Vengeance 03 - Believe In Me (14 page)

“
That’s not the worst of it,” the man advised. “So Jack stands up, hopin’ that when the bishop realizes he’s there, he will leave the boy be. But the bishop takes no notice of him. Instead, he takes the boy’s hand in his and bends his fingers back and breaks them as though ’tis nothin’. Told the boy that was what he got when he walked around with his hand out.”

William’s stomach turned. He’d seen cruelty in his travels, but cruelty to children was another matter entirely as far as he was concerned.

Henry’s eyes grew wide. “I always thought the man had a mean streak.”

“Jack hollers to catch the bishop’s attention and at last he spies Jack standing there. He releases the boy
, stalks over to Jack, and lets him go on the spot. Says he’s got no use for a nosy mason. When Jack protests, the bishop calls his guard and tells them
Jack
broke the boy’s fingers.”

“
Surely the boy told them the truth,” Henry said.

“A young boy would hardly defy the bishop,” William countered.
As unsettling as the story was, he had the feeling he wasn’t going to like the rest of it.

“
That’s exactly what happened. The poor thing was cryin’ so hard, he couldn’t speak as it was. He just stood there, holdin’ his broken fingers.”

At this point, Jack had become more agitated as though uncomfortable with the
details his friend was revealing. He shifted in his seat, shaking his head, tapping his friend on the arm.

“I’m tellin’ y
e, ’tis fine, Jack,” the man said in an attempt to calm him. “Bishop Duval can’t harm us here and others need to know the truth. That man is anything but holy.”

Jack ran his hand through his hair but
at last settled back with his cup in his hand.

William shared a look with Henry, hardly able to believe the tale. “Why would the bishop do such a thing?”

“For no other reason than because he can!” Samuel slammed his cup on the table for emphasis, the contents splashing on the rough table.

“This is difficult to believe,” Henry said.

“There’s more.” Samuel’s face grew grim. “Show them, Jack.”

Jack’s eyes watered suspiciously as he shook his head
, his mouth set in a grim line.

“Show them. We’ve got to tell people the truth,
” Samuel insisted. “Do ye want that done to someone else?”

Jack
gave a long look at first Henry, then William. With a heavy sigh, he opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue.

William drew back in shock.
Where his tongue should’ve been was a swollen, red lump split in two from the tip back.

“Hell’s teeth, man!” Henry exclaimed.

“The bishop did that. Or rather he had his guards do it.”

Bile rose in the back of William’s throat. He’d seen far worse injuries
—it was the knowledge that a bishop had ordered the punishment to an innocent man that made him ill.

“Why?” Henry asked.

“To keep him from talkin’. To warn him to keep his mouth shut. It marks him as a liar for life.”

“Truly?
This bishop ordered that to be done?” Henry shook his head in disbelief, his gaze catching William’s again.

Jack shut his mouth and
nodded, then picked up his cup for another drink.

“Father Markus is the one who
carried out the bishop’s orders. Jack said he seemed to enjoy it. The man was smilin’ the whole time while Jack was screamin’.”

William felt sick to his stomach. He couldn’t believe
their story, yet why would these men create such an unbelievable fallacy? If it was true, then Cristiana was in grave danger. As rebellious as she was, he well knew she would defy the bishop if he asked her to do anything she didn’t want to do.

He
rose and looked at Henry. “We’d best seek our beds as we’ll be leaving at first light.”

“Indeed,”
Henry agreed and stood, leaving additional coins on the table. “Thank you for sharing your story with us. You’re right. It shouldn’t remain a secret.”

Jack mu
mbled, gesturing with his hand.

William shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand you.”

“He says no one will believe you.”

For a brief moment, William thought of all the times that his brother, Nicholas, had been told that. When a vision struck, Nicholas would try to make events change for the better using whatever information he had received from his second sight. It didn’t always work, and people rarely believed him. Yet still he persisted with what he thought bes
t given the details he had.

