The Agents of William Marshal Volume I: A Medieval Romance Bundle, page 36
The demand exceeded the supply.
Lily-Elsie was the lucky one with the very last card. She closely examined this particular shingle, with the poem in the middle and the border decorated with branches from an apple tree and a snake. There was even some expensive gold leafing on it and the author of the poem, Lady Dark, printed down near the bottom. As Cadelyn counted out the money to Yerik, Lily-Elsie began to read softly.
“Bickford and Cedrica…
His blood touches Cedrica, o’er the miles
His praises, she sings,
In the dead of night, she calls to him,
Feeling him against her, of flesh and soul
The magic of creation
As his lips touch her nipple.”
Dreamily, she sighed, holding the card against her breast. “This one is more beautiful than the last one, Cadie,” she said. “I thought Alvina’s Lament was my favorite one, but I adore Bickford and Cedrica.”
Susanna was watching their surroundings for anything threatening considering they had a great deal of money out in the open, but she paused long enough to cast Lily-Elsie an impatient glance. Lily-Elsie, the feisty lass with a sappy romantic streak, stuck her tongue out at Susanna.
“Well, it is,” she insisted as Susanna scowled. “Alvina’s Lament was so beautiful, but Bickford and Cedrica is delicious. Cadie, is it is wonderful!”
Cadelyn heard her but was too busy to reply. She finished counting out the last of the money to Yerik, who held the coins in the folds of his robe. A young man in his twentieth year, he wanted to be a priest but his talent for writing and art had him managing the clerics at St. Margaret. He had known Cadelyn for several years because Lady Summerlin was a great patroness of St. Margaret’s and she brought her wards to attend mass there, and not being particularly pious, Cadelyn often wandered the grounds during mass rather than pray. On one such wandering, she had come across a rather full-bellied young man, unhappy with his role in life, and a friendship was born.
Now, that friendship was a lucrative business arrangement.
“There you are,” Cadelyn said to Yerik. “Make sure everyone gets the money they have earned. This is the best we have ever done.”
Yerik tucked the money away eagerly. “I shall,” he said. “Do you have the next poem for us?”
Cadelyn nodded as she dug into the silk purse on her belt and pulled forth a rolled piece of parchment. Handing it over to Yerik, the young cleric unrolled it excitedly as Cadelyn recited the words cast upon it from memory.
“In the Garden of Passion,
He comes upon me as a warm wind
His heat fills my veins
I can feel nothing else but his touch,
Taste nothing else but his skin
He feasts upon Venus in the Garden of Passion.”
Yerik’s eyes widened as Lily-Elsie giggled. “This shall be the best one yet,” he said, tucking the parchment away with the money. “I will push the men to do more than one hundred cards this time. We shall do as many as we can and make more money than ever.”
Cadelyn was flattered that the cleric and Lily-Elsie seemed so excited about the new poem. “Do you think so?” she said. “I stayed up nearly all night composing it.”
Yerik nodded eagerly. “The wealthy women of Lynn like nothing better than to read your lewd poems during the week and then come to mass to pray forgiveness on Sunday. It keeps their blood flowing and our pockets full.”
Cadelyn grinned. “Those poems are a work of art on your beautiful cards,” she said. “Please thank your men for their fine work. I shall write something new and bring it to you soon.”
“We shall be ready, my lady.”
“Yerik, I want to know something,” Susanna said in her matter-of-fact, almost masculine manner. “How is it that the priests do not see what you and the other clerics are doing?”
Yerik looked at the woman. She was tall, with muscular arms, and long, wavy hair the color of copper. She wasn’t unattractive in the least but there was something quite intimidating about her.
“It is simple, my lady,” he said. “We work on the poetry cards when the priests are busy with any number of canonical duties. When they are not, we keep the cards well-hidden. We are very careful.”
“But you use supplies purchased by the church,” she pointed out. “All of those cards are from pieces of wood that are provided to you by the church, are they not?”
