E. M. Powell (15 page)

“’Twas nothing, my dear.”

“We’ll be leaving once night falls. You’ll not need to bother with us after that,” said Palmer.

Benedict
, she reminded herself. But leaving to where?

“Glad to hear that much,” said Gwendolyn. “Gilbert, it won’t take the two of us to tell them what’s going on. I’m going to go and fetch a pie and a jug of ale. Some of us have been working all day and need sustenance.” She jingled coins in her pocket.

“That would be champion, Gwen,” said Gilbert. “Can you get a bite for all of us?”

Her lips pursed. “I’ll see what I can do. I’ll be a while,” said Gwendolyn. “Everywhere will be ten deep because it’s market day.” She walked out without a backward glance, her wooden pattens rapping hard on the floor.

Gilbert went to see her out the front door. The sounds of a stout lock engaging echoed through the quiet shop. He returned with an odd look on his face.

Theodosia glanced at Benedict. The knight had seen the look too. “Is there something amiss, Gilbert?” he said.

“No.” The man’s breath came fast. “No, there isn’t, Sir Palmer.”

She looked at Benedict in horror as the knight straightened and his big hands closed into fists. “How do you know my name?” he said.

“I’ll tell you, and more besides, if you tell me the truth about you and that lady you call your wife.”

“I still have my dagger, sir.” Benedict’s action matched his words.

The old man blanched but held his ground. “If you kill me, you won’t know what I know. That could be fatal. For you both.”

Theodosia spoke up. “Benedict, you are not to hurt this man. He has helped us, saved my life.”

Benedict still held his dagger.

She pushed his arm down. “There will be no more bloodshed. Do you hear me? Your soul is already halfway to hell.”

Benedict muttered another of his oaths but replaced his dagger on his belt.

She addressed the furrier. “Kind sir, your shop has crucifixes on the walls, and you have a well-kept altar to Saint James in the corner. You are a man of God?”

He nodded.

She looked at Benedict. “Then tell him. Tell him what has happened to us.” She crossed herself. “To Archbishop Becket.”

♦ ♦ ♦

Gwendolyn marched along the crowded streets of Knaresborough, cursing people silently and aloud as they blocked her path.

“Excuse me, mistress.” A youth stepped in front of her, legs and back bent under a basket of muddy turnips. She was tempted to dash them to the ground, but she didn’t want to be delayed by the ensuing commotion.

She waved him past, pulling her woolen cloak tight on her shoulders. All round her, the air buzzed with one topic: the murder and the knight who’d done it.

“Chewets! Coffin pie!” A huckster stood on a corner with a tray of steaming pastries that made her empty stomach growl. Never mind. Plenty of time for that later.

Her path clearer, she set off again, scanning the crowds for the uniformed castle guards. She wanted to bring her information right to the horse’s mouth. Otherwise some scoundrel was bound to present her information as his own, and rob her of her fifty crowns for that strumpet and whatever she’d get for the knight. She smirked at the memory of the mail-clad Sir Palmer. He’d be worth more than a stud stallion.

At last. She spotted the dull-gray conical metal of a castle guard’s helmet. She pushed her way through the knots of people who gawked at stalls like they’d never seen an eel or a set of pins in their lives.

“Guard.”

The man turned with reluctance from whomever he spoke to, to see who it was had interrupted so rudely. When his eyes lit on Gwendolyn, they glazed with the utter disinterest of a young man for a middle-aged woman. He returned to his conversation.

Gwendolyn tapped him sharply on the shoulder.

The guard stepped back to view her with some ire. “I’m busy, mistress. Very busy.”

The man to whom he spoke also viewed her with considerable irritation. A knight in full chain mail and immaculate surcoat, he had the noble features of an ancient statue and eyes bluer than the winter sky.

“Begging your pardon to interrupt,” she said. Something about the knight made her dip in a quick curtsey. “But I have news about Sir Palmer.”

The guard rolled his eyes. “In your closet too, madam?” He winked at the knight. “That’ll be four so far.”

The knight didn’t respond to the guard but focused his attention on Gwendolyn. “Go on.”

“The girl is with him.”

The knight hissed in a sharp breath.

“Short, dark-blonde hair. Skinny. Pale. Soaked to the skin when I found her.” Gwendolyn allowed herself a little preen. “But they have duped my blockheaded husband, got him to do their will. They’re still with him at our shop.”

