Taste of Treason (28 page)

There was a short silence. “Looks like we’ve found our enemy,” Rob said. “You were right, Luke. Frayner is Nimrod.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Bertila went about her household duties the next morning with a lighter heart than she had known since her mother died. Even the removal of the facial scar caused by Will’s clumsiness in their father’s shop when she was a small girl had not rendered her as happy as the warmth that flooded through her now.

She knew herself to be a practical woman, even more so since the black despair of the previous summer when all her hopes for a husband had been dashed. As she prepared food for her father, for the first time, Bertila faced the truth of that heartbreak without the usual desolation creeping over her.

As well as being sensible, Bertila was honest with herself. She knew that whatever happened in the future, however happy or unhappy she might be, there would always be a laughing grey-eyed ghost who would disturb her sleep from time to time, or whom she would imagine she saw from the corner of her eye.

However, she recognized in Roland Dufay a man who had no use for flamboyance or flirting. In reality, he was, like her, serious at heart. She must not allow herself to dream this time but simply wait on events.

She hoped she had not misread Master Dufay. Bertila was not versed in the art of courtship and she was sure that he was not either. When—if—he gave his heart, it would be after due consideration, but once given, he would remain steadfast. This was the best of all possible worlds, she thought.
If he speaks
,
I
know it will be true.
If he does not
,
I
am no worse off.

The sudden banging at the door must be him returning. He had said he would fetch his papers and work from his house before coming back. It was with a light heart and welcoming smile that she flung the door wide. Her smile died as she saw who stood there.

“You? You were told to leave us alone.”

“I do not obey the words of mere men,” Frayner spat. “I am the instrument of God, ordained to seek out those of the left-hand path and destroy them. Do you think I do not see the arrogance with which you disport yourself, believing that you can deceive me? Better than you have tried and failed.”

He made as if to push inside, but Bertila closed the door on his foot, making him howl with pain and rage. The anger gave him additional strength and he forced his way inside, raising his staff and knocking her to the floor. Pain exploded in her head like a bright white light. Bertila screamed as he loomed over her, the derangement in his eyes terrifying her more than anything she could remember.

“I will teach you to deny entrance to a man of God, witch.”

Waves of sickness flowed through her. She felt the touch of his hated hands on her, his nails digging into her skin as he ripped the material of her bodice.

“Where are your witch dugs? I know you for what you are.” His hands scrabbled under her linen shift, pinching and squeezing. Once more she screamed, trying to wrench his hands away from her. Katelyn, having heard the scream, rushed through from the kitchen and ran to her mistress. Frayner hit her with the staff and the girl fell unconscious onto Bertila.

“You foul ratsbane,” she said. “Striking a child. I wager you would not dare to strike a man your own size in that fashion.”

“For the glory of God, witch, I would dare much.”

“Did you not hear Master Dufay say he had the Queen Mother’s ear? Surely you have not forgotten that Queen Anne summoned him? You were here and witnessed it. Do you truly believe you could face her wrath unscathed? You may be assured that if we are under Master Dufay’s protection, we are also under hers.”

“Do you think I care one whit for the opinion of the Great Whore?”

“What is all this noise?” A weak voice floated into the silence engendered by Bertila’s horror at Frayner’s treasonable words.

She turned her head. Corbin was clinging to the stair rope. How he had managed to clamber to his feet only God knew. One side of his face still drooped from the effects of his seizure, but his overwhelming love for her had triumphed over his weak limbs.

When he had heard her scream, he must have dragged himself from the bed to come to her aid. She tried to get up, but Frayner kicked her down again and walked towards her father, an evil smile on his face.

“I thought they lied when they said you could not move. So, you have been hiding from justice, thinking that I would forget about you.”

“Get you out of my house, priest. You are naught but a filthy ravisher, cloaking your obscene desires behind a mask of piety.” Corbin’s voice, still slurred, had none of its former vigor.

“I will leave when I have both you and your witch daughter under arrest.”

