Chapter 15

P ietro’s appearance near the docks should have evidenced Fira’s kin having belatedly collected her, but he was bloodied and bruised and his clothing fouled.

Realizing he was seen, he stepped into an alley and braced a shoulder against a building. Hand cradled to his chest, he raised the other to halt Amaury and those accompanying him. “My garments are in worse shape than I who but need to regain my breath and quench my thirst.”

As this was not the time for Amaury to reveal to his sailors and Donal what was planned for Gert’s pirating operations, he commanded them back across the street and passed his wineskin to Pietro. “Les Fléaux did this,” he said without question.

His man drank heartily, jerked his chin. “I fell to the weasel.” He spoke of Herman who, with Baudri, would answer to Gert for losing their captive, Richarde. “Ashamed though I am to admit it, he caught me unawares as I sought to overtake the lady.”

Fear stiffening Amaury, he demanded, “Tell me! ”

“When a slight woman departed the inn alone, I suspected it was she and confirmed it when her hood slipped to reveal hair as described.”

Which was seen by others as well, Amaury reflected, Pietro and Donal unaware interception of Baron Wulfrith’s missive caused Les Fléaux to keep watch over the inn and those who ensured the lady’s safety.

As anger rose over her breaking her word to remain in her room, the injured Pietro said, “He knocked me senseless, and when I revived and found myself bound to a chair, he beat me—a blow each time I denied knowledge of your whereabouts.”

Knuckles aching, Amaury splayed his fingers. “I regret what it cost you to…stay my side. Now tell of the lady.”

Pietro took another drink. “The market was her destination. As I was cautious lest she resist and things go wrong among the many, Herman put me down before I could overtake her. Fortunately, she evaded the others.”

“The others?”

“Baudri and Hugh.”

Since Boston proved Herman’s destination after Richarde was taken from the sea brigands, it did not surprise Baudri came here as well. As for Hugh, likely he had been in the port town for some time and, learning Richarde was sighted, ordered his underlings to follow him onto Wulfenshire in the hope of locating Gert’s enemy.

“Continue, Pietro.”

“As I was being interrogated, they arrived in a fury at being unable to capture the lady and make bait of her.”

Amaury struggled against impatience. “How did she escape?”

“It sounded she took a bad fall that drew a crowd and brought a friar and lawman to her side. And—strange this—Hugh said he concurred she was demon-possessed. ”

As Amaury turned that over, he recalled last summer when he came to the aid of Fira in the wood. From what appeared hysterics, he had been certain she suffered an assault, and though this day it was thought a fall put her on the ground, he questioned both events. Was something larger at work here?

“Then Hugh told Herman his success in seizing me could soften Gert’s ire for allowing you to evade him and Baudri,” Pietro expanded his tale. “And greater the possibility of forgiveness were I to reveal your hiding place.”

Amaury shifted his jaw. “Did they tell what became of the lady?”

“Non, though my guess is she was escorted to the inn.”

Or a physician, Amaury mulled.

Pietro flexed the hand against his chest. “No sooner did the three set themselves at me than Silas arrived, and what was bad for him was good for me.”

Amaury raised his eyebrows.

“Unintentionally, he aided in my escape.” Pietro jutted his chin at those awaiting them across the street. “Hugh surely having seen Donal outside the inn, Silas was ordered to capture him when the watch passed to me.”

The dark inside Amaury deepened over imaginings of what the oblivious lad would have suffered at that one’s hands. Fortunately, Donal’s sense of self-preservation that sped him through streets and wove him into shadows made up for what he lacked in sensing he was an object of interest.

That is, unless he knew and ? —

Non, Amaury rejected the voice suggesting Donal betrayed.

No one can be wholly trusted, it tried again.

True since not even I can be trusted to put my interests first, he thought, then said, “So Hugh’s anger over Silas’s failure distracted them.”

Pietro’s chuckle became a grimace. “Great that anger, punches and kicks intended for me loosed on Silas.”

Here proof Donal did not betray, Amaury thought and felt some ease a moment before his own sense of self-preservation warned still the lad could have turned traitor if Pietro had as well.

