[The deBurghs 07] - Reynold De Burgh: The Dark Knight (4 page)

‘We learned to hide when we heard it coming,’ the boy Alec said.

‘We have little growing except small, scattered gardens, and no cows or pigs or oxen. And what food we have stored cannot last indefinitely,’ Mistress Sexton said.

Obviously, they were frightened of something, but
any beast might kill animals or attack humans, and fires were usually the result of dry thatch and sparks, not burning breath. ‘Why a dragon?’ Reynold asked.

‘Someone woke it!’ Alec said, wide-eyed.

It had been sleeping?
Before Reynold could comment, Mistress Sexton spoke. ‘Our village, Grim’s End, was founded by a dragon-slayer. You must have seen the mound across from the church.’

The odd hill. Reynold nodded.

‘’Tis said that the dragon is buried there, and when the attacks began, the villagers thought it had reawakened, though there were no disturbances in the earth.’

Reynold studied the small group carefully. No mummers these, but people who were definitely afraid of something. Of what, Reynold was less sure. Although he did not have personal knowledge of every animal, a dragon seemed more otherworldly than natural, no matter what the local lore might say.

Dragons or worms were giant serpents with wings, a tail and clawed feet with which they could grasp their prey. They could swallow animals and people whole, spit fire or poison, and lash a victim with their heavy tails. And they were difficult to kill because of the nearly impervious scales that covered them.

Although Reynold kept his expression impassive, he knew what Stephen would say in a mocking tone.
Have you ever seen a dragon? Do you know anyone who has ever seen a dragon?
There were always tales from travellers and sailors of wild beasts and those who claimed to have seen them, and St Perpetua, St Martha and many others besides St George were revered as dragon-
slayers. Geoff’s books had pictures of the creatures, some drawn in intricate detail.

But Reynold had never come face to face with one. ‘Who has seen it?’ he asked.

For a moment they were all silent, then Alec began chattering about this person and that person, young Jem and Henry the miller’s son. He was joined by Urban, who seemed to take umbrage at the question, launching into a long, involved display of indignation.

Reynold held up his hand for silence. ‘But who among the five of you has seen it, personally, with your own eyes?’

The question set off another outburst from Urban, culminating in, ‘Are you calling us liars?’

It was Mistress Sexton who quietly and gracefully took control of the conversation before things became too heated. ‘I admit I was sceptical at first,’ she said, ‘but there is no denying its roar and the damage it leaves in its wake. What else could be responsible?’

Reynold could not comment on the sound since he had heard very little of it, but he knew that the poor animals used in bear-baiting roared loudly. Perhaps one had escaped its owners. More likely a wolf or wild boar was responsible for any attacks, while the fires were nothing more than a coincidence, attributed to an awakened creature by ignorant people weaned on village traditions.

When Urban would have protested again, Mistress Sexton stopped him with a glance. ‘It matters not,’ she said, leaning forwards, to eye Reynold sombrely. ‘What matters is that you, Lord de Burgh, are bound to help us.’

The hall was hushed as everyone awaited his reply, but Reynold knew he could not deny such an entreaty. Knightly honour, as well as his de Burgh blood, demanded that he aid those in need. And Grim’s End was plagued by something, even if it was only an especially vicious wolf that carried off livestock.

Although there were many things here that did not make sense, including why the liege lord had not sent men to dispatch such an animal long ago, Reynold’s duty was clear. And he need only kill the beast to be on his way again. It was hardly a challenge, though a raging boar might be a bit more difficult to handle.

As for the other possibility, Reynold preferred not to consider it. For now, at least, he still drew the line at dragons.

‘Mark my words, there will be trouble between those two,’ Ursula said, as the two women prepared for bed. ‘Tis like bringing another rooster into the henhouse.’

‘Ursula!’ Sabina felt her face flame. A rooster was brought in to breed with the hens, hardly a similar circumstance since she was a maiden and had no intention of breeding with Lord de Burgh. The very thought made her catch her breath, and she deliberately turned her mind from it. ‘The situations are not at all alike.’

