Chapter 13.1

Lord Geurney’s private chamber was a lush place, with tapestries on the wall, pillows on the bench, and thick velvet curtains on the bed. A brace of flickering candles threw shadows over the bearskin pelts that kept the sleeper warm, both those in the soft bed and those making do on the floor.

Lord Guerney, dressed only in his linen nightshirt, towered over me. His steward huddled beside him, wringing his hands nervously. The Captain of the Guard stood on his other side, grinning. Behind them all, curled in the bed like a contented cat, lay the Lady Victoria.

Raising the massive hand that carried a broadsword into a battle, Lord Guerney bellowed, "Where is my daughter, monk? Speak!"

Apparently he did not recognize me. I shook my head – all I could do, as two soldiers held my arms in a bruising grip.

His blow brought blood to my mouth.

"She disappeared with those beggars you came with. You’re with them; you know where they went!"

If I were truly with them, I would have left with them. That truth hurt worse than the slap. I shook my head.

Lord Guerney slapped me again, several times, until I felt that my head spin off. Then he turned to his night’s entertainment. "Are you sure this is the monk?"

"I recognize his feet." Her eyes sparkled with laughter. She knew I could not answer, and was enjoying watching my pain.

Now the Steward spoke up, his voice unusually high. "But are you sure that this is the man who acted between the Lady Laurice and the Bards?"

She ran her fingers through the thick pelt, then sat up slowly. It fell away, showing that she wore nothing to protect her from the chill of the night. With a toss of her head, her golden hair settled behind her creamy shoulders. Then she looked up with wide eyes.

I was surprised to see that they were not pure silver.

"I saw him talking to the Bard, in the language of the hands, and the next day he found his way to my Lady’s chambers. What do you think?"

The steward spoke. "Perhaps he was merely blessing the Bard. A little salvation would do nothing for those soot-black Heathens, but the monks still try."

"I think not." The lady traced designs in the fur, designs that were the property of Warlockers. "I know all the signs for the blessings, and those were not among them."

Damn. We had not thought of others knowing the language of the hands.

Lord Guerney turned to me. "How do you answer, Monk? Where have the Bards gone?"

I would have liked to have known that myself, and why they did not take me with them. Again I shook my head.

Now Lord Geuirney hit me with his closed fist, until blood flowed from my nose. "I’ll not have my daughter disgraced by a Heathen. Speak – or they’ll rip it out of you, below!"

"My Lord." The Steward’s nervousness had turned to a panic. "Would it be such a wise thing to risk the anger of the church? If they find out that you sent a monk to torture..."

"If they find out, the dungeon will be a busy place." Lord Guerney said firmly, a warning to the man and everyone else in the room. "Now, monk, do you choose an easy death, or a hard one?"
I could only shake my head.

This time when his hand fell, it brought darkness.

Chapter 12.6

#

It was afternoon before I ventured from the kitchens, with a purloined loaf and a pork pie stashed in my bag. I found Wallen sitting in a corner of the Great Hall with Sharp’s lute in his lap. His face was swollen, with a bruise on one side, and he sullenly picked out the notes of a scale.

Great music, he was learning, comes through pain and hard work. He was also learning the lot of the abused and the helpless, the downtrodden, and those beneath his noble notice. This was becoming a bitter adventure for him – perhaps it would put some compassion in his heart.
At least I had the medicine for it. The thought of meeting his bride-to-be, and talking her into his trap, should lighten his spirits.

I knelt and reached for the bandages on his foot. He yanked it away, but I gently took it back.

He leaned forward. "You had no need to treat me like that. Have I even been anything but good to you?"

Not even thinking of how to answer that, I glanced around the hall. There were others present. Two soldiers were looking in our direction. I pressed my lips together firmly and jerked my head in their direction.

Wallen glared back. He said nothing more, however, and withstood my ministrations. I was able to finish, and when I signed a blessing, I let the note fall from my sleeve to the ground by his hand. I looked at it, then into his face, and smiled.

He glared back with ice hard eyes. He clenched his hand.

I rose quickly and walked off. This storm, like so many before it, would surely pass.