Yerik shook his head. “We make our own,” he said. “We go into the forest to the east and cut the wood ourselves for the prayer cards that we make for the priests. While we are there, we simply cut extra wood. That is why Lady Dark’s cards are the exact size and shape as the prayer cards.”
Susanna merely snorted, a clear sign of disapproval, but said nothing more. With the conversation ended, Yerik rushed back towards the cloister, passing through the old iron gate where he had so recently sold the indecent cards. Cadelyn tucked her money away as Susanna, weary of the entire venture, began to head back towards the livery one street over.
“Come along, Lady Dark,” she said, somewhat sarcastically. “Let us return to Lady Summerlin with a lie as to why we had to come to Lynn today in the first place. She would not believe that you have come to St. Margaret’s to pray, so what are you going to tell her?”
Cadelyn caught up to Susanna and her long strides, pulling Lily-Elsie along. “I am going to tell her the truth,” she said. “I am going to tell her that we came to town to the paper broker and purchased more writing supplies, which I will prove to her when I show her what I bought.”
Susanna cast her a long glance. “Writing supplies for your coming journey?”
Cadelyn’s good spirits fled as swiftly as a breath blows out a flame. Just like that, it was gone, and her stomach began to twist in knots.
“I told you not to speak of it,” she said quietly.
Susanna knew her feelings on the subject but, in her opinion, it was foolish to resist one’s duty. “I must speak of it and you know it,” she said. “You have an escort coming from London any day now to escort you to Chester. You have not even packed your trunks, Cadelyn, and you act as if a journey is not imminent. If Lady Summerlin discovers you are not prepared, she will become angry.”
Cadelyn didn’t care about Lady Summerlin’s anger. Furthermore, she didn’t want to be reminded of what was coming. Traveling to St. Margaret’s on this day had caused her to forget, however briefly, about the future that had been dictated for her.
A future beyond her control.
At the moment, she couldn’t push the reminder aside and she allowed herself to feel the familiar angst of an unwelcome destiny. It was fear and disappointment all rolled into one. God, she didn’t want to go. Castle Rising was her life and the secretive role of Lady Dark had finally taken flight. She’d worked for it, all of it, and now it was to be taken away from her because of some foolish betrothal dictated to her by men she didn’t even know. Men who were using her for a political marriage to seal an alliance between the country of her birth and an English earl.
Country of her birth…
A country she didn’t even know.
A country she didn’t want to know.
“Not another word, Susanna,” she said firmly. “Let my last days here not be marred by something I cannot prevent. It only makes the pain of my lost future worse.”
“Ignoring it will not change things,” Susanna said with surprisingly gentleness. “And what of your business partner, Yerik? Does he know that soon you shall be gone forever?”
Cadelyn’s jaw was ticking as she glanced at her friend. “He knows,” she said. “He knows and he has agreed to come with me so that Lady Dark can continue, even if it cannot continue here in Lynn. It will continue in Chester.”
Susanna’s eyebrows lifted. “You intend to take the cleric with you?” she said, shock in her tone. “And just how do you plan to explain his presence to your new husband?”
“I am allowed my own private priest, aren’t I?”
“The man is not a priest.”
Cadelyn had enough. “No one need know that if you do not tell them, Susanna. Just keep your lips still about things that do not concern you.”
Susanna kept calm. It was one of her greatest traits, this innate coolness she displayed in any given situation, even in the face of her lady’s frustration. “I do not intend to say a word,” she said. “But when Lady Dark’s poetry shows up in Chester, coincidentally at a time when you arrive, it is possible people will notice, even your husband.”
Cadelyn had no real answer for that. Susanna made sense, but she wouldn’t admit it. She was determined to remain confident in a situation where she was trying to maintain some control.
“With any luck, he’ll not notice me at all,” she said, the pain of the unwanted betrothal suddenly reflecting in her eyes. “Say no more, Susanna. I do not wish to hear it.”
