The Agents of William Marshal Volume I: A Medieval Romance Bundle, page 8
He shook his head at her firmly. “Eat,” he said. “If you leave now, then you will have wasted my money, and that will displease me. Do you wish to displease me?”
She shook her head quickly. “Nay, my lord.”
He gestured to her plate and she complied, plowing into the boiled beef. From the way she was pushing it into her mouth, he knew she was still very hungry. He was coming to think that his momentary suspicion of her had been misplaced. It was the natural doubt he carried with him, always, knowing that all men were not what they seemed. It was doubt that had kept him alive for many years, instincts that were better than most. As Andressa ate, he waved over one of the wenches who was working the common room, serving the tables.
“Something more, m’lord?” she asked.
It was a clearly suggestive question, but Maxton ignored it. “What more do you have in the kitchens to eat?”
The girl, round and pale with curly dark hair and rouged cheeks, was disappointed he didn’t respond to her leering smile and purring question. Still, she dutifully answered him.
“The beef and peas,” she said, gesturing to Andressa’s half-empty plate. “Bread and cheese, which I already brought you. But I think there is barley pudding, too.”
Maxton was interested. “What is in it?”
“Barley, eggs, milk, and honey. I think there are currants also.”
“Bring it,” he commanded quietly. “And listen closely; I want you to find a sack and stuff it full of all of the bread and cheese you can find. I wish to take it with me. Is that clear?”
“It is, m’lord.”
“Off with you, now.”
The girl scampered away to do his bidding and by the time he returned his attention to the table, he could see that Andressa was looking at him with some curiosity.
“If the barley pudding is for me, truly, I do not need such extravagance,” she said hesitantly. “I am very satisfied with what I have. It is more than enough, my lord.”
He knew that. He also knew she probably would have been happy with a simple crust of bread. But there was some satisfaction in giving the woman more food than she could eat.
“I know,” he said. “But you may as well try it since we are here. You mentioned your love of bread sweetened with honey, so sample their pudding. It could be very delicious.”
She nodded, a bit unsteadily, and returned to the beef, now pulling the remaining bits from the bone. Maxton’s gaze lingered on her.
“What great lady did you wish to become?” he asked.
Andressa stopped sucking the beef from her fingers. “My lord?” she asked, confused.
“You said that all young girls wish to grow up to be great ladies. What did you wish to become?”
She put her hand down, wiping it off on the cloth at her fingertips. It seemed to be a question she didn’t want to answer but, out of courtesy, she did.
“My family has raised beeves for generations,” she said. “Cattle with red and white hides. I had an older brother when I was born, but he died at a very young age, so my father used to take me with him as he went about managing his lands. I learned about the cattle and I learned how to take them to market and to sell them for a fair price. I always believed I would retire to Chalford Hill and administer my family’s legacy as I’d been taught. I hoped I would marry well and pass the empire to my children.”
Maxton nodded as he thought on red and white cattle, and the gentle hills of Gloucestershire. “You still can,” he said. “Send a missive to the king. Tell him that your aunt has stolen your lands. Ask for his good justice.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “It is not such a simple thing,” she said. “There is no way for me to send a missive. There is nothing to write with at St. Blitha; I do not have access to quill or parchment. I would have to see the king personally in order to deliver any message and I am quite certain he would not see me. I am no one of consequence. In fact, I would probably be in for a good deal of trouble if I did so. It would make me look ungrateful not only to St. Blitha, but also to my aunt. And do not forget that Essex is a confidante of the king. How would it make him look if a charge from St. Blitha told the king a tale of woe, of a Mother Abbess who sells our food to set her own fine table?”
He could see her point, but he wasn’t one to surrender so easily. “Then I shall tell him,” he said with firm quietness. “I have business with him, anyway. I will tell him your story and ask that he look into your aunt’s dealings. What is her name?”
“Hildeth du Bose,” she said hesitantly. “But…”
He cut her off. “Then it is settled,” he said. “I shall speak to the king of this… this travesty and insist he investigate Hildeth du Bose and the entire Culverhay situation.”
Andressa was shaking her head even as he spoke. “But you cannot,” she insisted softly. “My lord, it is very chivalrous for you to want to help me but, if you do this, the king will know that I have told you everything. That information will make it back to the Mother Abbess, and I do not wish to cross the woman. She can be quite… brutal.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Brutal? Explain.”
Andressa sighed heavily, clearly reluctant to say anything more but knowing he probably wouldn’t let the subject rest. She could just tell; he had that aggressive manner about him. “I will explain, but only on the condition that you not speak to the king,” she said with surprising firmness. “I must have your oath, my lord, or I will not tell you. I should not speak of such things. I could risk my own life in doing so.”
Now, he scowled. “Risk your own life? What in the hell goes on at St. Blitha that you should fear for your life if you speak the truth?”
She was starting to tremble; he could see it in her hands. “I will not tell you unless I have your oath not to repeat it.”
“You have it. Tell me.”
Andressa sat back in her chair, hanging her head. “I should not have said what I did,” she whispered tightly. “I should not have…”
“But you did,” he said, cutting her off. Sitting forward so he could hear her better, he could see how frightened she was. He was genuinely, and deeply, curious. “My lady, please tell me.”
She swallowed hard; he could see it. “When I first came to St. Blitha, I was warned by another pledge about the Mother Abbess,” she murmured, blinking away tears of pure fright. “I was told not to cross her. I was told that she could make women in her charge… disappear.”
Maxton was listening very carefully. “Disappear how?” he asked. “Send them away?”