William would
place a wager that Cristiana often had to do the same—make the best of the situation at hand and not worry over what people believed.

William could do no less.

“That makes no difference. We will still do what we think is right,” William said. “I am sorry for the pain and suffering you have endured. God be with you.”

“And with you, sir,” Samuel said.

Jack nodded solemnly.

“Let us check on
the horses,” William told Henry as he led the way out of the inn. After seeing Jack’s damaged tongue and the cause of it, he needed some fresh air.

“I worry for the lady’s safety,” Henry said. “If she defies the bishop, and you know she will,
the consequences could be much worse than she anticipated.”

“We must do all we can to prevent tha
t,” William said as they hurried through the rain to the stable.

“So we’ll make for Longsbury with all haste
come dawn.”

“Nay.
We must get that relic first. If we return empty-handed, we will have nothing with which to bargain.”

“But, Lady Cristiana
—”

“The bishop will not harm her. Not yet at least,” William argued. “He needs her cooperat
ion. Physical force will be the last option he uses to get her to comply.”

“I knew there was something wrong with that man,” Henry said after
the stable boy directed them to their horses’ stalls.

William said nothing as guilt filled him. He’d wanted the bishop to be more than a man. He’d wanted him to be doing God’s work. To learn he was so much less than that was disappointing indeed. How could he have misjudged him so badly?

“I’m terribly sorry, my lady, but there is a woman at the door who insists on seeing you. She says she’s your maid, yet she won’t come into the manor,” the maid servant said.

“’Tis all right.
I know who she is,” Cristiana advised her. She had checked on Branwen several times since their arrival. No amount of talking to the maid could convince her to join Cristiana in the manor. She insisted the place was cursed and would point to the carving of the bishop’s symbol above the entrance to prove her point. The maid was unable to explain her logic, leaving Cristiana perplexed at her behavior.

Cristiana had found her a pl
ace to stay and work to do with the baker. She’d hoped staying busy and productive with a routine would help heal the maid’s mind. Though they’d been in Longsbury several days, Branwen didn’t seem any better. She still couldn’t answer questions about the night of the murder.

Cristiana
followed the servant to one of the side doors near the small courtyard and found Branwen pacing there.

“Good day to you,
Branwen,” she said.

Branwen
spun to face her, tears tracking down her face. “Oh, my lady, I’m so sorry.”

“Whatever for?”
Cristiana asked, putting her arm around her shoulder in an attempt to reassure her.

“I’ve done a terrible thing.
Just terrible.” Her breath came in stutters.

“Calm yourself
. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I couldn’t remember. I didn’t understand. I should’ve given this to you ages ago. I should’ve come home the night they attacked us, but I was too scared.”

“’Tis all right. I understand.” Cristiana’s heart pounded. Had Branwen remembered what had happened the night her mother had been murdered? Trying to remain calm, she kept her voice level. “What is it? What has you so upset?”

“This.” She pulled her hand from Cristiana’s and reached into the felt purse
tied around her waist. “I was supposed to give this to you.”

The ring was
of heavy gold, engraved with a crosier. A man’s ring for certain. Though Cristiana didn’t know for sure, it looked as though it belonged to an important church official.

A chill ran down her spine.

She turned it over in her hand, trying to understand how the maid had come to possess such a valuable ring. “Where did you get this, Branwen?”

“Your mother...she had it,” the maid muttered, wringing her hands.

Cristiana’s heart gave a lurch. She could make no sense of it. Why would her mother have this ring? “When did she give this to you?”

“That night.
It was
that
night. That horrible night.”

Cristiana
squeezed the maid’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. “Can you tell me of it?”

The maid’s breath hitched as
she watched images Cristiana could only guess at. “Horrible—horrible night.”

“Aye,” Cristiana whispered, keeping her tone
reassuring though she longed to shake the maid to make her speak.