With that, she abruptly turned down an alleyway that led to the street of the merchants, winding her way through dirty little alleys and across an old yard used by the bakers before emerging into the fairly busy district of High Street. Susanna and Lily-Elsie were right behind her, rushing to keep up.
Unfortunately, in her haste to escape the conversation, she wasn’t watching where she was going and immediately moved into the path of several large war horses. Had it not been for Susanna pulling her out of the way, a knight on a muscular gray stallion would have pounded her right into the ground. But in that live-saving grab, it disturbed the purse at her waist and all of Cadelyn’s illicit coinage went scattering all over the avenue.
After that, it was chaos.
CHAPTER THREE
“Why are all of these women running around with prayer cards?” Achilles wanted to know. “See them? They’re flooding away from St. Margaret’s clutching those prayer cards. It must be quite a prayer to have them so excited.”
Kress saw what had Achilles’ attention; fine carriages painted with colors from local noble families, or even women simply walking under a canopy surrounded by servants. The midday prayers had recently ended and the pious were coming through the street of the merchants on their way back home, but most of them were carrying wooden prayer cards with them. Some were reading as they walked while still others were holding them against their breasts. And it was all women; no men that he could see.
It was most curious.
“Is it a saint’s day that I have missed?” he asked, looking to Achilles, who was the most religious of the group. “Is it a feast day that only subscribes to women?”
Achilles shook his head, noting a carriage passing him with a woman in a faint, holding a prayer card against her chest as her ladies furiously fanned her.
“Not that I am aware of,” he said. “Unless it is a local saint I have no knowledge of, but whatever it is, there is quite a flurry around it.”
Kress nodded, watching as two women fought over one of the prayer cards like an odd tug-of-war. When the card disintegrated, one woman stood there and sobbed while the other dropped to her knees in the dirt and tried to piece it together again. Kress eyed the pair most strangely.
“It is some kind of madness,” he said. “It must be. I have never seen anything like this.”
Behind him, Alexander snorted softly. “The wilds of Norfolk breed some very strange people,” he said. “Remember that this is a land of witches and demons and killer dogs.”
Kress didn’t believe in any of that. He was a man of reason. Passing by a merchant stall, he watched a man dressed in fine robes yank a prayer card out of a woman’s hand, a woman who was more than likely his wife, and the woman hit him squarely in the face in response. Kress’ eyebrows lifted as they rode past the brawling pair.
“It is a land of lunatics,” he said, his attention diverted as the steeple of St. Margaret’s came into view. “Thank God we shall not be spending any time here. Once we are through the town, we take the road to the northeast and that will take us straight to Castle Rising.”
Bric, who served at Narborough Castle where they had stayed the previous night, knew the area well. He spurred his gray steed forward, next to Kress.
“Have you ever been to Castle Rising?” he asked.
Kress glanced at him. “It has been a while,” he said. “I was newly knighted, I think, so it is quite some time ago. Why do you ask?”
Bric was looking out over the avenue as he pondered his answer. “Padraig Summerlin is d’Aubigney’s garrison commander.”
“I know.”
Bric continued. “The House of Summerlin holds the barony of Rothwell over near Daventry,” he said. “They are linked to the House of de Winter through marriage. In fact, Summerlin married my liege’s sister, Lady Delesse.”
Kress looked at him curiously. “Delesse,” he said, rolling the name over his tongue. “Delesse. Where have I heard that name?”
Bric fought off a knowing grin. “That was the lass that Dashiell du Reims was so in love with,” he said. “All of The Marshal’s men know of it; he made no secret of it those years ago. You know Dash, of course – he serves the Duke of Savernake at Ramsbury Castle and he’s also the heir to the Earldom of East Anglia. About ten years ago, when Dash was newly knighted, he was quite fond of Delesse and she of him, but Summerlin swooped in and snatched her away. The man is paying the price now.”
“Why do you say that?”
