The Sorceror's Revenge (25 page)

             
Her heart longed for that moment and yet her head warned that it would not be so easy.  She was still Robert’s wife and he was not likely to let her go.  If she did escape him, he would come after her – and this time he would make sure that both she and Nicholas were dead.

             
As a mother she ached to hold her lost babe, yet she was afraid of what Robert would do when he knew that Nicholas was still alive.  It would make him so angry to learn that Nicholas had succeeded where he had failed.

             
Was it sinful of her to think that she would rather live in poverty with Nicholas than be the mistress of this fine castle?  Nicholas was a gentle loving man, a healer not a soldier. If she went to him it might seal his fate.

             
‘Oh please, God, let Nicholas find a way for us to be together.’

             
Melloria sank to her knees and prayed but she was not sure what she was asking.  The only way she and Nicholas could live together would be if Robert were to die.

* * *

Niccolai paused in the act of pouring water into the mixture he had been preparing.  So many people were sick and he had exhausted much of his store of the cure for the fever and sickness that was in almost every house at the moment.  As yet he had not put a name to the infection, but he knew that it passed from person to person, either by the touching of hands or on the breath.  He glanced round at his shelves, taking note that he would need to purchase more of certain elements and precious oils.  It might be that he needed to visit England very soon.  Some of the rare ingredients he required were easier purchased there than in France.

             
He thought that when he visited London he might also visit the woman who was so often in his thoughts.  If his spies told him truly, Devereaux was from home and not expected back for a while.  It was a chance to see Melloria without bringing retribution on her head.  Niccolai knew that he must take great care when entering and leaving the castle, for if he were seen Robert might punish Melloria.

             
He believed there was a way to slip unseen by the guards, though he was not certain the principle would work in practice.  Thus far he had used the power of his mind only to banish pain by suggestion.  Whether it would serve to help him pass the guards unnoticed was something he must discover. Yet the guards might be lax while their master was from home, and the castle was open to many travellers, for peddlers and villagers mingled as they went about their business.  The castle needed a huge amount of produce and craftsmen to survive, and the buildings that grew up around it to supply its needs were a thriving industry.  With a little slight of hand and some willpower, he might enter and leave without being noticed.

             
Before he took ship for England, he must make certain that Mary was safe and well.  He had been given a report that seemed to suggest Marta had had enough of travelling.  Niccolai wanted to be sure that wherever she went he could find her, and when the time was right he would bring his daughter here.

             
He wanted the woman he loved here too.  Anne, his wife, not Melloria Countess of Devereaux.  In his mind they were two different women. He must see Anne, speak to her, and make certain that she wished to live with him, and then he would put the last stages of his plan into action.

             
Nicholas knew that Anne was desperately unhappy.  She spoke to him often in her mind and he heard her weeping in his dreams.  He had learned to concentrate his thoughts so that he could reach her and comfort her, but the effort was tiring and brought on one of his headaches.

             
Amongst the ancient writings he studied, the one concerning the power of the mind had given him much thought. If the mind could be harnessed to control the actions of others, as the writer claimed; to perhaps create an illusion not just in one mind but in many - the thought conjured up such images!

             
In the wrong hands power of that magnitude would be terrible indeed. Nicholas knew that to dabble in things that bordered on sorcery was risky for he might be drawn too far down the slippery path to damnation.

             
Once he had been haunted by the Devil’s laughter but he had rid himself of the Book of Secrets.   Yet still he was tempted by the knowledge of the ancients. He had come a long way. What more might he achieve if he dared?

33

It was beautiful in the meadows behind the castle.  Above their heads the sky was a pale blue with fluffy clouds. In the distance they could see the sweep of the Downs, beyond which lay the sea. Melloria, Maria, Alfreda and the children were all sitting in the  early spring sunshine.

             
‘Now you are Queen of the May,’ she said, pleased with her work. 

             
‘Thank you, my dearest.’ Melloria smiled at her.  ‘Though I think that title should properly belong to the prettiest girl in the village when the queen is chosen next month. Be careful not to pick the blue speedwell, my love, for that brings you out in a rash.  Do you remember when you picked wild flowers once before and felt very ill?’

             
‘Papa gave you something to rub on me to ease the itching and pain,’ Iolanthe said and wrinkled her brow.  ‘Where is Papa?  Why do we never see him?’

             
‘Because we live here with the earl,’ Melloria told her, looking away so that her darling child should not see the sadness in her eyes.  ‘He is your true father – Papa was just someone who loved us very much.’

             
‘I would rather live with Papa.  You were happier then.’ Iolanthe crawled into her lap as she sat on the dry grass, looking up at her.  She touched Melloria’s cheek.  ‘Would you rather be with Papa?’

             
Melloria longed to tell her the truth but she knew she must not.  Robert had been away for some weeks but he might return at any time, and she could not risk Iolanthe blurting out something that would anger him.

             
‘Have you picked enough flowers, my darling?’ she asked.  ‘Perhaps you should run and play with the others now.’

             
‘Harry is so mean to us,’ Iolanthe said and her mouth drooped.  ‘He says the bow and arrows are his and he will not let any of us try to shoot the arrows.’

             
‘Well, play some other kind of game.  Ring a roses or running and jumping.’

             
‘I think I like Peter better than Harry.  He shared his sweetmeats with me.  Harry never will.’

             
‘Peter is a good boy, though sometimes careless of what he says.  Go and play with them Iolanthe.  I must gather some herbs.’