Ursula eyed her cannily, and Sabina was forced to acknowledge, if only to herself, that Urban was being difficult. Her father’s man, he was fiercely loyal to the Sextons; she knew he had her best interests at heart. After her father’s death, he had urged her to leave Grim’s End, promising to take her anywhere that would
offer her refuge. But she had refused to abandon her home and her family’s heritage. The Sextons, descendents of the church’s original warden, were said to be related to the founder of the village, as well. How could she abandon it?

‘Tis your own fault, Mistress,’ Ursula said, in her usual plain speech.

Sabina frowned. Perhaps the older woman was right. Sabina probably had leaned too heavily upon the servant after her father’s death, subtly allowing him more input into her decisions. But what else was she to do? Eventually, there were none left in Grim’s End except three women and a boy. As the only adult male, Urban had naturally assumed a more prominent position.

‘Once you give a man mastery over you, you can never get your own back,’ Ursula warned, as if privy to her thoughts.

‘I would hardly call Urban my master,’ Sabina said.

‘No, but what does he call himself? That’s the question.’

‘I cannot conceive of him calling himself my master,’ Sabina said. Nor could she imagine any man except her father in that role, although Lord de Burgh would appear to be master of just about anything he wanted. Again, her breath caught, and she veered away from such thoughts.

‘Urban has simply become accustomed to being the only man in the village, sole counsellor, protector and provider of sorts. It has nothing to do with me.’

‘As you say, mistress.’ Ursula bowed her head in apparent agreement, but that phrase always proclaimed the opposite. ‘Still, you can see why he might not take kindly to this stranger’s usurpation of his place.’

‘Lord de Burgh is not replacing him. Lord de Burgh is doing us a service, and once that service is done, all will return to normal again,’ Sabina said, hoping it was true. Perhaps Urban could travel to the nearby villages, urging the former inhabitants to return to their homes and bringing new families, as well, so Grim’s End could grow and thrive once more.

‘As you say, mistress.’

Sabina gave her companion a sharp look. ‘And just what would you advise?’ Although Urban had been right to be suspicious of strangers, Sabina was desperate for aid, and this knight seemed the answer to her prayers.

‘I would advise us to leave, mistress,’ Ursula said, as always.

‘And where should I go, an unmarried woman with little except the land you would have me abandon?’

‘There is one who would still have you, if you but knew how to contact him,’ Ursula said.

Sabina’s head jerked up at this new suggestion, and her fingers tightened upon the brush she was running through her hair. ‘Julian Fabre is dead.’

‘You don’t know that for certain,’ Ursula said softly. ‘His own father did not know.’

‘He is dead,’ Sabina repeated. She set her brush aside and rose to her feet, signalling an end to that conversation.

Ursula sighed, but did not comment.

‘Our hope now is Lord de Burgh, and I would ask that you treat him with respect,’ Sabina said as she slipped into bed. She could understand why Ursula and Urban were leery of the man, for Lord de Burgh was tall, strong, assured and, well, rather grim. He would make a fitting
foe for the beast, but a dangerous adversary for any person at odds with him. Sabina shivered at the realisation.

Seeming to guess her thoughts, Ursula slanted her a wary glance. ‘Let us hope that you have not unleashed upon us something more perilous than the dragon.’

R
eynold lay on his back, put his arms behind his head, and tried to appreciate his comfortable berth. He was at Sexton Manor, in a soft bed with clean linens, a sliver of moonlight shining through the window to cast a pale glow on the small, tidy room. But he could not relax. Certainly, the eerie emptiness of the village and its peculiarities was enough to give even a hardened warrior pause. Would he wake up to discover it was all a dream or find himself roasted like meat on a spit?

