The Midsummer Crown (35 page)

It was my turn to curl my lip, but I said nothing.

This intransigence annoyed her and she half-rose from her stool, an ugly look on her face, but the other woman interrupted by asking, ‘What are we going to do with him? Kill him? But I don't want the body disposed of here. From what you've told me, if he really is an agent of the Lord Protector, his disappearance will cause a stir and there's bound to be a hue and cry. The trail might well lead to us. John can look out for himself, but I've the girls to think of.'

Pernelle got to her feet. ‘Oh, I'm in no hurry to get rid of him. He can wait. I'll think of something later. Meanwhile, we've tomorrow to concern us and there's still a lot to do to prepare for the ceremony. John knows to take the boy straight to St Etheldreda's Church?'

‘Of course. Your aunt will be waiting for him?'

‘Yes. He and the girls will stop the night with her. It's all arranged. Three of the Sisterhood will stay with the boy in the underground chamber, administering more of the drug if he seems like waking. You've had no trouble with him?'

‘None. We did as we were told. If he stirred, we forced more of the potion down his throat before he had time to recover consciousness. That apothecary's assistant you recruited certainly knows how to concoct a potent brew.'

I caught my breath. Could it be Naomi they were talking of? I remembered the sprig of birch twigs pinned to her bodice, but that was commonplace at this time of year. I prayed for Julian Makepeace's sake that it wasn't true, but without much hope of having my prayer answered. Naomi was just the sort of giddy young woman to be easily influenced and convinced of her own importance. Moreover, she had access to all of Julian's drugs, and I wouldn't put it past her to have picked his brains without his realizing why she needed the information. And indeed, why would he suspect her of any nefarious dealing?

‘So what do we do now?' the woman called Margaret went on anxiously. ‘Are you leaving him with me?' She nodded in my direction.

‘No. I need you in London. There are horses outside. If we ride hard, we may reach the gates before curfew. If not, there are ways in and out of the city if you know them.' Pernelle laughed suddenly and stretched her arms above her head. ‘You know, Aunt Rosina couldn't believe her luck when Lady Fitzalan asked her to be nurse to young Gideon. The seventh son of a seventh son! She knew the time must come when we could make use of him. It's been a long and patient wait in the cold and gloomy north, but the gods have moved at last. If you believe in them and make them sacrifice, the Old Ones never fail you.'

Her friend ignored this. ‘If I come to London with you, what happens to him?' she demanded.

Pernelle laughed again, a sound that increasingly made me break into a sweat. Why had I never noticed before that there was a hint of madness in it?

‘He can stay here until we return the day after tomorrow. He can't escape. Even if he could manage to get his hands free, the dog won't let him move.' She smiled at me. ‘He's a brother of Beelzebub. He's from the same litter.' The smile grew even more pronounced. ‘Margaret is Nell Blancheflower's sister. I shall have something to tell her on our journey.' She turned to the dog, pointed a finger at me and uttered the one word, ‘Guard!'

The vicious brute growled and bared his teeth. I shivered inwardly. I had seen what his brother was capable of and I didn't fancy my throat being torn apart.

Pernelle turned once more to her friend. ‘Hurry,' she said. ‘Get your cloak. We must be going. We'll see you again, Roger. The day after tomorrow!'

I must, in spite of my agonizing discomfort, have fallen into an uneasy, nightmarish doze, because the light now coming through the cottage window was rosy with the first feeble rays of the rising sun. For a moment or two, I stared around me, unable to get my bearings, before the pain in my legs, my wrists, my bladder brought me once more fully to my senses. My distress, after so many hours, was acute enough to convince me that another day and night of this torment would very likely kill me. Was this what Piers – Pernelle – had planned? Death by slow torture?

My throat was so parched that I could barely swallow, every joint screamed out in pain, cramp had both legs in its grip. My bowels, like my bladder, were full and would shortly humiliate me even further by emptying themselves. I should stink as badly as the room in general where the dog, unhampered by any such inhibition, had fouled the rush-strewn floor throughout the night.

