The Sorceror's Revenge (39 page)

             
This was all wrong.  He should have been given a trial, a chance to plead his case and perhaps escape his punishment, but these men were mad for blood - like a pack of ravening wolves.

             
Robert Devereaux had died swiftly, hardly knowing what happened to him.  Kerrin’s death was agonisingly slow, as he dangled and felt the breath being squeezed in his throat so that he suffocated little by little and his head felt as if it were bursting.  There was no clean break as he dropped, no quick death. Instead he saw his life played out before him.

             
Rhoda smiled up at him as she lay in the long sweet grass of the wild meadow.  He bent to kiss her lips but as he did so she changed, becoming a rotting corpse, her eyes accusing and red like the fires of Hell.

             
‘Come to me, my love,’ she whispered, her mouth foul as the worms wriggled through her decayed flesh.  ‘Come lie with me now, Kerrin.  You took my life.  Now we are joined for all eternity.’

             
‘Rhoda…’ Tears trickled down his cheeks.  He wanted to reach for her and embrace her even as she was, but now there was only blackness and he was lost. ‘Forgive me…forgive me.  I have never ceased to love you…’

52

Beatrice had just finished her prayers  when she was informed that a messenger had come from the castle.  She hurried to the guardroom, wondering what wickedness her sister’s husband was at now.

             
‘I have grave news,’ the man she knew to be Robert’s steward told her.  ‘My lord is dead?’

             
‘Dead – but Melloria said his wound would heal.  Was it a fever?’

             
‘No, an assassin murdered him as he lay drugged in his bed.  I had given him the dose the countess recommended but my lord seized the vial and drank more.  He must have been drifting into a deep sleep when the assassin struck.’

             
‘God have mercy,’ Beatrice felt the guilt strike.  She had prayed for her sister to be free of her husband, but she had not expected this.’

             
‘What happened – did you catch him?’

             
‘He was taken and hung, but it was too late for my master.  We have sent word to the King, and now we await his commands.  The castle needs a strong man to defend it, but that is a matter for others.  The earl’s funeral will be held tomorrow. If the countess wishes to attend I will send an escort for her.’

             
‘I shall speak to her,’ Beatrice said.  ‘I think she may wish to say her farewell in private – but I cannot speak for my sister.’

* * *

‘Dead – Robert is dead?’ The colour left Melloria’s face and she sat down on her bed, feeling stunned.  ‘God forgive me!  I have wished for my freedom and now…’ She shook her head.  ‘Who killed him?  Please tell me it was not…’ her voice failed her.

             
‘It was a man by the name of Kerrin of Shrewsbury.  Do you know of him?’

             
Melloria looked at her in silence for a moment.  ‘No, I do not think…Robert may once have mentioned someone but I cannot be sure.  Who told you this?’

             
‘Robert’s steward came to see me this evening.  He asked if you would attend the funeral tomorrow.  I told him you might prefer to say farewell in private.’

             
‘I am not sure…’ Melloria felt her throat tighten.  It was foolish to feel so affected by the news of Robert’s death.  Of late she had come close to hating him, and yet murder was always shocking.  ‘Would it be right to go feeling as I do, Beatrice?  I suppose that I ought to pay my respects but…’

             
‘I see no reason why you should attend,’ Beatrice said, her voice cold.  ‘After the way he behaved to you, Melloria, he does not deserve that you should grieve for him.’

             
‘No, I shall not grieve.  I am free at last…’ Melloria felt the sting of tears.  She got up and walked to look out of the tiny slit in the wall that served as a window in her cell.  ‘Where is Nicholas? Why does he not come?’

             
‘I cannot answer that,’ Beatrice said.  ‘If you wish to attend the funeral I shall arrange for you to be taken there. I told Master Steward to send your horse.  It is right that you should be given all that was yours.  Robert can no longer withhold your lands and revenues, Melloria.  You are free to leave whenever you choose.’

             
‘Yes. I must think.  I shall say my farewells alone.’ Melloria raised her head.  ‘I believe I should pray.  I must ask God for forgiveness.’

             
‘You are blameless,’ Beatrice said. ‘But pray if you wish. I must join my sisters for evening prayer.’

             
Melloria sank to her knees as her sister left.  She had longed for her freedom but her guilt was strong.  She had tried not to wish for Robert’s death, but in her heart she had known it was the only way she could be free.

             
Now she had her freedom but she was alone.  Where was Nicholas?  Why had he not come to her?

             
‘I need you so,’ she whispered.  ‘Please come to me, my dearest.  I need you so much…’
             

53

Harry stood outside the door of what had been his father’s chamber and listened to the raised voices.  Sir John and Lady Eleanor were arguing again, as they so often did.  Harry disliked his guardian but he hated the sour-faced woman who had taken his mother’s place.  He had thought she would be kind and soft, that she might take him in her arms to comfort him when he was ill or upset, but she looked at him as if he were something foul she had scraped off her shoe.

             
He often listened to their quarrels, but this time they were talking about him, and he wanted to know what they were saying.  He moved closer to the door, listening to the angry voices.

             
‘Now that Devereaux is dead, you should be earl,’ Lady Eleanor said in a cold tone that sent shivers down Harry’s spine.  ‘You took Craigmoor without a fight.  I do not see why that bastard should inherit the title and the castle.’