             
‘I could help you.’

             
‘You do not know which ones and I do not want to mix them up or they might react badly in a cure.’

             
Melloria watched as her daughter ran off to join the others.  As she looked down the hill, she saw that the village men had returned from Winchester with their carts laden with goods.  She was pleased that their people prospered.  In most things Robert was a good master, allowing the common-folk the privileges of forage and gleaning that should be theirs by right, and the villagers here fared better than many.

             
Wandering along the hedgerow, Melloria picked herbs and some violets, which she would add to boiling sugar to make sweetmeats.  She was intent on her work, lingering until the sun began to move westward and the sky was turned to orange as the sun set.  Calling to the children, she smiled at her children and ladies as they walked back to the castle.  Her home had seemed less of a prison since her friend came, but how long would it be before Robert returned?

* * *

‘I have had a letter from the earl,’ Master Steward said  to Melloria that evening at supper. ‘His Majesty has issued a proclamation to the shires against his detractors.  He has sent a detailed statement to the leading barons concerning his objections to the laws and conditions they imposed and demands his freedom to act and rule alone.  He has spoken of complaints of mismanagement in the shires.  Too many men unfitted for high duties were appointed to positions they abuse or neglect. It has caused much unrest amongst the people.’

             
‘Yes, you have spoken of these things yourself,’ Melloria said looking grave.  ‘What does it mean?  Will there be more trouble?’

             
‘You know that armed bands have been roving in the area?’  She nodded, because it had caused some concern, though the village and the castle had not so far been attacked.

‘Unless the King acts decisively to control the unrest there may be trouble for the villagers.  I heard this morning of a village not twenty miles from here that was attacked. The villagers fled but six cottages were burned to the ground.  Crops were spoiled and pigs were stolen.  It is only because we patrol the boundary of the hundreds that the earl’s land stays safe in these troubled times.’

             
‘We must pray that it does not happen here,’ Melloria said.  ‘I shall give instructions that in case of attack everyone from the village may find shelter here.’

             
‘That is all very well, Melloria, but unless they bring their livestock into the castle we could not feed them for long.  I know the sheep are plentiful but the chances are they will be out on the Downs and we shall have no chance to bring them in. Our stores of grain are depleted after the winter and we shall not build them up again until the crops are in.’

             
‘Lives are more important,’ Melloria said with a lift of her head.  ‘In the event of an attack, our people must be allowed to come in if they wish.’

34

Will Hern had done well at the fair that day.  He had sold most of what he had made while they stopped at the inn to allow Marta’s feet to recover.  Several good quality belts, a jerkin of the finest leather, and a pair of boots that would ease the ache from any man’s feet had brought him a purse full of silver coin.  Will was pleased with his profits, because he had more than seventy silver coins in his pouch.  The money felt heavy as it clinked against his thigh.  He was walking back to the cottage he had found for them, because he had sent Marta and the child home early on the cart.  Marta had looked so pale and tired and he felt guilty.  Perhaps if he had been a better provider and not gambled his money away, she would not have become so ill.

             
Will sighed as he stopped by the side of the road to urinate.  He owed Marta nothing, but he always felt a sense of guilt because he had killed her brother.  Todd had been attacking her and it had been dark.  Will had struck him a savage blow over the head to save her, but he wasn’t sure she had ever forgiven him for killing her brother.  He had not expected the man to die, he had just wanted to save Marta from a vicious attack.  They had fled Winchester that very night and taken the first ship for France, but his guilt remained at the back of his mind.

             
Adjusting his leggings, Will bent to pick up his pack.  Hearing a sound behind him, he swung round, putting up his fists to defend himself, but it was too late.  Briefly, he saw the faces of the three men and knew them, but before he could do anything, the long knife slid into his side.  Another of the rogues stabbed him in the chest and he fell to his knees, clutching at his wounds.  It was then that the third men plunged a dagger in his back and twisted.

             
Will fell forward to his knees, his face in the dirt.  He knew nothing as the robbers slit the ties that held his money pouch and made off into the gathering gloom.

* * *

Marta looked out of the window.  It was getting dark and Will was not back.  She had expected him long before this, because he had already sold most of his goods before he told her to take Mary home.  Where was he – was he coming back to them, or had his concern been a ruse to get rid of them?

             
Marta’s fear of being left alone with the child returned to haunt her.  She wished that she had not trusted Will.  If she had not given him all their money she would have had enough left to last for a few months, and by then it would no longer be a problem for her.

             
‘What will the child do?’ she spoke softly, but Mary’s head turned towards her inquiringly.

             
‘Do you need something, Mother?  Can I fetch you a drink of water?  I could warm some ale for you if you wish?’

             
‘No, child, I want nothing,’ Marta said.  She looked at Mary and a wave of remorse and regret swept over her.  What had she done to the child?  She had stolen her, because she believed the child’s mother was dead, and she had wanted to protect her from Nicholas Malvern.  Yet when the Earl of Devereaux had sent messengers to look for his lost daughter, who might well be Mary, she had done nothing.  She could have thrown herself on the earl’s mercy and given Mary up.  It would have been kinder rather than exposing the girl to the hard life on the roads.  She had fled to France in fear of what she and Will had done, and because she had cared for the child – but she knew that she had not treated Mary well.  Life had been too hard and too many harsh words and sharp slaps had gone Mary’s way.