A new voice came from the kitchen doorway. “I do not think so.”

Bertila blinked through the blood trickling down her face. A strange intensity lit Master Dufay’s eyes and his voice sounded more than just breathless. It was some moments before she realized that he was doing his utmost to control a blazing fury, and knew without any doubt that if he ever gave way to that rage, the effects would be calamitous, not least for him.

The look on Frayner’s face indicated his mania had at last spun out of control. He advanced upon Dufay.

“Ah, the Great Whore’s friend. You will not stop me taking these witches into custody, nor will you prevent their just execution.”

Dufay, with some effort, Bertila thought, leaned on the doorpost of the kitchen, a slight smile on his face.

“Mistress Bertila,” he said, his eyes never leaving Frayner’s face. “How badly hurt are you?”

“I am more worried for Father and Katelyn.”

She looked towards her father. The effort of the short journey from bed to stairs had exhausted all his strength. As she watched, he collapsed onto the stairs and lay still.

Dufay must also have seen it. He strode forward with such energy that the impetus drove Frayner back. Dufay said nothing. He did not need to, for the expression on his face seemed to momentarily unsettle the priest.

Bertila stayed on the floor, torn between the need to reach her father and fear for the child whose white face and uneven breathing spoke of a serious wound. She looked up to see Dufay, who, for all his lanky length, seemed to possess the strength of a bull, propel the intruder through the door.

“Stay you out of this house and leave these people alone or you will pay a heavier price than you could imagine,” he growled. He slammed the door shut, leaning against it, panting a little and obviously struggling to regain his equanimity, then came across to where she still lay on the floor, the unconscious Katelyn in her lap. He bent and looked into her eyes, and in that moment, she understood her heart. He was a true gentleman and one who had not even glanced at her exposed breasts.

“Do you trust me, Bertila?”

“With my life.”

His smile was the sweetest she had ever seen on any face. A mixture of happiness and hope, she thought.

Dufay passed his hand over her head. Her wound throbbed and grew very hot, but she never took her eyes from his. He nodded.

“There. That is done. Now to see to this little one. I must mend her injuries before she wakes. Then I will see to your father.”

A few minutes later, still feeling rather shaky, Bertila clambered to her feet, pulling her torn shift over her breasts. Katelyn’s eyes had just opened and she spent some time calming the girl. Dufay had left the room, but when he returned, it was clear he had gone into the dispensary, for his hands carried several jars.

“I have some knowledge of the apothecary’s art,” he said. “Here, put this into a beaker of milk for the girl. I will help Master Quayne upstairs and give him medicine.”

Katelyn was still too shocked to speak, but she did as Bertila ordered and sipped at the milk. Slowly the color returned to her cheeks, though tears ran unchecked down her face.

“How do you feel now, little one?” Bertila asked, stroking her hair.

“Thank you, Mistress,” Katelyn hiccupped. “What a wicked man.”

“Indeed,” replied Bertila, a shiver running through her. Once more she felt the seeping damp of the cell in the Tower. Please God she would not have to go through that again. How much power did Frayner have?

She saw Katelyn glance at the door as if afraid that the hated priest would once more burst in, but gradually the pinched look on the girl’s white face faded. Better get her back to her mundane tasks and hope that domestic routine would eradicate the remainder of her fear.

“You have been very brave, but now you are safe. We are all safe. Go back to the kitchen, Katelyn, and carry on with your duties. I will sit here for a few moments and then join you.”

Left to herself, she let out a long, slow breath. There were things here beyond her understanding and they concerned the new friend who even now was upstairs with her father. At the realization, she jumped to her feet and ran lightly up the steps.

As she entered her father’s room, Roland Dufay, eyes closed, held his hands above the apothecary’s head. Corbin sighed and the stiffness of his body relaxed. When Dufay opened his eyes, he looked directly at Bertila.

“Sir, what goes on here?”

“There is no need to be afraid.”

“I am not afraid. I will never be afraid of you.”