Once more, I made a desperate attempt to free my wrists. In a second the creature was up and baring its teeth, but so long as I remained still, I guessed it wouldn't attack me. I recalled my earlier assessment of its character; that it was a stupid animal who would slavishly obey orders, but whose enterprise and initiative had been eroded by cruelty and lack of affection. In that moment, I almost wished it would attack. I felt that death would be welcome. There was no hope of escape. The homestead was so isolated that nothing and no one ever seemed to pass that way. No sound disturbed the silence except the soughing of the wind in the trees . . .

It was with total astonishment therefore, that I saw the door of the cottage slowly opening. Seconds later, the daughter of the house, the young girl I had seen weeks before trying to escape the clutches of her mother, stepped across the threshold.

‘Hello, who are you?' she asked, staring at me in astonishment.

TWENTY

‘The dog!' I croaked in a voice I barely recognized as my own. ‘Beware the dog!'

The brute had risen to its feet at the opening of the door and now stood facing the child, hackles raised and teeth bared in a way that made me tremble with fear. She, however, seemed entirely unperturbed.

‘I'm not afraid of him!' was the scornful reply. Pointing one small, rosy finger at the animal, she yelled, ‘Lie down and go to sleep!'

And to my utter amazement, the beast did just that. It stretched its full length among the rushes and closed its eyes. A moment later, it was snoring.

Meanwhile, the girl had advanced into the room and was studying my face intently. ‘I know who you are,' she announced. ‘You're that man who was here – oh! – a long time ago when my sister was ill. Why have you come back?' But she spoke without curiosity and evinced no further interest when I ignored the question.

‘My hands are tied,' I whispered hoarsely. ‘Can you find a knife and cut me free?'

Without another word, she fetched a large, wicked-looking blade from the cooking bench and hacked through the rope which bound me. I regret to say that I didn't even stop to thank her, but staggered outside to the lean-to privy which I had noticed yesterday at the back of the cottage and then, when I finally emerged, to the barrel of rainwater where I bathed my face and badly bruised wrists. Finally, as the sun lifted clear of the horizon and the dawn chorus sounded ever louder from the neighbouring trees, I stretched my limbs and filled my lungs with the cold, sweet morning air.

When I returned to the cottage, this remarkable child was calmly filling two beakers from a jug of her mother's home-brewed ale. She pushed one towards me and I swallowed the contents gratefully.

‘Aren't you supposed to be in London?' I queried.

She nodded and shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘I got bored sitting on that cart with my sister and a load of cabbages and that stupid boy who's been living here for the past two weeks. So, when my father wasn't watching I escaped. I knew he wouldn't come looking for me because he had to be in London by yesterday evening. I heard Mother tell him so and he mostly does as she says. I shall get whipped for it,' she added philosophically, ‘but I'm used to that. I'm always escaping. I was escaping that day you were here. One day, when I'm a bit older, I'll escape for good.'

‘What's your name?' I asked.

‘Albia. What's yours?'

‘Roger. Who was the boy who was here, do you know?'

‘No. He was no fun.' Her tone was contemptuous. ‘He did nothing but sleep, like I told you, or when he was awake he wouldn't eat and just grizzled and cried for someone called Rosina.'

My heart went out to Gideon. Little did the poor young devil know that the person he was crying for was not his friend and protector, but one of the people responsible for all the evil which had befallen him. I decided there and then that whatever punishment was coming to Rosina Copley – and it would not be pleasant – she deserved every second of it.

‘I must be on my way,' I said, and again this strangely incurious child nodded her head.

But she was eminently practical, too. ‘If you're hungry, there's bread and cheese.'

I realized that I was, very hungry. And I also realized that after all I had undergone in the past few days, my limbs were like lead and my head felt as if it were stuffed with old rags.

‘Thank you,' I said.

While we ate, I asked Albia if she knew anything about the young woman who dressed as a boy.

‘Oh, her!' My youthful companion was dismissive. ‘She's only been here once or twice. Since the boy came, so I think she must be something to do with him. She's strange. She says she doesn't care for men, but she dresses like one. That's stupid. But Mother liked her very much. Father was angry about it, I don't know why.'