When showing him to his room, the servant Adele admitted that the remaining villagers often slept in the cellar, fearful of night-time attacks. But this evening they would seek their beds, as if Reynold’s very presence would protect them. That sort of faith sat poorly upon him. In truth, he had never shouldered such responsibility by himself. He had been involved in rescues, battles and skirmishes of various sorts, but always with one or more of his brothers. Never alone.

Reynold shifted uncomfortably under the weight of
their expectations. Here in the darkness, distanced from those involved, he realised that he should have tried to convince Mistress Sexton and her companions to leave Grim’s End. But if there was some beast preying on the people here, it might simply move on to the next place.

Reynold frowned as he mulled over his options, the safety of the villagers his upmost concern. Perhaps tomorrow he should insist that the others go, while he stayed to concentrate fully upon his task. Not only would he prefer that they be removed from any danger, but he had a feeling that Mistress Sexton would present a distraction even to the most hard-hearted of men.

Shying away from that subject, Reynold looked to where Peregrine had made his pallet by the door. The youth had been sunk in silence for some time. Was he languishing over Mistress Sexton, or was he having second thoughts about urging Reynold to listen to her?

‘Are you regretting our stay already, squire?’

‘No, my lord,’ Peregrine said. ‘I’m just wondering how you’re going to fight it.’

Fight it
? Did his squire know how attracted he was to the beautiful damsel? Then, with a start of surprise, Reynold realised that Peregrine was talking about the worm. Reynold loosed a low breath. ‘I don’t think there is one to fight.’

‘Still and all, we might be prepared.’

Reynold could not argue with that, a good idea in any situation. ‘All right,’ he said, sensing that his squire wanted to discuss their course of action, should a dragon swoop down upon them. ‘What would you suggest?’

‘Well, the saints just cast them out, usually to the desert.’

‘I think we’ve agreed that I’m not a saint,’ Reynold said, drily. Nor did he understand how a mere mortal would communicate with the beast. He paused to think. ‘But didn’t St George shove a spear down its throat?’

‘Yes…’ Peregrine’s words trailed off as though he were reluctant to speak further.

‘What?’ Reynold asked. Although he didn’t do any tourneying, he could handle a lance and a sword.

‘That would require really good aim and an awful lot of strength. And who’s to say the thing wouldn’t burn the spear with its fiery breath?’

Reynold squinted into the gloom. He had never really concerned himself with the techniques needed to kill a worm, but he supposed that any mistakes would be costly, if not fatal. In the hushed silence of the room, he found himself wishing for his brothers’ counsel. This was just the sort of question they would argue over for hours, whether they really believed a dragon posed a danger or not.

Geoffrey would propose a variety of clever and unusual solutions, while Simon would advocate brute force, and Stephen would proclaim uninterest. Suddenly, Reynold missed them all. For the first time since leaving Campion, he wondered whether he ought to return home, but then what? Nothing would have changed.

‘Do you know any more of the stories?’ Peregrine asked, and Reynold searched his memory. His family thought Geoff was the romantic, always ready for a chivalrous story, but that was because Reynold kept his
opinions to himself. He had not cared to be mocked as the moonstruck one, pining for adventures he would never have, living out the lives of heroes bold and whole while knowing he was not.

Once in a while, his shrewd father would give him a book or suggest a tale, but he had avoided his brothers’ taunts. And yet now that small victory seemed petty. Perhaps if he had let his interest be known, he would not be struggling so hard to remember dragon lore. ‘Didn’t someone just beat it with a club?’ he finally asked.

A long silence followed while Peregrine presumably mulled over that idea before ultimately rejecting it. ‘I don’t see how the creature would sit still for that. What’s to stop it from flying away, and what about its tail and breath?’

Reynold agreed with a grunt. And who knew if any of the accounts were based upon fact? How many dragon-slayers lived to tell the tale? And how many such valiant acts were witnessed?

‘I know I’ve heard stories where the hero digs a trench and hides in it in order to smite the beast’s belly,’ Peregrine said. ‘But that would take a lot of time and labour, especially with no one else to help. Do you think a hole would work just as well?’