He walked around the bed, took her hand and kissed it. “We must talk, Mistress Bertila. For the moment, though, let us both enjoy a goblet of wine. I think we have seen the last of the priest. He will not threaten you again.”

“Mayhap,” replied Bertila. “But what about the threat to Luke?”

* * *

“So, what do we do now?” Rob asked.

Luke stared into the fire and shook his head. “Think. Plan,” he said after a pause.

Byram had left after promising to return later in the afternoon. Knowing the identity of their enemy, it stood to reason that it would be easier to plan his defeat. At least, that was the theory. Luke had three strands in the air, all connected, all needing resolution. The first and most important had to be the safety of the Queen.

The defeat of Custodes Tenebris was next and with good fortune, that would decide Alys’s fate. Luke had sworn a private oath that, for the sake of his kinsman, he would bring the girl safely home. It took a little time before he accepted that it would not be for Rob alone, but also to assuage some of the guilt he carried that she had disappeared whilst under his protection.

Bertila and Corbin, the third strand, should be safe with Roland Dufay looking after them. Whatever he guessed about Frayner’s abilities, the one thing Luke was sure of was that Dufay would protect them with his life. Luke hoped the Elemagus did not find himself confronting more than he had bargained for.

That thought made Luke sit up. If his deductions were true, then the sunderer’s attention would be split between his desire to harm Luke and those he loved and the continuation of his attacks on the Queen. Could Luke use that? One thing was certain and that was that the demon had had Luke on the back foot from the first day of this investigation. He had done little save react to events and was heartily sick of it. Time for a change to strike the first blow

Luke grabbed the paper on which Rob had written his notes. He read the words
plague
and
priest
and then frowned as the writing had tailed off. Of course, that was when Gwenette had pressed the ouch and he had almost collapsed under the pain of it.

Rob’s notion of writing down the course of events had been a sound one, sadly interrupted. But that did not mean that Luke should not add to the notes. He fetched a large piece of cleaned paper from his shop.

“We have several points in this matter that need clarifying, lad. First of all, the threat to the Queen and the heir.”

Rob sighed and nodded. “I accept that the Queen’s well-being must be your main concern, but it is hard all the same. What are the others?”

“Rescuing Alys, defeating Nimrod and ensuring the safety of the Quaynes.”

“But now we know who the enemy is, why can we not defeat him first and then the rest will fall into place?”

“Because we cannot be certain of his intentions or the timing of his plans. We must safeguard the Queen and Alys in order to defeat him, but if we lose him protecting them, then so be it.”

“And if we lose our lives in the process, Alys will be left in outer darkness or wherever that bastard chooses to send her.”

Luke pursed his lips and stared at his kinsman.

“If we lose our lives, boy, the Queen, the heir and Alys will be someone else’s problem.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I need to stay here, try to make sense of everything and form some plan that will resolve the investigation. You go and keep watch on Frayner. If he moves out of the house, come back here at once.”

“He might see me.”

“I dare not put a perception spell on you, Rob. He would detect it. Make sure he does not see you. For all our sakes.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“Now I have you, apothecary. You will not escape me this time.”

Keeping watch from behind the shutters of his window, Gerard Frayner watched the cloaked man walk past his house towards the village. He looked again at the scrap of paper he had found on his return. In a rough, almost illegible scrawl, he made out the words
Ballard.
Church.
Tonight.

His first reaction had been to run down the steps to the cellar. He was not at all surprised to find Rob Panton gone. The boy had taken his threats seriously, left him the message and fled to save his own skin. Outwitted again by that interfering knave at the Quaynes’s house, Frayner’s thoughts on his walk home revolved around plans to trap Ballard first and then the witch and her father. He would not be deprived of his prey.

Seizing a cloak and with his hat pulled down over his face, Frayner hurried out of his door. Keeping close to the bushes that lined the road, the priest scurried after his target, his determination strengthening. His opportunity had come to be revenged on the man who had made him look so foolish.