#

The glass garden at vespers, the note read. After the prayers I rushed to the dining hall, to see if Wallen showed any more hope, but he was not there. Neither was Sharp, leaving Lord Guerney to be entertained by a untalented minstrel. The ladies-in-waiting announced that their mistress was tired and would sup in her chambers. Charles caught my eye and grinned, but had no news. In the morning, I assumed, I would hear how the final act of our adventure would be.

It was not yet morning when I woke to the sound of someone climbing into the hayloft. I rolled over, thinking it was Peter come to fetch me for Matins – and looked into the face of the Captain of the Guard.

Chapter 12.5

#

When the lord and his ladies had retired to their chambers, I found Sharp cleaning and storing his instruments. I tried to explain myself to the bard. First he ignored me, then turned and threw a crust of bread in my face. "Christian dog."

Stung, and all too aware of who might be watching, I signed my thanks and slunk off to the stables. In the morning, I felt, there would be time to explain. Still, the long night was cold and lonely, and I was a long time in finding sleep.

All too soon I was shaken awake. I rolled over, hoping that it was Wallen or Sharp come for an explanation. Instead, backlit by the grey morning light, I saw Peter the Monk. His eyes were red and puffy, but he seemed otherwise none the worse for his indulgence of the night before.

"What is it?" I signed clumsily, unaccustomed as I was to the early hour.

Hos hands flew numbly. "You missed Lauds. I should have warned you of the dangers of drinking too much honey and wine. How is your voice?"

"The same," I answered truthfully. "How did you know to find me here?"

"When I didn’t see you at Lauds, I searched the castle. I knew you would not miss an office on purpose."

Of course not. Thanks to my new companion, my disguise had just gotten harder to maintain. "Thank you for your concern."

"It is more than that. After seeing the Heathens last night, my cousin has expressed an interest in the apprentice. Since you have been tending to the boy’s misery, I thought you could deliver this to him." He handed over a folded piece of paper.

"I hope it is written simply," I signed. "I fear the boy is rather simple."

"It has a time and a place – that should be simple enough. Come, let us do our morning charity in the kitchen."

I made a face.

"They are baking bread and pies today, which will not be counted until they are put in the storeroom."

Peter, I realized, would have made a wonderful bard.

Chapter 12.4

#

There was nothing I could do for Peter, but to arrange him comfortably. I went up to the great hall where the dinner was well underway. Sharp again played for delicate tidbits while Wallen crouched, miserable, by the cold door.

Wallen’s feet needed attention. I set to work with salve and clean rags, then looked at his face. It was red and swollen, as if he had been hit hard.

"I couldn’t sleep last night," he muttered. "The floor is too hard. And all day I had to practice on that damned lute. I kept making mistakes. I don’t think I’m going to survive this."

I put salve on his bleeding finger tips, and wondered about his face.

Just then the door to the Ladies’ tower opened, and two women walked out. One was the Lady Victoria, who examined me with a critical eye, and the other was the Lady Laurice. She swept her skirts back from a prominent belly and announced, "Tonight I will eat with the company."

"She is pregnant." Thankfully, Wallen spoke in a quiet voice, or he might have been heard throughout the silent hall. "She sticks out a full mile."

I shook my head as gently as I could, aware of the gazes from both the Lady Victoria and the Steward. I dared say nothing now.

"And I say she is." His voice raised in volume, catching the attention of nearby diners.

I made a swift, subtle motion for him to be quiet, and finished with his feet. I needed to leave.

He grabbed my arm angrily. "Talk to me, damn it."

Twisting free, I hastily blessed his feet, then added, to remind him of his place here, "Heathen child."

"What!" He jumped to his feet and cuffed my head. I scurried to the side, but he jumped on me and hit me again. There was anger, pent-up and fermented, in that blow, and he started to give me another one. He may not have inherited a full measure of his father’s cruelty, but he did have the Old Lord’s temper.

Sharp caught his hand, and pulled the attention of the room away from me. "What is this?"

"He insulted me!"

"What did he do – stick out his tongue?" This brought laughter from, and only from, the Lady Victoria. "You need a lesson, child. You do not – hit – a – Silent Monk."

In each pause, he backhanded Wallen across his face, and there was no playful acting here. Then Sharp turned to Lord Guerney with a bow, "Please forgive the interruption, my Lord. My apprentice is new, and very rude."

Wallen clenched his fists as he lay in the straw. He turned his face toward me, and I saw fury among the specks of blood.

I fled.