Reynold could not picture crouching in a freshly dug hollow waiting for an opportunity to poke the underside of anything, let alone a ferocious beast. But it was just the sort of tactic Geoff might suggest and Simon would dismiss as faint-hearted.

‘That’s if the belly really is vulnerable. Some say it is, and others say it isn’t,’ Peregrine said. ‘And, you’ll need some protective garments, of course.’

Protective garments? Reynold had his short mail coat and some gauntlets, but no shield or helmet. If he had planned on going into battle, he would have brought Will and all his gear.

‘But it shouldn’t be too hard to make some fur breeches and soak them in tar,’ Peregrine said.

Fur breeches
? The day he donned such things would be the day his brothers all laughed themselves to death, worm or no worm. ‘I don’t think we need to go that far,’ Reynold said in a tone that brooked no argument.

‘There are several stories like that of the founding of Grim’s End, where a local hero slayed the dragon and was rewarded with rich lands,’ Peregrine said. ‘One such fellow pushed a big stone into its mouth.’

‘And how did he get it to hold still for that?’ Reynold asked.

Peregrine had no ready answer. ‘Others used poison,’ he suggested.

Although that sounded more feasible, it would require a significant amount of a deadly substance, of which Reynold knew nothing. However, his squire certainly seemed well versed in a variety of subjects. ‘Where did you hear all these tales? Can you read?’ Reynold asked.

‘Of course, my lord. The mistresses l’Estrange have been training me up for knighthood.’

Ah. That might explain why they had sent him off with Reynold, hoping that the opportunity might come for a sudden elevation in status.

‘And, of course, there might be magic involved.’

‘Of course,’ Reynold said in a voice heavily laden
with sarcasm. At least the sisters weren’t here, exhorting him with various strategies. He could just imagine facing the great beast while they shrilly called out instructions.

‘I’m afraid we’ll have to do without the magic,’ Reynold said. So far, their conversation had only made him more aware of the main problem with the task: there were simply no hard-and-fast rules, as there were for tourneying or hunting. All he and his squire had were conflicting reports and half-remembered legends, some more famous than others. ‘What did Beowulf do?’ Reynold asked.

‘Well, he didn’t come out of that too well, did he?’ Peregrine asked, subtly reminding Reynold that the hero was mortally wounded in his battle. ‘But I know that he couldn’t have killed the dragon without the help of his faithful squire.’

So that was it
, Reynold thought, as the reason for the discussion became clear at last. Poor Peregrine probably thought he’d be called upon for heroic feats during an epic battle with the beast. Reynold slanted a glance at his squire and tried for a reassuring tone. ‘I really don’t think it will come to that.’

At least, he hoped not.

Closing his eyes, Reynold effectively put an end to a conversation that would have seemed ludicrous only a day ago. Next he would be expected to ride into battle on a unicorn, he thought, swallowing a snort. In order to accomplish that, according to the bestiaries, he would have to find out where one lived and bait the place with a virgin. He nearly laughed aloud at the likelihood of that…although Mistress Sexton might volunteer.

Reynold sucked in a harsh breath as he pictured her lying on a green bower, long strands of her golden hair flowing about her, smooth and bright as ribbons. For a moment, his chest ached with the beauty of the vision, but he pushed it aside firmly. There was no point in taunting himself, a lesson that he had learned the hard way.

Lest he forget himself and fall prey to Mistress Sexton’s charms, Reynold forced himself to remember the visit to Longacre years ago when he had realised the depth of his difference.

The de Burghs had been visiting a noble family with several daughters and fostered girls, probably in a misguided attempt by Campion to expose his sons to a female household. But the earl was not pleased with the outcome, as the young women fluttered around the boys and Stephen was caught in a compromising situation that enraged their host and curtailed future stays at noble homes.