Almighty! Since that night at Calais, I seek to turn over every rock between myself and others, he thought, then promised himself, I will not always fear a blade to the back and cling to the belief it is unsafe to allow any near. That is not the way to live, nor be a good father.

“When Baudri and Herman could not resist participating,” Pietro continued, “I used their din to cover my movements but nearly cried out when I had to dislocate my thumb to shed my bindings.”

For that, with which Amaury himself had experience, Pietro nursed his hand. Even had he paused in fleeing to sooner reset his thumb, what preserved his life would pain him for days if not weeks.

The man’s nostrils flared. “They were so out of control I would be surprised if Silas survived the beating.” At Amaury’s startle, he added, “I do not think that a bad thing as surely you do not.”

It was true, Silas having added to his torment following the keelhauling, and about which Pietro could do nothing. Sanctioned by Gert, the miscreant’s enjoyment of making him more deeply feel his injuries had been unholy.

“Of course, I am entertained by imagining their shock when they finished with his bloody corpse and found me gone,” Pietro said.

Knowing next they would have turned that bloodlust on him, Amaury sent thanks heavenward, then asked, “Where is their lair? ”

“Well north of here—a burned-out brothel two streets back from the docks, though by now…”

Amaury nodded, also certain those loyal to Gert would no longer be there. Though likely they would remain in Boston, the search for them would have to wait since something—rather, someone— had further disrupted Amaury’s plans. Thus, the sooner Fira was passed to her family, the sooner he could focus on sending his ships north to root out Les Fléaux.

“As Donal and I will see to the lady,” he said, “the sailors will accompany you to the office where Charles will tend your injuries.”

Pietro started to argue, but as if unable to ignore his body’s needs, closed his mouth.

Amaury gripped his shoulder. “As I shall require your aid in the weeks ahead, be of good care.”

“Oui, my lord,” he eschewed Master Argent, elevating his former pirate captain to more than he was though he aspired to be so again and provide well for his boy.

Shortly, Amaury and Donal went opposite those who would deliver Pietro to Charles and instruct him to be ready to act on Amaury’s return. Providing Fira was at the inn, that should be within the hour. Were she not, then a detour to the market to make inquiries should point them in her direction to sooner send another missive to Baron Wulfrith. And be done with the problem of her.

Feeling her sore tongue across her palate, grateful its swelling had mostly resolved, Fira eased onto her back and saw the shutters had been closed and many of the women sat against pillows with cloths on their laps that held simple viands. Too, several monks were present, one wheeling a cart to hand out the meals, one sitting beside an old woman to help her eat and drink, another supporting a young girl as she traversed the aisle.

“I thank ye,” that one said as she was eased onto a mattress three beds from Fira’s. “Had ye not come, I would have soiled me clothes.”

Also needing to relieve herself, Fira looked back the way the two had come and guessed a garderobe lay at that end for those able to forego using a pan beneath the sheets.

“I am blessed the Lord gave me firm hands and feet to aid others,” the middle-aged monk said and turned the covers over her. “Can you eat a bit of bread?”

As Fira sat up, the girl said, “Though me belly no longer rolls, I fear it will cast out what I put in.”

“Then after more sleep,” the man of God said and moved toward Fira. “I see you have awakened, my lady.” He gave a sweet smile that seemed to come easy to those genuinely content with serving mankind. “Did the sleep do you good?”

“It did, and now I must visit the garderobe.” Nodding that direction and feeling the weight of disheveled hair, she imagined she looked more a woman of poverty than privilege.

“Have you need of support?” he asked, coming around her bed.

Denial neared her lips, but she withheld it until certain her legs were firm beneath her. “Much appreciated, but I am capable.”

“That portends well.”

She smoothed her bodice and, comforted by the spectacles there, brushed her skirts. And was dismayed by scattered dust that evidenced The Gloaming, whose appearance was greater proof the onset of her menses rendered her more vulnerable to it. That thought reminding her of the reason she ventured out of the inn, she gasped .

“My lady?”

Deciding better she suffer discomfort over what she must ask of the monk than great embarrassment should many discover what she should have asked of him, she said, “I require cloths for my monthly.”

