The Sorceror's Revenge (31 page)

41

Maria stood on the threshold and watched as the girl braided and tied Iolanthe’s hair.  She smiled because Rosalie was kind and patient, and the child had learned to love and trust her.  Iolanthe had been tearful and frightened, weeping for her mother.  Maria had tried to comfort her but she had screamed. Only Rosalie seemed able to control her tantrums

             
‘I have good news, child,’ Maria said.  ‘Your mother is with her sister the Abbess.  I hope you may be able to go to her soon.’

             
‘I want my mother now,’ Iolanthe said and started to cry.

             
‘She was permitted to leave the abbey where she was imprisoned?’ Rosalie asked.  ‘That is good news indeed, my lady.’

             
‘I understand that one of the novices forgot to lock the door of her cell and my lady simply walked out of the convent.  She walked for some leagues but then she was given a lift on a farmer’s cart and delivered to the door of the abbey.  She says that she is sure an angel guided her footsteps for she did not lose her way and no one tried to recapture her.’

             
‘That was fortunate,’ Rosalie said and looked thoughtful.  ‘What will happen now?  Will she be allowed to stay where she is – or will the earl try to send her back to her prison?’

             
‘Melloria says she has been given sanctuary.  For the moment she is hidden where no one is likely to find her, but in time she must make a decision, either to take the veil or leave and make a new life elsewhere.’

             
‘Will the King  help her?’

             
‘I hope so for the children’s’ sake.  Iolanthe has suffered too much at the earl’s hands and she hates him.  It would be much better if she could be with her mother.’

             
‘I have heard from my family.  There have been raids in the area.’

             
‘And you are anxious for news,’ Maria said.  ‘If you wish to write a letter to your father telling him you are well and will return soon I will ask Master Steward to have it delivered to your village.’

             
‘Thank you,’ Rosalie said.  She was happy being in charge of the nursery since the earl took his whore with him, but anxious for her family.  She thought that perhaps she would write the letter to her father now.

             
Iolanthe was crooning to her rag doll, singing to herself with a secretive smile on her lips. The child often screamed and woke weeping from the dreams that haunted her sleep, but the past day or so she had been quieter and she smiled, seeming happier and no longer frightened.
             
‘What are you singing?’ she asked as she squatted on the rug beside the girl.  ‘I do not know the words.’

             
‘It is the lullaby Papa sang to me when I was little,’ Iolanthe said and smiled at her.  ‘Papa told me to sing it when I was unhappy.  He said that it will not be long now.’

             
‘Your father – the earl?’

             
A look of impatience passed over Iolanthe’s face.  ‘The earl is not my Papa.  My Papa is kind and gentle and he loves me.  Soon he will come for me and I shall be with my sister and brother.’

             
‘Your brother is here in the castle,’ Rosalie said.  ‘I do not think you have a sister.’

             
‘I did not think so either, but Papa told me Mary is waiting for me and my brother’s name is Sebastien.  Harry is not my true brother, though sometimes I liked him.’

             
Rosalie placed a hand to the girl’s brow, wondering if she were sickening but she felt cool and her cheeks were not flushed.  Yet there was something different about her, a faraway look in her eyes, as if in her mind she was not here but in another place.

             
‘When did your papa tell you this, Iolanthe?’

             
‘He was here just now, while you were speaking with Maria,’ Iolanthe said.  ‘Did you not see him?  He has a scar on his face but I think him beautiful – and so does Mama, because she told me so when I was little.’

             
Rosalie felt anxious for it seemed to her that the child was wandering in her mind.  No one else had been in the room.  A deep sadness came over her, making her fear for the little girl’s future. She believed that Iolanthe’s terror at being torn from her mother and home had turned her mind.

             
‘No, I did not see him,’ she said and touched her hand in sympathy.  ‘But if he gives you happiness that matters not.’

             
At that moment Rosalie felt a cool breeze and then it was as if something touched her face, almost like a kiss or a gentle caress.  She shivered, and then, as she looked towards the window for a moment, she saw a shadow.  She thought it was a man’s shadow. A tall, lean man with a thin intelligent face, dressed in the long gown of a nobleman, seemed to glance at her for a brief moment. The image was there but an instant and then it had gone.  She remembered the stories of unquiet spirits and demons she had been told as a child and crossed herself, murmuring a prayer to safeguard both the child and herself.

             
It was said that madness came to a person when the soul was possessed by demons.  Had Iolanthe been possessed? Was the image Rosalie had seen for one second that of a demon?

             
She looked at the child and saw her playing happily.  She was singing the lullaby, which was in a language Rosalie believed was French for some of the words were still in common use, brought to England by the Normans at the conquest.

             
Rosalie decided that she would say nothing of what the child had told her or what she had felt or seen.  If the physicians came they might pronounce Iolanthe mad or possessed by demons, and the treatment for such poor creatures was very cruel.  The child might be restrained, her flesh tortured to drive out the devils in her body.  No, she would not speak of her suspicions even to Maria. Soon perhaps Iolanthe would be restored to her mother.  Perhaps then her mind would return to itself and she would forget this nonsense.