The knight muttered a set of instructions to the stunned-looking guard. “Now, mistress.” An angelic smile played on his fine lips. “Take us there. With all due haste, if you please.”

EPISODE 3

CHAPTER 10

As Benedict finished his rapid account of the Archbishop’s murder and their pursuit by the murderous knights, Gilbert crossed himself.

“I can’t believe there’s such evil in the world,” he said. “To think a man so holy would be struck down. In his own church.” His faded eyes met Theodosia’s. “To think a knight like Reginald Fitzurse would inflict such an end on a holy woman.” He shook his head.

“Now, sir,” said Benedict. “You said you had information that could save our lives?”

“Aye.” The old man looked from Theodosia to Benedict. “Everyone is looking for you. Word has come from the castle that there’s a price on your heads.”

“How much?” said Benedict.

“Fifty crowns for Sister Theodosia. He’s not said she’s a sister, though.”

She caught her breath. People would hunt her to the ends of the earth for such a huge sum. “I hope you are not tempted by that reward, Benedict.” She gave him a knowing look.

He flushed, but Gilbert gaped at her, aghast.

“Sister Theodosia, it’s hardly my place to say it, but how can you make such a cruel jest about Sir Palmer?”

Benedict raised a hand to him. “Ignore it, Gilbert. I deserve it.”

“No, you do not, Sir Palmer,” said the furrier. “Sister, if you’d seen the state Sir Palmer was in when I found him in my byre. With you in his arms, him that beside himself with worry, ’twas no wonder I believed you were married.”

“Gilbert,” said Benedict. “Pay it no mind.”

But Gilbert carried on. “Half the night tending to you, caring for you, willing you back to life. The look on his face when you were out of danger.”

Now it was her turn to blush, caught by surprise at the furrier’s account. “It appears I should not have made light of Benedict’s actions.”

The knight would not meet her eye. “Is the fifty crowns for the sister alive?”

The old man nodded. “Aye.”

Alive.
Of course
, she thought. So Fitzurse could roast her to death for his pleasure. She asked, “You said there is a price on both our heads. What has been said about Benedict?”

Gilbert paled. “A crown…” He swallowed hard. “For each piece of him.”

Stifling her cry of disgust, Theodosia looked to Benedict, still embarrassed by her clumsy barb. “That will have come from Fitzurse, won’t it?”

His face remained composed. “Of course. Having me chopped to mincemeat would bring him great joy.”

“You can hide here as long as you like.” Gilbert squared his bent shoulders as best he could. “’Tis too late to save the Archbishop’s life, but I can stop any more evil being committed. I’ll not turn you out. Stay here, then leave under cover of darkness, as you’d planned.”

The knight shook his head. “Make no mistake, I’m truly grateful for your offer.” He cast his eyes up with an oath. “But I don’t think the cover of night will help much now. Folk are out hunting, with us as a wealthy prize. They won’t give up just because the sun sets.” He paced the floor of the shop.

“Then we hide for longer,” said Theodosia, a deep urge within her for him to agree. “It’s safe here, Gilbert has promised us. We’ll lock the doors, stay in here. No one will know.”

“Exactly, sir knight,” said Gilbert. “This storeroom will be your sanctuary. For as long as you need it.”

Benedict frowned as he stopped his pacing and gestured around him. “A sanctuary, until someone decides to search the houses. Anyone comes, there’s no windows in the storeroom, no way out. We’re here for the taking.”

“I’ll hide you better than that,” said Gilbert. He indicated to his stored piles of skins. “I can make a space in those. No one would think to look.”

The old man’s tremulous hope touched Theodosia to her soul, though she knew his suggestion was useless. “I think, kind sir, they would,” she said, as gently as she could.

“Then we’ll have to make a run for it. Darkness will be better, but not much. And we still have to stay hidden till then.” Benedict unsheathed his dagger and turned it over in his palm. His dark eyes met Theodosia’s. “This is all that stands between us and death.”

She nodded, finding no words with the turmoil in her chest. That he’d held her, a rough man like him, she could understand. But worried for her? Cared for her?

“Gilbert, what weapons do you have?” said Benedict.

“There’s me tanner’s knife,” said Gilbert. “You should have that, because your young hands shake less than mine. Though the blade’s not what it was. A bit like me. There’s a mallet on a shelf in the cowshed. Nothing else.”