“
We were almost home. Men on horseback attacked us out of nowhere. Their black cloaks flying behind them.” She looked at Cristiana. “Great winged beasts.”

Now those words made sense. And
were all the more terrifying because of it.

“They got your mother first, then the guards.
They left us all for dead. Even me. Your mother was dying. I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t stop the blood. It was everywhere. She put the ring in my hand. Said I was to see that you got it.” The maid’s eyes squeezed shut.

“And so you did,
Branwen. Thank you so much.”

“
She told me to tell you she loved you. But I forgot! I forgot all of it until now! I’m so sorry.” The maid sobbed, the rest of her words undecipherable.

“You remembered
. That’s what matters.” Cristiana wrapped the woman in her embrace, hoping she would calm down enough to tell her more. If she could just share the details of what she’d seen that night, it would help so much.

The maid seemed to gathe
r herself at Cristiana’s words.

“Do you remember anything else from that night? Can you tell me who attacked you? How did it happen?”

“Nay. Nay.” The maid shook her head wildly back and forth, her entire body moving. “I didn’t know them. You couldn’t see their faces. They were great winged beasts.”

“Calm yourself,
Branwen,” she said sternly, hoping the authority in her voice would help the maid settle down.

“I forgot, my lady. But then I remembered.”

“Aye, you did. What reminded you?”

“There,” she said, pointing to the doors of the cathedral. “They put that up this morn, and then I remembered.
Can we go now? We should leave this place. ‘Tis not safe here.”

Curious, Cristiana
walked toward the cathedral so she could see to what the maid was referring.

High above the ornately carved panels of the front door which depicted scenes from the Bible was a
brass inlay. The image was similar to the one above the manor doors but precisely matched the crosier on the ring, golden and glinting in the light of day.

W
hat did that mean? Did all bishops have such a ring? How had it come to be in her mother’s possession?

“
Branwen, I am very grateful that you gave me this, but we can’t leave yet.”

“But you said once you kn
ew what happened, we could go.”

“I
need to know who killed Mother. I need to know why she came to Longsbury. And now I need to know why she had this ring.”

The maid looked devastated at Cristiana’s words. “I don’t know
any of those things.”

“
Can you help me, Branwen? Can you remember anything more? Do you remember coming to Longsbury before Mother died? Did she ever speak of the bishop to you?”

Branwen
stared into the distance, a blank look on her face that did not bode well.

“If you can
tell me more, especially about the bishop and my mother, then we could go.” Cristiana bit her lip, guilt pouring through her for pushing Branwen. But she hoped the maid could put aside her fears and tell her more.

“I
can’t remember. I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head from side to side as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Disappointed, Cristiana took her into her arms.
“’Tis all right. If you remember, will you tell me?”

“I don’t think I ever knew that part. That’s why I can’t remember it.”

Again Cristiana thought of Abbot Clarke and what he’d told her. She had confronted the bishop with the abbot’s comments, but rather than admitting anything, Bishop Duval had become angry. He’d said the abbot meddled where he did not belong and that, as bishop, he couldn’t possibly remember everyone who’d ventured to see him.

Yet something in his expression had filled her with doubt. The ring confirm
ed it.

“Someone here knows what happened to my mother,” she said, convinced of the truth of her statement. “
We need only determine who it is.”

“Then we can go?”

“Aye, then we can go.”

The ring she held bit into the palm of her hand
. Now she had to find a way to tie it to Bishop Duval. She feared that would be easier said than done.

***

The weather seemed to have no intention of aiding William and Henry. The rain that had forced them to seek shelter at the inn the previous night had not abated. Instead, it followed them to Madesborough and continued with them as they begin the long trek back to Longsbury. A brisk wind joined the rain and the temperature dropped. The chilly drizzle became a freezing sleet that made travel nigh impossible.

Henry cursed loud and long as they rode
, pulling his cloak tighter under his chin.