             
‘The King has sent word that I am to surrender the boy to Sir Henry Fineden.  Sir Henry is to be given the command of the castle of Devereaux and is made the boy’s guardian until he comes of age.’

             
‘And you will allow it?  More fool you if you let him go.  Have you no backbone?  Stand up to the King and keep the brat here.  There will come a time when you can be rid of him and then you will be the earl, as you ought to be.’

             
‘Damn it, woman.  Will you never cease your nagging?’ Sir John complained.  ‘Sometimes I wonder why you married me.’

             
‘I thought you would be the earl when Robert Devereaux was dead…’

             
‘Master Harry, come away.’

             
Karl the steward had come up behind Harry as he listened intently.  Now he took hold of his arm and led him away from the door.

             
‘They were talking of me,’ Harry said as he sensed that Karl was sympathetic to him.  ‘What does it mean when they say my father is dead?  Am I the earl now?’

             
Karl looked at him for a moment, shaking his head sorrowfully.  ‘Yes, you are the earl for your father made you his heir, child.  Something happened to your father.  It means you will not see him again.’

             
‘Has he gone away, like my mother and Iolanthe?’

             
‘Something like that,’ Karl told him and ruffled his tousled hair.  ‘Joanne used to take better care of you.  I dare say you will be happier with your guardian.’

             
‘Will I have to live with him – does he have children?’

             
‘Yes, I expect so’

             
‘Why can’t I go with my father or my mother and Iolanthe?’

             
Karl shook his head, looking at him sadly.  ‘Too many questions, lad.  I cannot answer them.  One day you will understand what being dead means.’

             
‘I should be the earl now.’

‘Yes, you should.  I was told not to tell you or call you by that title, but when you go to live with Sir Henry they will treat you with respect.’

             
‘I want to live with my mother and Iolanthe,’ Harry said, his eyes dark with anger.  ‘Peter Finch said that I was a bastard and that my mother wasn’t my mother – but she told me she loved me, and then she went away and left me here.’

             
‘Lady Melloria did not have a choice, lad.  Your father sent her away.’

             
‘Couldn’t she come back now he is dead?’

             
‘No, I don’t think so.  Sir John and his lady live here now.  It will be much better for you to stay with Sir Henry and his wife. Besides, it is the King’s command and it will be safer for you, lad.’

             
Harry was silent.  He did not want to go and live with a stranger.  He wanted his mother and father to come back, though he sort of understood that once someone was dead they had gone forever.  It wasn’t fair that Iolanthe was with the lovely soft woman he thought of as his mother, even though Peter had told him she was only his stepmother.  His own mother was dead too, long ago before he could remember, and he was a bastard – but he was also the earl because his father had made him his heir.

             
Harry wasn’t sure what all this meant, because it was strange that he had two mothers and a half sister.  He did not want to stay here with his father’s cousin and his wife, but he didn’t want to live with Sir Henry either.  It wasn’t fair that he had to live with strangers when Iolanthe had gone with their mother. At least he thought they were together, but no one told him anything. He was ignored, left to run wild as he pleased.

             
He was angry and bewildered, his mind in torment as he tried to make sense of all that had happened to him.  He fingered his earlobe, which had never been the same since Iolanthe bit him and often felt sore.  His feelings for his half-sister were a mixture of adoration and hatred.  He wished she was here so that he could pull her hair or punish her – and yet he knew that if she were they would hold hands and comfort each other.

             
Harry wanted to inflict pain on someone because of the pain inside him.  When he saw the butterfly beating its wings against the small pane of glass in the narrow window he smiled and pounced, catching it in his hands.  He knew it wanted to be free and fly away, but it was powerless now that he held it in his hands.  Taking one of its wings between his forefinger and thumb, he pulled it away, then let the one-winged creature fall to the floor.  For some minutes he watched, fascinated as it tippled over on its side and struggled to keep its balance, then he stamped on it, squashing it beneath his boot. Now the butterfly was dead like his father.

             
A feeling of satisfaction crept over him.  He was the earl.  That meant he was powerful and people must obey him.  One day he would punish Peter and perhaps Iolanthe too.  It wasn’t fair that she should be with their mother while he was left here alone.

             
Yes, one day he would punish them all.

54

Melloria knelt before the altar in the chapel as the dusk gathered about her, the light from the candles falling upon the wooden cross and the effigy of Christ.  For a moment as she gazed at it, it seemed to her that the figure wept.  She bent her head, feeling her own tears close.

             
‘Forgive me for I have sinned in my thoughts.’

             
Earlier that day she had stood by Robert’s grave, watching as the labourer filled the gaping hole with dark stony earth and no tears had fallen.  She had felt nothing but emptiness.  Robert had caused her too many tears.  She could not grieve for him. Her sadness was caused by the loneliness that surrounded her. Even Beatrice seemed to have withdrawn from her of late.

             
Rising to her feet, Melloria turned and saw him.  Standing in the shadows beyond the light of the candles she could not at first be sure that it was really he.  She had longed for him so often, conjuring his image to her mind, and perhaps that was all she saw now – just an image from her fevered imagination.