Bric shook his head faintly, his smile fading as he thought of the unhappy situation. “Because they knew each other mere days before Summerlin married her without Daveigh’s permission,” he said. “Delesse is beautiful, but she is spoiled and she has a temper. Summerlin is a man of discipline. It is like mixing oil and water with those two, so be prepared. I have visited there several times over the past few years and it is not a place of peace. In fact, I seriously wonder why d’Aubigney placed the Welsh princess at Castle Rising for that very reason. The Warring Summerlins are legendary in these parts.”
Kress shook his head at a combative couple and the story behind them. “I would say if you know a woman for only a few days before you marry her, and steal her away from someone, then you get what you deserve.”
“That is what Daveigh says.”
The two looked at each other, shaking their heads at the impetuousness that had cost the man peace for the rest of his life. They were just nearing an intersection where the main road from the church intersected with the street of the merchants and, suddenly, a woman was darting into Kress’ path.
Startled, he pulled his horse back, and the animal reacted by rearing on its hind legs. Someone pulled the offending woman out of the way but as she fell back, the money in her purse scattered. All it took was a scream from someone, announcing a windfall of coinage on the street, and abruptly, people descended on the spilled money.
It all happened so fast that Kress was forced to back his horse away from the swarm of people grabbing for the coinage that had been scattered, but as he and Bric backed away, ramming the butt of their horses into Achilles and Alexander, bringing up the rear, an odd thing happened.
Suddenly, there was a tall woman with long, copper-colored curls swinging her fists in the middle of those who were trying to steal the money. She was kicking, too, with big boots underneath her skirts. The woman she had pulled out of the way, a rather pale blonde from what Kress could see, also came out swinging, screeching at those trying to take what she termed “her money”, and aiming for their heads.
People were knocked in the heads, more often than not dropping the coinage from the beating, and once Kress settled his steed, he handed the reins over to Achilles and he and Bric dismounted. Approaching the group with the intention of separating the money-grubbers from those who actually lost the money, a fist suddenly came flying at his face, catching him in the jaw.
Kress stumbled as the woman with the copper-colored curls came in for another blow. He managed to duck her this time, shoving her away and using her momentum to send her to her knees. Meanwhile, Bric had his hands full with the pale blonde, who turned out to be a hellion. She whacked him with an open hand, right in the face, and clipped his nose. Stinging, Bric took a step back, hand to his nose as the blood began to pour.
“Get away from my coinage!” the pale blonde snarled. “This is all your fault. Get back on your horses and be on your way!”
Bric stood there and looked at her as if having no idea how to respond. The big Irish knight had a fierce temper, and everyone knew it, so Kress stepped in before he became enraged, addressing the blonde who had just whacked Bric in the face.
“We are not after your money, my lady, I assure you,” he said in his usually diplomatic fashion. “We are trying to help.”
The woman turned her venom to Kress and that was when he got a good look at her. Odd how everything seemed to stop at that moment; movement seemed to slow, and voices seemed distant.
For a split second, Kress was in a world of his own, looking at quite possibly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her glistening hair was pulled away from her face, secured at the back of her skull, while the entirety of it flowed down her back. She had ribbons of pearls in her hair; or were they diamonds? Kress honestly couldn’t tell because all he could see was the glimmer as it framed her face.
And what a face.
Big, bottomless eyes looked up at him, eyes the color of coal. He could see a faint hint of gray in them, quite unique, and they were set within a sweet oval face. Her cheeks were flushed with anger and her lips were full and lush, with perhaps the slightest bit of an overbite. But it only enhanced the magnificence of what he was seeing.
He’d never seen finer.
He would have been quite content to linger in that dazed state until he’d sucked in his fill of her beauty, but the woman opened her mouth and, rudely, he was shaken from his observations.
“You,” she hissed. “It was you who nearly crashed into me. What do you mean by going around, ramming that big horse into unsuspecting women?”
She was articulate and commanding. He could see it in everything about her; this was a woman who knew her importance in life. She was either a duke’s daughter or an earl’s wife, and he sincerely hoped it wasn’t the latter.