In his mind’s eye Reynold could see each one of the girls. Pale and soft, with high voices and flashing smiles, they had been more exotic and enticing than the finest sweets. But it was Amice who had enthralled Reynold. He had thought her beautiful, perhaps as beautiful as he now thought Mistress Sexton.

Indeed, probably more so, because his young heart had not yet been hardened. He had trailed after her like a lovesick puppy, and she had tolerated him, no doubt in order to gain access to his brothers. For good or ill, the older de Burghs did not notice or else did not care to share the obvious: that Amice did not return his admiration.

Reynold had had to find that out for himself. He had come upon a gaggle of the girls giggling and whisper
ing, only to stop short when he heard his name mentioned in her company.

‘He is quite taken with you, as everyone can tell. What say you?’

‘Reynold? Why should I be stuck with the lame one?’ Amice asked in a petulant voice. ‘Let one of the fostered girls have him. I’ve my eye on another de Burgh.’

And that was the way of it, then and always, as the boys grew into men. If they chanced to meet a wellborn woman, she preferred one of his brothers—or even his father.

In the back of Reynold’s mind, he might have thought that by leaving them behind, he would no longer suffer in comparison. But he could not leave behind his leg, which soon gave evidence to all that he was the de Burgh who was different, the lame one.

The next morning, Sabina sat at the head of the manor’s table for the first time in a long while. For years she had taken her place beside her father, looking out over a hall bustling with residents and servants. But those few who remained in Grim’s End these days usually gathered elsewhere, in the kitchens or cellars or a villager’s empty home, to eat. They varied their movements and their sanctuaries, so as to avoid attack. And that lack of routine and comfort had become their lives—until now.

Sabina hoped that sort of existence was over, yet she sorely felt the lack of her household, knowing that she could not present her guest with all that she would have in the past. Although Lord de Burgh did
not look like the type who would be impressed by much, he was probably accustomed to far more than she could provide.

She told herself that he was just a man, like any other, and not the first knight she had known. But when he entered the hall, Sabina realised just how wrong she was. Reynold de Burgh was not like anyone else she had ever seen. Tall, dark, lean and handsome, he might have been excused for some conceit, but he did not even appear to be aware of his own good looks.

As he slowly made his way across the tiled hall, Sabina decided it was the way he held himself that struck her. Although he had none of the arrogance of the vain, he possessed a quiet confidence that inspired trust. She knew that this man would not quake in the face of danger or dither over any decision. Steady strength and a cool, casual assurance had been bred into him and were evident in his every move.

Sabina loosed the breath she had been holding as her body relaxed, perhaps for the first time in months. Maybe now she would not jump at each sound, fighting against the panic that seemed to assail her at every turn. For surely, if anyone could vanquish their foe and return their lives to normal, it was this man.

As he drew nearer, Sabina saw he wore that rather grim expression Ursula had described as harsh. It wasn’t, of course, though neither was it open and friendly. Yet even his grimness was heartening, a sign that he was no light-hearted jester, but a serious warrior. Sabina wondered what had shaped him, for he was young, certainly younger than Urban, and maybe even
younger than herself. And yet he must have a wealth of experiences beyond the small realm of Grim’s End.

Yesterday, he had seemed nothing more than a figure of legend, a hero who appeared just when she needed him. But now Sabina found herself curious about the man himself. Had he fought in battles, knowing death and destruction such that a dragon was trifling in comparison? Sabina wanted to know, but he was no common visitor and she sensed that he would not welcome her intrusion.

Indeed, his greeting was clipped, and when Sabina gestured toward her father’s chair, empty beside her own, he shook his head. Instead, he sat on the bench at the side of the table, as far away from her as possible.

Ignoring the slight, Sabina called for Adele to bring some ale and food. Ursula had gone into the kitchens to help, but Urban appeared, as if he had been waiting behind the wooden screen at the end of the hall for Lord de Burgh’s arrival. Sabina gave him a nod, grateful, as always, for his sharp eyes and constant protection.