“That’s better than nothing,” said Palmer. “Can you fetch them, please? We need to be as ready as we can be.” He stared at his knife, as if willing the short blade to become a sword.

“Aye, sir knight.” The old man gave a small smile as he went to leave. “Lord knows, I wish I had a sorcerer’s wand and could make you both invisible.”

“That would be a miracle, sir. Would it not?” Theodosia looked at Benedict.

The knight stood stock-still and stared at Gilbert. “What did you say?”

“I said I would make you both invisible.”

Benedict broke into a broad smile. “You, sir, are a man of the finest intellect.”

♦ ♦ ♦

Gwendolyn trotted along beside the blue-eyed knight, head held high. So many of her neighbors pointed her out, spoke to each other with great excitement as she passed by.

The blue-eyed one, Fitzurse, had been joined by another two. A great hulk of a fellow called le Bret and a loud-voiced, red-bearded one named de Tracy.

Oh, she was someone now. Walking through the center of Knaresborough, with three high-ranking knights, if you please, not to mind four castle guards.

Her thoughts went to the reward again. Fifty crowns definite, plus at least a hundred for Palmer. They’d have a horse, fur cloaks. She’d have new silk dresses. She brought a hand to her throat. A pearl necklace.

“How much further, mistress?” Fitzurse had the refined tones of a real nobleman, tones that dripped with wealth.

Gwen thrilled to her toes. “Another three alleyways, my lord.”

“Make ready, men,” said Fitzurse.

The group drew their swords in one movement.

Those who watched from the pavements gasped and moved back with somber murmurs.

Gwen held her head even higher. Oh, she was someone now.

♦ ♦ ♦

Theodosia stood in the privacy of the storeroom in Gilbert’s shop, a clean embroidered linen shift of Gwen’s strange against her skin. Clumsy in her haste, she laced up the front of a soft wool corset with fingers that shook.

She scooped up her ruined woolen underclothing from the floor and went out to the shuttered shop. “Do you really think this is going to work?”

“We’ll soon find out if it doesn’t.” Benedict’s reply came through a set jaw. Bent over a bowl of soapy water on the countertop, he shaved his stubble with rapid strokes of a razor.

When you are pulled apart in front of me and I am dragged off to Fitzurse.
“I do not know how you can make light of this.” Palms damp with fear, she placed her old clothes on the free space on the counter. “What is more, you still have not told me where we are going.”

Careful footsteps came from the stairwell.

“I’ll tell you when we’re alone,” said Benedict quickly.

Gilbert arrived with an armful of clothing. “I’ve found what I can. Here, Sister.”

Theodosia took the proffered dress from him, its rich red-brown hue like the autumn chestnuts she had seen on the altar at harvest thanksgiving. The finely spun soft wool rested light in her hands. “My goodness. Gwen likes to display finery.” She pulled it over her head.

“Aye, she does,” said Gilbert. “Dresses always make her happy — the finer, the better.”

“I’m ready, Gilbert.” Benedict wiped his newly shaven face clean with a cloth, and Gilbert handed him his clothing. The knight went through to the storeroom.

The front of Gwen’s dress closed by means of supple leather lacing, with the loose material gathered in. Its neckline sat far lower on her chest than Theodosia had ever worn in her life. She touched her exposed skin, the skin where her cross had lain. She was naked twice over now, her body exposed and her cross gone. A thin leather belt, fastened tight, made the dress sit even lower. How could she parade in public like this? She eased the dress up as far as it would go, then adjusted its short sleeves and straightened out the long sleeves of the linen shift beneath.

Gilbert handed her two tubes of light-green fabric heavily embroidered with cream silk. “Pin-on sleeves,” he said. “All the townswomen have them.”

“It is a pity there is no pin-on cover for my bodice.” She took them and went to affix them to the dress. The small metal pins slipped in her sweat-coated fingers.

“Permit me.” Gilbert’s gnarled digits were far more deft than hers.

With her linen shift covered by the patterned sleeves, she picked up a spotless pale green linen head wrap. She slipped it on and pushed her hair beneath with rapid tucks. “Is it all under? I hate my hair showing.”

“You look champion, Sister.” The old man busied himself wrapping up Benedict’s mail in his surcoat to make a neat bundle.