I didn't enlighten her and we finished our meal in silence. Indeed, I had a job to stay awake, especially after another two beakers of ale. Consequently the sun was rising in the sky when I finally climbed out of the hollow to the ridge above and set out on the long walk back to London. The horses had been taken, of course, by Piers – Pernelle – and the woman Margaret, and Albia had confirmed that the carthorse was the only beast of burden that her father owned. My hope must lie in some friendly carrier giving me a ride.

I awoke with a start to instant awareness and the horrified realization that the light was fading. I knew at once what had happened.

I had found the path leading to the main track with none of the difficulty I had experienced going in the opposite direction the previous day. The track itself was busy as always, and there was no dearth of carts heading for the capital. But the drivers were a singularly surly bunch and not one of them was prepared to offer me a ride in spite of my many appeals to their better natures. Two whom I physically attempted to halt by clutching at their horses' reins were most abusive, and one even caught me a stinging blow across the shoulders with his whip. A couple of others showed me the two-fingered devil's horn and consigned me verbally to the fires of Hell, while the rest simply ignored me or pretended not to hear.

Shortly after noon, when the sun was directly overhead and at its hottest, I stopped at a wayside cottage for a further drink of ale which, on reflection, was probably a grave mistake. If my limbs had felt like lead earlier on, they now rebelled altogether. My legs obstinately refused to obey my brain even on the increasingly rare occasions when my brain was capable of giving them orders. Three times I stumbled and nearly fell, but the fourth time I measured my length on the ground and my bruised and battered body insisted on staying there. I had just enough energy and will-power remaining to haul myself behind a large brake of gorse, out of sight of the highway, before falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.

It was from this no doubt healing, but unfortunate, slumber that I had now awakened to discover that it was almost dusk. I had no idea how far I still was from London, but I knew that the hour was advanced and that it must be almost curfew. I scrambled to my feet and staggered back to the road which now boasted only a handful of people, late travellers like myself.

I caught one of them by the elbow. ‘How far is it to London?' I asked, waiting with bated breath for his answer.

‘About a mile, by my reckoning.' He turned and looked at me. ‘I shouldn't try making it tonight,' he advised. ‘There's a little inn I know of 'bout a furlong further on. I'm going t' rack up there for the night. If you've any sense, you'll do the same. If you don't mind my saying so, you don't look too good.'

A mile! I knew that normally my pace was roughly two miles an hour which, at the best of times, would mean another half-hour's walking, and even that might be too late. (Unlike Piers-Pernelle, I had no knowledge of where one might breach the walls after the gates were closed.) I stared at the speaker in dismay.

‘I have to reach London tonight,' I said.

He shrugged. ‘Well, you might get there before curfew, I suppose, if you hurry. But if you'll pardon me saying so, you don't look like you could hurry. If you want the truth, you look like a man who's none too steady on his feet. You'd far better come with me to this inn I told you of. I'll give you my arm.'

I shook my head. ‘Thank you, but I must get to London.'

He gave another shrug and washed his hands of me. ‘In that case, I'll be getting along. If you want to kill yourself . . .'

A minute later, he was just a speck in the distance and I was left alone on a highway that now seemed completely deserted.

‘Look, God,' I said desperately, ‘you'll have to do something – and something spectacular – if you want me to save this child. I know I've been stupid and obtuse, ignoring or not understanding the hints you've given me. But let's face it, that's nothing new. You must realize after all these centuries that you may have made us in your own image, but you didn't give us your mind or brain. So, if you could . . .'

I never finished the sentence. My silent prayer was interrupted by the sound of hoof beats, at first in the distance but then accompanied by the sight of a rider in the saddle of a great bay mare approaching at a shocking speed. Indeed, man and beast were almost upon me before I gathered my wits sufficiently to leap into their path, clutching at the animal's reins. With a shouted curse, the horseman swerved to avoid me and, convinced he was being attacked by footpads, would have ridden me down had he not, suddenly and by the grace of God, recognized me just at the very moment that I recognized him.