The Sorceror's Revenge (37 page)

             
The money Kerrin took from the monk would help him when he left England.  He must search for work in Italy or the Low Countries, for it might be dangerous to stay here.  Malvolia would suspect who was behind Robert Devereaux’s death.  Would he denounce him or hold his tongue?

             
Kerrin thought himself a good judge of character but he had never been able to read Malvolia.  Was he the good dedicated man, always striving to help others that some believed – or was there something more sinister about him?  When he had asked Kerrin to deliver that book to his cousin, he had been certain that the count wanted his enemy dealt with once and for all – yet Malvolia denied it.

             
Kerrin felt cold suddenly.  He shook off the feeling of impending doom. Malvolia could not know where he was or what he intended, and if he left England as soon as he had killed the earl, he would be safe. If he made his plans carefully no one would know for certain who had murdered Robert Devereaux.

             
The monk was within firing distance now.  Kerrin could see his face clearly.  He loaded his bolt, took aim and fired.  The arrow pierced the monk through the forehead.  He screamed once then fell from the driving box of the cart into the dirt.  The old horse stopped immediately, waiting for the order to move on.

             
Kerrin sprinted to where the monk lay face down in the dirt of the dusty road.  He turned him over with the toe of his boot, grunting with satisfaction as he saw how true his aim was still.  Robert Devereaux would die as easily as this monk.

             
Clambering on to the cart, he made a search of the contents and discovered the bags of coin hidden beneath a sack of flour and another of meal.  He picked them up and weighed them in his hands.  About ten pounds if he judged right.  Opening the top of one bag he tipped some coins into his hand, annoyed when he saw that it contained silver pence and not the gold he had hoped for.

             
Hearing the sounds of a horse approaching, Kerrin hid the money under a bush and marked the site then rode off as quickly as he could.  He could return for his ill-gotten gains later and no one would know who had killed the monk.

49

Robert woke with a curse on his lips.  He had drunk too much strong wine the previous night and, as a result, had slept too deeply.  The day was well advanced and as the light struck his eyes, he was aware of a thumping headache.  He threw back the covers and put his feet to the floor.  It was time to pay a visit to his wife.  This time he would compel her to listen to him.  If she would not come willingly, he would bring her back to the castle by force.

             
‘My lord, there is a messenger come,’ his steward said as he finished dressing and went through to the great hall.  ‘Will you see him now?’

             
‘Later.’ Robert waved him away, impatient to be gone.  He was on fire to see Melloria and make her listen to him.  He had been weak the last time they met, allowing her to dismiss his claims, but she would not escape so easily again.  She was his wife and he intended that she should do her duty. ’Do not bother me with trivial things…’

             
‘But the messenger comes from…’ the steward stared after him as he strode away. ‘…the King…’

             
Had Robert heard his last words everything might have been different, but he was wrapped up in his thoughts and so plunged on toward his destiny.

* * *

The assassin lay in wait, knowing that the earl was bound to ride this way soon enough.  It was mid-morning when he saw the lone rider and knew that his wait had come to an end. The Earl of Devereaux had ventured out alone, without his normal escort of soldiers.  It was a mistake for he had put himself into the assassin’s hands.  The man took his bow from his shoulder and loaded it with a bolt.  He took aim and fired, but as he did so his hand trembled and the bolt struck his shoulder rather than his head.

             
As he fell to the ground and was dragged by his horse, the man felt a cold sweat break out over his body.  He had been angry because the earl was a murderer.  He had killed Alfreda and for that Rhys had been determined he should die – but at the last moment his courage had failed him.

             
‘May God forgive me,’ he said and crossed himself, then mounted his horse and rode away, not looking back.

             
He must return to his work as an archer in the King’s forces, but before that he would find the place where Alfreda’s body lay and place flowers on her grave.

* * *

‘Who did this to you, my lord?’ his steward asked.  ‘Did you see the assassin?’

             
‘No. I saw nothing.’

             
Robert swore and looked at the bolt that was still buried in the fleshy part of his upper arm.  His horse had dragged him along the ground for a time but he’d managed to pull his foot clear and then, after the horse had settled, he’d caught it and mounted again.  The wound was glancing but not fatal and he had ridden home in pain but in possession of his senses.

He took hold of the shaft and pulled it out.  It did not come cleanly, the shaft breaking off in his hand just above the metal tip.

             
‘Damn it!’ he said.  ‘Don’t just stare at me, man.  It will have to be cut out.  Fetch a surgeon to me.’

             
‘The nearest is at York, my lord.  All we can do is bind it and wait until he can be fetched.’

             
‘Then send for my wife at the Abbey of Saint Innocent,’Robert muttered, clenching his teeth against the pain.  ‘Tell her I am wounded and need her help.  Ask her to come to me here.’

             
‘Will she come, my lord?’

             
‘Tell her she is free to leave whenever she chooses –but for pity’s sake I need her skill as a healer.’

             
‘Yes, my lord.  I shall send someone at once.’

* * *

‘Melloria, there is a messenger come from your husband.  He is wounded in the shoulder and begs you will go to him at once.’

             
‘Robert wounded?’ Melloria looked up from her sewing.  ‘Do you think the messenger is telling the truth?’

             
‘He says that the earl gives you safe passage.  You will be free to leave whenever you wish.’

