, it was an incredible display.

‘Sit down.’

Aiden found a chair and sank into it. He glanced around the room. It was small, but bigger than his cell. There were
hooks on one wall, with an assortment of leather straps and tack hanging down. To his right, by the door, was a rough washstand and, beside that, a small chest. Apart from the bed, table and the chair that Aiden sat in, there was no other furniture in the room.

Robert turned to the window and perched on the wide lintel. He laced his fingers together, stared out the rain-washed window and began to speak. His voice was full of cool detachment; his story could have been about a stranger. This wasn’t a bored disinterest, but rather a lack of any interest at all.

‘You wouldn’t let go. I warned you, but you kept coming back, sure you were right, sure you could prove me wrong. You were so determined to win. We’re as bad as each other, Bishop.’

Aiden didn’t move. Robert took a breath and continued.

‘There’s an ancient prophecy which you and your brethren know nothing about. I was told most of it twenty years ago and it’s ruled my actions ever since. I’ve fought against it, tried to control it, strived to understand it. Resisted in every conceivable manner. But it won’t leave me alone. Each day it lives inside me, growing with every failure to resist it. One day I’ll lose and the prophecy will come true. Part of it’s already happened.’

Aiden frowned. How could a man like Robert Douglas be a slave to something so . . . No. That was the mistake he’d made before, assuming he knew this man. Robert was giving him a chance to understand – so Aiden should try listening. ‘How does the prophecy end?’

Robert paused. ‘Does it matter?’

Aiden waited.

With a shrug, Robert replied, ‘In devastation.’

Aiden frowned. Even now there was something left out. ‘Is that all?’

‘What more can you want?’

‘The truth. All of it.’

Robert turned his gaze on Aiden, unblinking and unmoved, as if he were still unsure whether he should reveal the truth. He was silent for a moment, then he replied, his voice
a leaden whisper, crisp and precise, ‘By your very means, that born unto your hands alone, you will be the instrument of ruin. In the act of salvation, you will become desolation itself, destroying that which you love most.’

For a long breathless moment, Aiden couldn’t move, even think. Then he shook himself. ‘Sweet Mineah! Are you certain of this prophecy? That it means you?’

‘Yes.’

Aiden climbed abruptly to his feet, paced up and down a little. A curse? Like that? Carried around for twenty years?

But Robert said he knew it was true. It had already begun. And if so . . .

‘You love her?’

‘Yes.’

‘You love your country? Your people? Your family and friends?’ Aiden turned around. ‘Then I was right about something. You are a man of honour.’

Robert shook his head. ‘Meaningless. What honour I began with I’ve successively thrown away time and again. I have only this little left which keeps me here, out of harm’s way.’

Aiden’s gaze narrowed. ‘You try so hard, don’t you? And you’re so very clever. You know what question I’m going to ask before I do. You’ve covered all this before. You know all the answers.’

Robert swung his legs down from the ledge. He walked past Aiden to the little chest and brought out a miniature brazier, a pot and some cups. With another wave of his hand, the brazier glowed with heat and he put the pot on to boil.

‘But you do know what you’re doing,’ Aiden added in the silence. He shook his head and regained his seat. ‘I was mad to think I could help you. Too proud, I admit. Hell, now I’m making confessions to you, a sorcerer! By the gods, my father would turn in his grave if he knew I was sitting here talking to you instead of condemning you from every tower in the country. I don’t even know why I’m still here! Pride. That must be it!’

‘Oh, you’re not proud, Bishop,’ Robert murmured without turning. ‘Just misguided.’