Color spotted his cheeks. “There is a basket outside the garderobe. Take what you need.”

“Much gratitude,” she said and moved past him. As she traversed the aisle slowly, she nodded at those who regarded her with curiosity. Then she was turning down a short corridor faced by two doors, the first the garderobe outside which the basket sat, the second possibly accessing the outdoors.

Upon raising the basket’s lid, she discovered the cloths were of many layers and tightly rolled to provide a supply that could be tucked in a purse. That Fira did and cinched it closed, then entered the tiny room of foul odors that would be worse if not properly maintained.

When she exited, she decided to ask the kind monk for an escort to the inn since her brother had yet to appear at the hospital and could be delayed further—not entirely a bad thing since he might never learn what happened at the market.

As she started to turn back into the infirmary, the scrape of a heel alerted her to another’s presence. Expecting a monk had entered through the second door, she looked around.

The man who kept his head covered as if just come in out of the cold dragged her back against him. As something dug into her ribs and spine, he clapped a hand over her mouth.

When she screamed into his palm, he shifted it up slightly and pinched her nose closed. When she strained forward, he tightened his hold and turned her opposite the infirmary. When she kicked a leg back, he thrust his lower body sideways to protect his vulnerable place. When she shook her head to dislodge the hand denying her air, he lifted her off her feet .

Moments later, they were through the far door and in a long, windowless corridor lit by wall lanterns. But with consciousness receding, what lay at its end she could not know.

Lord, show Yourself, she ventured her last thoughts heavenward. Help me.

God's rood! God's teeth! God’s eyes!

Fira was not at the inn, and until Amaury appeared, Alice was unaware of her departure which she believed transpired while she dealt with an argument between workers.

Great the woman’s remorse, and clipped Amaury’s assurance it was not for her to keep the lady on a leash—clipped because though sincere, anger was so near his surface it was better to disengage than loose it on her.

Fortunately, Donal was conversant with the workings of the market. Within an hour, he and Amaury knew enough to separate fact from exaggeration about the one who drew a crowd when a fit put her on the ground. It was said a man of God claimed a demon possessed her though an old woman asserted it was a malady of the body.

Fira’s champion was not to be found, but Donal said it sounded like The Falling Sickness, which surprised that he was acquainted with something often more hushed than even life-shattering leprosy. At the market, there had been no time to probe how he knew of it, but en route to St. John’s where the deputy took the lady against the wishes of Friar Drumfiddle who wished to purge her, the lad revealed a bit more of his past.

Orphaned young, his mother’s reclusive friend had taken him in, and he had witnessed her seizures from which she always recovered—until the last struck as she ascended stairs, leaving her heaped at the bottom with a broken neck.

Finally understanding what happened to Fira last summer upon Woodhearst that had nothing to do with ravishment, greatly Amaury’s anger over her leaving the inn had abated. Because of that affliction, likely she remained unwed at ten and eight. And might forever.

Pacing the wood bordering St. John’s hospital as he waited for Donal to return with word of her, Amaury guessed few knew of her condition. Once it could no longer be hidden, the superstitious would view it as another curse upon the Wulfriths, talk of which he had overheard at the lodge. An old miner had told the family suffered for the former baron’s second wife being a witch who gave him three more children, the last being Fira.

Before Ermine ended such talk, the man had counted out the curses, beginning with Squire Rémy’s speech difficulty. Then there was the new baron’s loss of one wife after another, the eldest daughter widowed young and her son left fatherless, The Pestilence claiming family members and leaving the most beautiful sister scarred, and the second brother’s burns from a flaming arrow.

For all the departed baron’s six children had endured, Amaury was tempted to believe the Wulfriths were cursed. However, as well he knew, it was no easy thing to live unscathed in this world even with the advantage of high birth. If happenstance did not deal a backhand, then it would be dealt by one’s poor choices and sins—or those of another much too near.