             
Melloria’s heart thudded, her mouth dry with fright.  She saw the doubts in her sister’s face and knew that Beatrice thought as she did.

             
‘Can I trust him?  Even if he is ill he may change his mind and forbid me to leave as soon as I have tended his injury.’

             
‘Let me go in your stead, sister.  I have some knowledge of herbs.’

             
Melloria stared at her in silence.  Her instincts were against giving into Robert’s request for help, and yet her conscience was telling her that she owed him this at least.

             
‘I shall go to him, but I will not stay a moment longer than I need.  If I do not return within a few days send someone to Devereaux to ask for me.  Should I be kept there against my will you must get a message to Nicholas.’

             
‘The monk that brings out money each month was waylaid as he journeyed here. I must write to our benefactor and suggest that he sends goods rather than silver in future.  I will send my letter and – if you should be detained against your will, I shall apply to the Bishop for help.  Yet  perhaps Robert will keep his word this time, sister.’

             
‘Perhaps…’ Melloria frowned.  ‘Please ask the messenger to wait for me. I must consult in Nicholas’s journals for the treatment of wounds and prepare something that will ease the pain.’
             

             
‘I do not like the thought of you at the castle,’ Beatrice said.  ‘Yet I know that you feel it your duty to do what you can to ease him – and perhaps it is right that you should go.  If you do not return within four days I shall come myself and ask for you.’

             
‘Thank you.’ Melloria embraced her.  ‘God blessed me when he gave me you as my sister, Beatrice.  I do not know what I should have done without you these past weeks.’

             
Beatrice shook her head.  ‘I was called by God to help others,’ she said.  ‘You are dear to me but I would have done as much for any woman in trouble.  God bless and keep you, dearest one.  I shall speak to the messenger.  He must wait in the guest-room until you are ready to leave.’

             
Melloria nodded but she was already thinking of the page in Nicholas’s journal that dealt with flesh wounds.  If it was a clean wound there should be little trouble, but if there was contamination Robert would suffer fever and he might lose his arm.

50

‘Thank you for coming, my lady,’ the steward said, greeting Melloria as she entered her husband’s bedchamber.  ‘We sent to York for the surgeon but I fear the earl has lost much blood and the head of the bolt is still in his flesh.  Unless it is taken out, it may fester and turn bad.’

             
‘Let me look,’ Melloria said and moved towards the bed.  Robert was lying with his eyes closed.  He looked pale and she could see that the wound to his shoulder was still bleeding sluggishly.  ‘Is he awake?’

             
Robert opened his eyes and stared at her.  ‘Is it you, Melloria?  Have you come back to me?’

             
‘I have come to help you,’ Melloria said.  ‘When I have tended your wound I shall return to the abbey.  You gave your word that you would let me go, Robert.’

             
‘Damn you,’ he muttered.  ‘If you have only come to gloat you may as well let me die.’

             
‘If you died I should be free, Robert, yet I shall do all I can to make you well again.  Will you trust me to do what I must – or shall I leave you to the surgeon when he comes?’

             
‘Do what you must,’ he ground the words out.  ‘It hurts like hell.  Someone tried to kill me – and I’d swear there is only one man who wants me dead.’

             
‘Only one, Robert?’ Melloria smiled oddly.  ‘Are you certain of that?  I believe you must have made enemies – do you not think so?’

             
‘Every man has enemies,’ Robert grunted.

             
Melloria turned to the steward.  ‘I shall examine the wound.  If I think it possible, I shall remove the arrowhead and cleanse the wound, then close it and bind it.  I have brought herbs and a cure that you will need to give your master once every four hours.  The wound will need to be cauterised when I have finished tending it. If I have to cut I shall need men to hold him down.’

             
‘Yes, my lady. I shall call someone.’  The steward looked at her with respect and went to summon the men.
             
Melloria’s hands were gentle as she removed the bandages that had been used to try and stop the bleeding.  She could see at once that the metal tip was embedded in Robert’s flesh, but fortunately the assassin’s aim had not been true and it was not as deep as it might have been. However, the first attempt to remove the bolt had torn the flesh unnecessarily and that was the cause of the bleeding.

             
‘Who made this mess?’ she asked and saw Robert’s scowl guessing that he had pulled at it and broken the shaft himself.  ‘Had you been less impatient, my lord, it would have been easier for you.’

             
‘Don’t scold me, Melloria.  I didn’t think. I just wanted to be rid of the thing.’

             
For a moment her heart caught as he grinned.  She had not seen that boyish look, which had charmed her before their wedding, in many a year, and it brought a rush of pity.

             
‘No, I shall not scold you, you foolish man.  It will be easy enough for me to remove the arrowhead, Robert, but it will hurt you.  Do you want something to bite on?’

             
He moved his head negatively.  Melloria beckoned to the two soldiers the steward had summoned.  She showed them how she wanted Robert’s arm held, then took the sharp knife from the casket she had brought with her.  She held it in the candle flame for a few moments, then made two quick incisions. Inserting the blade into the opening, she slid underneath the metal tip and cut it free, removing it deftly.  Blood poured from Robert’s mangled flesh.  She pushed it together with her fingers, then nodded to the steward.  He brought the hot iron, which was applied to the wound for mere seconds.  Robert screamed in agony as the heat seared his flesh and then fainted.