Sir Bentley and Holbrook Court (8 page)

“Who are the Lucrums?” Bentley asked.

“They're raiders from the Boundary Mountains. They have a sanctuary up there near a bottomless lake—an’ a fearsome people they be. The leader is the Ashen Knight, named for his pale horse and pale armor.” Walsch stopped and stared into the distance.

“You've seen him, Walsch?”

“Aye. Lord Kingsley could do nothing to stop ‘em until Sir Avarick
came. He agreed t’ defend Holbrook in return for being Kingsley's first knight.”

“Seems like a good exchange.”

“For Lord Kingsley, aye…for the people, not so. Y'see, Kingsley's come t’ rely on Avarick for more than just protection. Avarick collects taxes and manages the whole region, and he's as cruel as the Ashen Knight. I fear we've traded us one devil for another!”

“Have the attacks stopped?” Bentley asked.

“No, but Avarick and his knights've been able t’ fend 'em off for the most part. With enough warnin’, the people retreat t’ the castle and are safe there.”

Walsch took a deep breath as if to clear bad air from his lungs. Then a smile lighted his broad face again. “'Tis a good thing we have another bloke to share in our good fortune, though, eh, Ben o’ the south?”

“Thanks for your help today.” Bentley offered his still-muddy hand.

“Twas nothin’.” Walsch took Bentley's hand. “But I think perhaps I'd best come and check on ye from time t’ time. Them hands of yers don't look much like farmin’ hands.” He looked at Bentley and raised an eyebrow.

Bentley gave him a crooked grin as Walsch turned to leave.

“Whoever ye are, Ben o’ the south, take care o’ yerself Good people are hard to find in this land.”

“And you take care, my large friend,” Bentley called after him.

“And you,” he said again quietly.

MAIDEN OF MERCY

Bentley joined Creighton, Anwen, and their children in a daily fight for survival…and quickly came to understand that his former perspective on poverty fell grossly short of reality. The food was scarce, the labor hard, the days long. With another mouth to feed and no advantage yet gained by Bentley's labor, their situation soon became dire.

Bentley's stomach howled in hunger throughout the day, and he knew that each of them was suffering similarly—though only little Nia voiced any complaints. Bentley tried to take less food than all of them, for he had more reserves.

Late in the afternoon of the third day, Bentley's thoughts were consumed with how he could help this family through this difficult time. Anwen had returned to the cottage earlier to tend to Creighton, who still suffered greatly. Bentley was a fair distance from both the cottage and the road that wound its way near it and the other farms when he saw a horse-drawn wagon come from around a knoll and on toward the cottage. The distance made it difficult to determine much, but Bentley could see the driver was slender of form. A bulkier figure sat on the wagon's open tailgate.

Bentley gathered his tools and headed to the cottage. He approached
Meg and Nia in the vegetable garden, and they began to shout, “Mother! Mother! It's the Mercy Maiden!”

Anwen quickly exited the cottage and joined Meg and Nia as they looked toward the approaching wagon. The girls began to jump up and down with excitement. The wagon stopped before them, and Bentley now saw that the driver was a woman. He watched her step down from the wagon to greet Anwen. She knelt down to the girls, and they beamed with ear-to-ear smiles as she spoke to them.

The woman stood and faced Anwen once again.

“I am sorry t’ hear ‘bout yer husband's leg,” Bentley heard her say as he walked up. “Ye must be strugglin’ to make it.”

“It's been hard, miss,” Anwen replied. “Creighton won't be up for some time.”

The woman motioned to the large fellow at the back of her wagon. He lifted out a basket full of bread, potatoes, carrots, greens, and fresh fruit. Meg's and Nia's eyes widened as they looked at it.

“I'm hopin’ this'll hep ye get by till yer husband's whole agin,” the woman said as the man placed the basket at Anwen's feet. He stayed on one knee and motioned for Meg and Nia to come close to him. He lifted a handful of strawberries out of the basket and held them out to the girls.

“I've got a bag o’ meal fer ye too.”

Anwen put a hand to her face and covered her mouth, then reached for the woman and hugged her.

“Thank you, miss. Thank you!”

Bentley rounded the back of the wagon and stared in wonder at the contents. It was packed with food, tools, shoes, clothing, and a variety of kitchen utensils.

The woman stepped back from Anwen's embrace. “Tis nothing, miss. I'll fetch the meal and then best be gittin on to others.” She turned around, nearly bumping into Bentley.

She looked surprised, and Bentley was too. The woman was young
but extremely unkempt. She wore a drab russet dress with wooden shoes. Her black hair was a tangled mess, and her face was filthy. She opened her mouth and gasped, revealing a set of teeth that were blackened near her gums. Her expressive eyes were dark brown… and full of confusion.

Bentley raised his left eyebrow. “Hello,” he managed to say.

The young woman quickly closed her mouth and just stared at him. After working in the field all day, Bentley could imagine that his odor was not pleasant, but what he smelled coming from this woman overpowered his own.

She looked down at his leg and then turned to Anwen.

“I thought your husband's leg was—”

Anwen began to laugh. “No, miss, this is not my husband. This is Bentley. He's been kind enough to offer his help until Creighton is well again.”