             
Rosalie’s thoughts wandered.  She had heard nothing more of what had happened to her village after it was attacked.  Were her parents still alive?

42

Alfreda was feeling lost in London.  The earl had promised her a house of her own, clothes and jewels if she came with him.  All he’d given her was two gowns that had belonged to his wife and a chain with green stones.  He gave her a few coins to shop for their food each day, and she spent the time when he was away wandering about the streets, looking at the shops and the taverns.  Men looked at her and when she bought fruit, cheese or meat for their host to cook for their supper they smiled and made suggestive remarks that brought a flush to her cheeks.

             
Alfreda was not a whore.  She had given herself to the earl because she loved him.  All day she waited for him to return from his business and when he did she served him with wine, bread, cheese and the meat the innkeeper’s wife had cooked for them.  Afterwards, he took her to bed, but often now his loving was brief, frantic and over too soon.  As he snored beside her she wept and wondered what she had given up for him.

             
Sometimes, he woke suddenly from a bad dream.  Alfreda comforted him then and sometimes he would lie shuddering in her arms before making love to her.  At those times he would seem grateful and it was almost as it had been at the start, but mostly he just took her without even bothering to kiss her and then he slept.

             
Alfreda did not like the way he treated her.  It was not what she’d expected and she was angry.  She had hoped he might love her, but with each day that passed she felt more and more like his whore and less like herself.

             
Wiping the tears from her face, Alfreda decided that if Robert continued to treat her like this she would leave him – but where would she go?  She must either find another man and then another, as they tired of her or go home.  Her parents would disown her – and she loved Robert.

             
For the moment she must stay but one day she would have to leave.

* * *

‘This is your time, Hopton,’ Niccolai said.  ‘You failed me before but Devereux was strong then and the King favoured him.  He has left his lands to be cared for by his stewards and the villages are beset with marauding raiders while he cavorts with his mistress in London.’

             
‘He incarcerated his wife in a nunnery and there are dark whispers that he is losing his mind,’ Hopton said.  ‘What would you have me do – and what of the prize you offered me?’

             
‘If the King listens to you, you will marry the woman I told you of – and perhaps Henry will give you the lands at Craigmoor.  That is not in my power to give – but you shall have a rich marriage.’

             
Hopton smiled and offered his hand.  ‘I shall seek an audience with the King this day.’

             
A smile touched the count’s lips.  ‘I wish you well, sir – and a long and happy marriage.

* * *

‘I have summoned you here today, Devereaux, because I do not like what I hear.’  Henry looked at the man who had been his proud champion.  He did not look strong enough to wield his sword let alone fight for his sovereign.  ‘I am most displeased to hear what you did to the countess.  You will have her released from her prison immediately and restored to full honour – and you will give up this whore with whom you spend all your time.’

             
‘But Sire…’  The look in Henry’s eyes silenced him.

             
‘You must leave London and return to your estates, for if you do not I shall be forced to give the lands you hold for me to another – and send the whore away.’

             
‘Yes, Sire.’  When the King’s mind was made up there was no arguing with him.  Disobedience could mean imprisonment or even death.

* * *

Robert looked at Alfreda sadly as she gave him cheese, fresh bread, pigeons in a rich sauce and rich black grapes from the shores of France.  He knew that she must spend hours preparing for his homecoming and he had not treated her well.

             
‘Come here, lady,’ he said softly.  ‘I have bad news for you but it will keep until later.  Now I would make love with you.’

             
For the first time in weeks, Robert kissed, caressed and loved her in every way that brought her pleasure.  Alfreda came and came again in his arms, her nails digging into his flesh as she gave herself up to the pleasure.

             
Afterwards he held her for a while, then he sat up and struck a tinder.  He left the bed and went over to his chest in the corner and opened it. Taking out a bag of silver coins, he returned to the bed.

             
‘The King has told me I must return to Craigmoor and reinstate my wife there.  You cannot come with me, Alfreda.  That money will set you up in a trade – whether it be whoring or brewing.  The choice is yours.’

             
‘My lord…’ Tears sprang to her eyes because his loving had been so tender that she had forgotten her grievances.  ‘I do not want to leave you.  I love you.  I have always loved you.  I am not a whore.’

             
‘No, forgive me.  You are not a whore, Alfreda, and I have wronged you.’

             
‘Please do not send me away…’ she begged.

             
‘You may stay until the morning,’ Robert said.  ‘there, wipe your tears and lie here by my side.  I love you in my way, Alfreda, but I must do as my king commands.’

             
Alfreda snuggled into his side.  The pain of leaving him was almost too much for her.  Yet she had known it must come one day.

* * *

Robert started up from his bed.  The nightmare had been terrifying and he was drenched in sweat. He was lying in his bed but he still felt that he was gripped by the sickness that had tortured his body and taken his senses.  In the dream he had been lying on his sickbed and Melloria was bending over him, tending his hurts, but even as he relaxed under her touch her face changed and she became someone else.  The man’s face was shrouded in mist but Robert knew he was his tormentor, the demon that taunted him whenever he dared to sleep.

             
‘Go away,’ he said hoarsely.  ‘Leave me be.  Begone, you fiend.  Let me have peace.’