This was what dark sorcerers did. They ridiculed those of the Catholic faith, even more than the adherents of the new, upstart religion. And why? Because they feared the strength of the true religion. Only dark forces could have wrenched England away from the pope and given that sacred authority to the monarch, a mere mortal and in no way God’s advocate on earth.

Spurred on by this revelation, he hastened to the church gate. He would take the heretic apothecary in the act of performing his evil work. He would catch them all. In his mind’s eye, he could see the fires cleansing and punishing God’s enemies; himself as savior of the church, lauded, the hero of England, redeemer of the faith. Mayhap he would end up with a cardinal’s hat.

Putting his hand on the catch, he steadied himself and then threw the door open and leapt down onto the stone flags, his left hand already pointing in accusation, his staff ready in his right to mete out justice and retribution.

“At last, Ballard, I have caught you in the midst of your evil.”

* * *

Rob, hidden behind a wall, watched a cloaked shape creep past Frayner’s gate in the direction of Hampton. Looking at a downstairs window, he saw a faint movement against the light and crouched deeper into shadow. He had long ago eaten the hunk of bread and cheese he had brought with him from home, and Rob’s main concern now was that his rumbling stomach did not betray his position.

At the sound of a door opening, he froze. Frayner passed within an arm’s length of him. Rob held his breath and only let it out slowly and silently when the priest had passed through the gate in pursuit. Surely the great Nimrod had not been taken in by his tale of dark doings in the church?

Forgetting Luke’s orders, Rob slithered through the gate after Frayner. The first figure was by now out-of-sight in the darkness, but when the moon came out from behind a cloud the priest was on his trail. Why else would he adopt that crouching, half-running motion? Rob kept to the shadows but he had few fears that his quarry would see him. The man seemed far too intent on his pursuit.

Rob wondered if he would have the opportunity to catch up with Frayner and witness his mortification when he confronted the individual. He began to pray that the first man went into the church, although why anyone should do that in the darkness of an April night lit only by the intermittent appearance of the moon, Rob could not begin to imagine.

Just as they reached the black fastness of the church, the moon obligingly slid out from behind a cloud. Rob almost hugged himself with glee. It looked as if the man the priest followed was indeed going into the church through the main door. He must either have a key or have broken in, thought Rob. Had it been someone wanting sanctuary, he would have rung the bell. The lad waited until Frayner’s dark swooping shape disappeared inside before Rob approached the church.

After a few moments consideration, he decided to risk opening the door, but stopped when he saw several glimmerings of light from burning candles. Rob hissed in frustration. It was doubtful if he would be able to enter the church unobserved. The light was at the east end, though, which meant that the west end would be in darkness. Mayhap it was worth a tilt.

His quick ears heard the low buzz of conversation and then, nearer to him, the slap of boots on stone. Someone was coming out. He bolted around the edge of the church porch and hid in the deep shadows. By the time he looked out, a dark figure was scurrying through the gate. Rob turned his head fully expecting to see Frayner rush out in hot pursuit, but nothing happened. He waited for a few minutes before standing up and creeping towards the door. He looked up at one of the windows. The church was in darkness once more, but where was the priest?

* * *

Luke spent a few quiet hours putting his thoughts in order and committing to paper everything he knew about his investigation. He had to force himself to keep his mind from wandering, and only once did he falter, when he felt the cosmic balance shift.

Springing to his feet, he tried to home in on the center of the disturbance, but it had been fleeting and he could sense nothing now. Please God it was not Alys. How could he face Rob if he had failed to save her? Tamping down his agitation, he pulled his mind back to the matter in hand.

He had written “Thou hast been weighed in the balance and found wanting.” Belshazzar, the king who had worshipped false gods and paid the penalty. Was that supposed to be an allusion to King Henry and the new religion? Or had it been done merely to sidetrack any inquiry into focusing on the King when it was the Queen they sought to harm? He would let that simmer in his mind.