The young woman looked back at Bentley. “Oh.”

Her large escort came and stood next to her, much like a bodyguard. The man was huge, even larger than Walsch. His bronze skin told of endless days of labor in the sun, as did his large leathery hands. Beads of sweat formed on his bald head, and he looked down at Bentley with expressionless eyes. Bentley was certain that if the woman pointed at him, the man would reach out and snap his neck, then be about his business.

The woman gazed at Bentley for a moment. Although her appearance and especially her odor repulsed him, something in her eyes seemed to counterbalance the rest of her. She turned to the wagon and touched the bag of meal. Bentley took a deep breath and stepped forward to help lift it out, but the large fellow pushed him aside and lifted it as though it were filled with straw. He set it near the basket at Anwen's feet.

The woman smiled briefly at Anwen and climbed back onto the wagon. The large fellow took his place on the tailgate of the wagon.

“Thank you, miss,” Anwen said again.

The woman smiled with her lips closed, nodded once, and then shook the reins to start the wagon moving.

“Who is she?” Bentley asked.

“That's the Mercy Maiden,” Meg mumbled around a mouthful of sweet strawberry. She and Nia waved vigorously at the departing wagon.

Bentley was confused and curious. “She gives help to everyone?”

“Mostly those who are in desperate need,” Anwen said.

“Is she from Holbrook?”

“No. They say she's from a large farm east of here, outside Kingsley's land. She doesn't talk much, and no one really knows much about her.” Anwen looked down at the basket of produce and the bag of meal. “Many families would have perished over the past years were it not for her.”

“And the large fellow?” Bentley asked.

Anwen shrugged. “He's always with her.”

“Some people say she's a ghost from Brimwood Forest,” Meg said with big eyes.

Bentley scratched his head. “Perhaps she needs some help.”

“I don't think she'll…” Anwen began, but Bentley had already started down the road after her.

“I'll be back before nightfall,” he shouted as he ran to catch up with the Mercy Maiden.

Bentley finally reached the slowly moving wagon. The large fellow looked at him blankly as Bentley jogged past. He continued his jaunt until he was walking at a fast pace beside the woman.

“Miss,” he said, and she nearly jumped from the wagon in surprise. “Would you like some help distributing these wares?”

She looked at him and shook her head vehemently to the contrary.

“I won't bother you, I promise. I just want to help the people as you do.” Bentley had been hoping to meet more of the people in the area. What better way than to join this strange duo on a mission of mercy?

The woman once again shook her head vehemently. Disappointed, Bentley slowed his gait and allowed the wagon to move ahead of him. As the wagon passed by him, he frowned, then spontaneously jumped onto the back gate beside the large fellow. Bentley cringed and waited for some repercussion, but the man didn't even look at him. The jostling caused the woman to turn around to see Bentley sitting there. She looked disgusted but pressed on toward the next farm in need.

“What's your name, miss?” he called up to her, but she didn't reply.

“She doesn't talk much, does she?” he asked his riding companion, but the man ignored him. “I'm Bentley.” He held out a hand of greeting. The man looked at him, nodded, and stared back toward the farm again.

“Won't do ye no good to talk t’ Parson neither,” the woman said over her shoulder. “He's deaf.”

“I see.” Bentley pulled back his hand.

They traveled until they came to another farm, where the wife of the farmer was extremely sick. The young woman left some fresh produce and herbs to treat her ailment. Another farm was run by a widowed woman with four children. Two were old enough to help work her allotment, but she looked as though life was tumbling over her like an avalanche. Bentley learned that this place was a common stop for the Mercy Maiden.

And so it continued through the afternoon and into the evening as they visited various farms of Holbrook. Bentley said little, and his odd companions eventually began letting him help deliver some of the goods.

On the last few stops they ended up in the village of Holbrook. The wagon came to the banks of the river and a dilapidated shack that could hardly be called a home. The young woman pulled back on the reins to stop her horse, then sat for a moment staring at the shack. Only one more basket of food remained in the wagon, tucked in just behind the
drivers seat. When Bentley walked to the front of the wagon and knelt to pick it up, he saw that her eyes were moist.

“Who lives here?” he asked gently.

She bit her lip. “A little girl named Anya.” It was the only time she had talked to him other than giving instructions on what to give to the families.

She reached into the basket Bentley was holding and pulled out a crude doll made of wool and cotton stuffing, then dismounted the wagon. Parson stayed back with the wagon while Bentley carried the basket of food and walked with the Mercy Maiden to the door of the shack.

She gently knocked. Nobody answered, and she knocked again. Finally she pointed for Bentley to leave the basket at the foot of the door, and she returned the doll to the basket. They turned to leave, and when they reached the wagon, the door of the shack opened.

“Eirwyn!” a squeaky voice exclaimed.

Bentley turned to see a little girl of perhaps six years old. She was limping badly, for her right foot turned inward and did not seem to function properly. Her right hand also curled inward in a nearly unusable crippled position. But she ran as best she could with her arms outstretched. Her long, thin blond hair lifted like feathers behind her.