“
’Tis no use,” William called out above the gusting wind. “Let us seek shelter.” The narrow road they followed grew slick with mud. Ice pelted down on them. It found every possible opening of bare skin, chilling William to the bone.

Henry nodded and veered off the road i
nto the trees.

At first, William felt the protection the thick forest offered but soon realized his error. Each branch he passed let loose a small torrent of cold water down upon him. He had to urge his horse to
continue.

“I thought we passed an outcropping of rock on our way past that might offer shelter,” Henry called out.

“Aye, I remember,” William agreed.

They made their way painstakingly to the
rocky cliff and found a cave sheltered by tall evergreens.

“You’re not thinking to spend the night in there,” William said as he stared at the small cave with dread.

Henry gave him a bland look. “Do you have a better idea?”

“I
do not care for small places. I’m certain I’ve mentioned that to you once or twice.”

“Surely you can manage it this one time.”

The dryness in the back of his throat said otherwise. “I’ll stay near the entrance if it’s all the same to you.”

Henry shook his head. “A big strong knight like you, afraid of a
—”

“Don’t
force me to bring up the rats, Henry,” William said with a hint of warning in his voice.

The big knight shuddered. “No need.”

William dismounted and glared at the sky above before seeing to his horse with hands so cold they would hardly do his bidding. Henry did the same and soon they had a small fire burning close to the entrance of the cave to warm themselves. Though the wind still gusted, the fire took off the chill.

“Perhaps we should’ve
sought shelter in Madesborough,” Henry suggested.

William shook his head.
“Did you see the look on the priest’s face when we told him why we were there? Staying in Madesborough was not an option.”

“I
don’t think they’re telling anyone they no longer have the relic.”

“Why would you believe that?” William asked.

“He left the reliquary in its place.”

“And?”

“And that old piece of wood you have bundled in your bag could be from anywhere.” Henry shook his head. “They could put something similar back into the reliquary and no one would be the wiser.”

“That
might be true, but there’s little we can do about it.” In truth, he didn’t care at the moment. As miserable as he was, he wanted nothing more than to continue on to Longsbury. With each passing furlough, his sense of urgency increased. The image of Jack’s split tongue would not fade.

He could only pray he wasn’t too late to make certain no harm befell Cristiana.

***

Cristiana watched Bishop Duval carefully, but to what purpose she
didn’t know. It wasn’t as if he would suddenly remember that he’d known her mother and tell her of it. She could see no purpose in confronting him with the ring. He would only deny it was his. First she needed to find some kind of proof that tied it to him.

In all honesty, she didn’t know what to do. H
er stay here thus far had been more pleasant than she’d expected. The bishop hadn’t brought up her healing ability since she’d told him she preferred to keep it secret and for that she was grateful. He’d introduced her to many priests and servants who seemed kind. All of that made it difficult to believe he could’ve had anything to do with her mother’s death.

He still often touched her, whether it was her shoulder or her hand, but perhaps he was an affectionate person.
She still hadn’t detected any illness. They’d had several interesting conversations on a variety of topics from a recent scandal involving one of the priests in a neighboring diocese giving a sermon while drunk to stories from the Bible and their true meaning.

Bishop Duval
was an intelligent, well-educated man, who had traveled widely. Yet for all his pleasantness, Cristiana could not completely set aside her disquiet.

They sat in his private chamber, the sun
shining in the windows though the clouds on the horizon hinted at rain. The bishop read some correspondence while she attempted to do needlework, something at which she’d never become adept. Impatience filled her and she drew a deep breath to curb it.

“Is all well, my dear?” the bishop asked, his blue eyes studying her.

“Of course.”

“I must ask if something is bothering you.”

“Not at all.”

“Are you enjoying your stay here?” he asked.

“I am,” she answered, wondering where he was taking the conversation.

“Excellent. I would like to see you more
engaged in our little community.”

“Oh?” Alarmed, Cristiana waited to hear what suggestion he might make.