Next was the quotation from Exodus on the wall by the chapel at Hampton Court. “Let my people go.” Which people? Was this a further reference to the Catholics? God alone knew how many of them still plotted to bring the country back to the fold and have the Bishop of Rome once more telling Englishmen what they could and could not do.

At face value, it looked very much as if this was one more Catholic plot. But the Queen was a Catholic. Luke frowned and then a wry smile spread itself over his face. Aye, but the King was not. The Catholics must be dancing up and down with anxiety wondering if the Queen would convert.

Knowing Henry and his determination once he had set his mind on something, Luke did not doubt that Madeleine would soon be taking instruction from Archbishop Cranmer. Was that at the heart of this puzzle? Trying to prevent the Queen from converting? That thought, too, he would allow to simmer.

Now to consider the plagues. And with them, the first solid threat to the life of the heir and the first real problem for Luke. Sarah Rivers had been one of Queen Madeleine’s ladies and should have been on duty the night of Edith Brook’s death, but illness had prevented that, and the demon had been forced to use the other girl. That led to the unmistakable conclusion that both Edith and Sarah had been under Frayner’s influence.

Had the one merely been a substitute in case something went awry with his plans? Luke found that difficult to believe. Nimrod’s arrogance would never admit that any plan he made could go amiss. That meant he had taken Edith for a specific purpose, and Luke’s experience a few evenings before when he had confronted his enemy made that supposition appear a near certainty. The evidence of the sang-tireur spell and the use of Edith’s blood proved that the sunderer’s plans had been long in the making. So what did Frayner plan now, apart from the destruction of Corbin, Bertila and himself?

Rob erupting through the door as if all the demons in hell were pursuing him stopped Luke’s musings in their tracks. So sudden and violent was his entry that Luke put up an immobility spell before he had even thought about it. Rob ceased all movement in the midst of the act of running. Luke took one look at the boy’s ashen face and wild eyes and then with a wave of his hand, removed the spell and caught him before he fell.

“Take your time, lad. Gather your thoughts. Sit here and wait.”

Luke ran through to the shop and with a shaking hand, mixed a strong calming potion to counter shock. He did not trust Rob to hold the beaker so fed him the first few mouthfuls. Quickly the color returned to his cheeks and his ragged breathing eased.

Luke could read the turmoil of thoughts rushing through the boy’s head. He leaned over him and threw calming gold stars into his hair, then sat with his hand resting on Rob’s shoulder.

“Tell me quickly, with no embroidery.”

“It is the priest, sir.”

“Frayner?”

“Aye.”

“What has he done to you? Has he threatened Corbin and Bertila again?”

Rob looked up at him, the terror returning to his face, his lips trying and failing to form words. Luke wasted no time. He grabbed his scrip and caught hold of the boy by the shoulder.

“Show me. Now.”

Half-running, they made their way to the church. Rob had not uttered another word, but as they passed through the gate, his steps slowed and then stopped. Luke looked back at him, but the boy shook his head and pointed.

For one moment, Luke wondered if Rob really had delivered him to Frayner in return for Alys. No. He would have read it on the lad, especially after he had given him the potion.

Luke swallowed, speculating on what he would find in the church. No point in delaying the inevitable. Muttering a protection spell, he lifted the latch on the door and for the first time, took Joss with him into a house of God.

A misshapen mass lay on the chancel steps. Luke sent out mental tendrils to discover if anyone else was in the building, but he was alone. He edged towards the bundle, muttering preservation spells and entreaties for God’s help. For some moments, he looked down on the suit of clothes that lay there, but the heap did not consist solely of clothes. They were wrapped around something Luke could not identify. A pig? If so, all the blood had been drained from it. Was this some jest? Joss howled and huddled behind him, making him jump. What on earth was it?

The realization smote him, making him stagger backward, almost falling over his dog, unable to stifle a shriek of fear. This was no pig. His gaze moved to the wooden staff lying a few feet away. No, neither pig nor jest. This was all that was left of Gerard Frayner.