Amaury looked to the walled hospital and silently entreated Donal to return with the information needed to bring Fira out with the least amount of disruption. Though he warred over allowing her to further distract him from his purpose that would soon be fully set in motion, the night he freed Richarde he had given his word he would not leave her behind. Then there was the kiss…

Pushing remembrance of that to the back of his mind, he accepted no matter what it cost to keep his word, the lady would remain his responsibility until he could pass her to the Wulfriths. Hopefully, the price would not be so great it endangered those committed to his cause whether by way of loyalty or money. Of course, it could also jeopardize his son’s adopted country, the coast of which must be rid of pirates whose theft, destruction, and murder cost England much—and benefitted France’s efforts to take back ground lost to King Edward when the war began in earnest in 1346.

Though England was not Amaury’s country, neither was France since he would not be welcome there if—rather, when—King Jean learned who ended Les Fleaux.

Seeing movement at the great gate through which all must pass to enter and exit lacking knowledge of St. John’s secret places, Amaury confirmed the wagon let in an hour ago was the same departing. Hopefully, just as earlier Donal made use of its undercarriage, he repeated the impressive feat of which those who delivered produce were unaware.

Minutes later, as the horse-drawn wagon slowed to negotiate a turn in the road that went around a copse of nut-bearing trees, Amaury glimpsed what few would unless they watched for it.

Amid dust stirred by hooves and wheels, something dropped from the wagon’s underside. Using the trailing cloud as cover, Donal rolled into the long grass, came up on hands and knees, and scuttled behind the nearest tree.

Amaury would have smiled were these the playful antics of a child, but this was the serious undertaking of a man performed by one far from a man. Shortly, he whose body would be long in catching up with his experiences appeared before Amaury. And from his expression, he had no good thing to tell.

“Two coins it cost, Master Argent, one for the cook’s assistant to speak of a disturbance in the women’s infirmary an hour and a half past and one to reveal the cause.” He gave his head a vigorous scratch, the itch likely due to his time in the dirt rather than lice since he no longer slept atop garbage heaps. “Having risen from bed to use the garderobe and not returned, the lady is gone.”

Were it not nearly as difficult to exit the hospital unseen as it was to enter, Amaury would believe she had escaped, but that and knowing Les Fleaux had thought to make bait of her persuaded him she was removed against her will—likely in the bed of a wagon.

Although Amaury told himself his emotions were troubled for his plans taking one great stride forward with his sudden departure of Wulfen and now threatening to take one or more backward, concern for the lady was lodged in the vicinity of his heart. And could serve no good purpose at this time in his life.

“Master Argent?”

He breathed deep. “I must recover the lady.”

“Then you will not captain a ship on the morrow?”

“Unlikely. Since I believe it will be confirmed the lair of Les Fleaux is abandoned, the chance of discovering where they have gone and retrieving the lady before dawn is nearly all hope.”

“If they are the ones who took her,” Donal submitted.

Amaury felt a fool for not considering another might have—he who had wanted to purge a demon and, being a man of God, could more easily penetrate St John’s. “You are thinking Friar Drumfiddle—a Free Spirit, you said?”

“Aye. For the heretical things he puts in the ears of the unsuspecting, many men of God are displeased when he preaches in Boston.”

Amaury had heard of the Brethren of the Free Spirit, but having no cause to inform himself of the sect, knew only their revisionist beliefs were deemed heretical and some members ventured beyond the bounds of radical thought and behavior.

“It sounds he would not be welcome at St. John’s,” Amaury said. “That is, unless there are others there who quietly share his beliefs.”

Donal glanced at the hospital. “I could steal back inside.”

“Nay,” Amaury matched the lad’s English. “Like you, I have one within willing to trade information for coin.”

“But—”

“Return to Charles and reveal what we have learned, then tell him to prepare a horse and provisions and choose two men to accompany me should I discover what is needed to recover the lady. Too, the ship is to be made ready to sail without me.”

“You will allow me to accompany you, Master Argent?”

Amaury might easily yield were he certain it was the heretical friar who must be overtaken. However, only unwittingly had Donal escaped Silas, and another close call could prove worse than close.

“I will think on it.” Amaury nodded toward the port town. “Now be quick.”

He watched the lad go from sight, then set his mind on getting into the hospital to gain information that would keep the Wulfriths from his throat. And to whom it was of no advantage to send a second missive until Fira was retrieved.