Andressa shook her head. When she looked at him, it was with the greatest reluctance. “Nay,” she said, taking a deep breath. “There is a vault below the abbey, a place that the Mother Abbess calls The Chaos. When I first came to St. Blitha, there were eighteen pledges. One girl, named Lora, came just before me. She was vivacious and kind, and she truly wanted to serve God. But she also had a bold tongue, and she was warned of her behavior several times. Then, she was caught singing as she swept the floor of the church and the Mother Abbess ordered her into The Chaos. I never saw her again after that. Lora was the first of seven women who have been sent to The Chaos since I have been at St. Blitha. They go into The Chaos but they never return. Ever.”
Maxton had to admit that he was rather shocked to hear that. “They stay down there forever?” he said. “Or, it is equally possible that they are sent away, only you do not see it?”
“They are not sent away, my lord.”
“You know this for certain?”
“Aye.”
“Then what happens to them?”
Andressa closed her eyes as if to ward off the question, but she was too deep into her ghastly tale to refrain from answering. “I… I have seen the Mother Abbess take the stairs down to The Chaos,” she whispered. “When she goes, she always takes her staff with her. It is a big, heavy cross, taller than a man, and she calls it the Staff of Truth, but it is not as it seems. When she has come up from The Chaos, one of the nuns is always waiting for her with a piece of linen. The bottom of the staff, you see, is a dagger. A long dagger that is set within a wooden sheath made to look as if it is part of the staff. I have seen the nun remove that wooden sheath to reveal a bloodied blade. She uses the linen to wipe off the blade before replacing it into the wooden sheath. Do you not understand, my lord? The Mother Abbess kills those who go into The Chaos with her Staff of Truth and believes she is doing it with God’s blessing.”
Maxton sat back, hand to his mouth in astonishment as he pondered what he’d just been told. “Are you serious?” he gasped. “She kills them?”
Andressa nodded her head quickly, wiping at her eyes, at the tears of fright. “I swear upon our Holy Father that it is the truth,” she said. “And you swore upon your oath that you would not repeat it. If you do, I will end up in The Chaos, and I do not wish to go there.”
Maxton was horrified. “But why in God’s name should she kill those she sends to the vaults?”
She shook her head. “I do not know,” she said. “I have been asking myself the same question, except I overheard the nuns speak one day. They said that they had received the regular donation from Lora’s family because they were able to purchase fine meat for the Mother Abbess’ table.”
“Then her family does not know she is missing? Or dead?”
“If they did, they would no longer send the donation.”
That information hit Maxton like a punch to the chest. The family had not been informed so the Mother Abbess could continue collecting the family’s donations. That was greed on an entirely new level. “God’s Bones,” he muttered. “The woman kills the charges who displease her, but doesn’t tell the families? She continues to take their money?”
“Aye, my lord.”
He threw up his hands, agitated and outraged. “Someday, the families are going to know that something is amiss.”
Andressa remained calm. She had lived with this terrible secret for years and it was something that no longer outraged her, only terrified her. “We are not allowed visitors at St. Blitha,” she said. “They would not know the truth and if they did, I am sure they would be told that their daughters died of an illness or an accident. Anything but the truth.”
“But you have seen the bloodied staff.”
She appeared pale and sickened. “I have seen everything but the actual killing, my lord.”
“God help us,” he muttered in disbelief. Then, he pointed in the direction of the street outside. “And this is the same woman who lets her charges run loose in the streets of London, begging for food?”
She nodded again, swiftly. “As long as we do not speak against her and as long as our chores and prayers are completed on time, she has no conscience about it,” she said. “As long as we do not disrupt her life, she cares not what occurs. It has been like that since I have been there.”
It was a truly ghastly story. Maxton could hardly believe it. But in the same breath, he knew what the pope himself was capable of. He had experienced it first-hand. Therefore, it didn’t surprise him that this Mother Abbess was capable of the same, vipers in a church that was full of men and women hiding behind the veil of religion. Therefore, it took very little thought for him to be utterly convinced that Andressa was telling the truth, as dreadful as it was.
“I will not repeat this,” he assured her. “But you cannot go back there.”
Andressa looked at him with some surprise. “I must,” she said. “I have nowhere else to go.”
He was starting to think quickly, thinking of a place where he could take her. The poor woman couldn’t return to the hell of St. Blitha.
“I will think of something,” he said. “You said you had an older brother once? I will assume his role. I will not let you suffer any longer than necessary, my lady. Yours is a horrible story. I am sure I can find a place for you, somewhere. St. Blitha is not a fit place for you, or for anyone.”
She bolted to her feet. “Nay,” she said, moving away from the table so she was out of his arm’s length. “I must return, my lord. You do not understand. She would find me no matter where you take me because I have seen it happen before. Pledges have tried to leave her, but she always brings them back. I… I cannot leave!”
With that, she dashed away from the table, running into men and even knocking over a chair. Maxton stood up, rushing after her, but she was moving faster than he was. She raced from the entry and by the time he got out to the street, he saw her down the avenue, running as fast as her slender legs would carry her.
Very quickly, she was out of sight, but he didn’t go after her. To do so would surely cause a scene and she’d made her wishes known. Something in that godforsaken abbey had her terrified, so terrified that she couldn’t leave it. But from the story she told, he didn’t blame her for her fear – a Mother Abbess who murdered her charges, and a woman who was apparently all-knowing and all-seeing.
It was the most appalling thing he’d ever heard.
As he turned back to the tavern to pay for the meal they’d so abruptly left, thoughts of Andressa du Bose were lingering in his mind. That lovely, pale-faced woman with the tragic life had his attention. He wasn’t sure why, but she did. He was interested in her, but no longer in an altruistic way. He’d mentioned assuming the role of her older brother, to protect her, but that wasn’t why he did it. He did it because if he simply announced he wanted to protect her, it would have been improper considering they were not betrothed or even courting. Moreover, she was meant for the church. A relationship with a man wouldn’t be part of that plan.
Still…
Maxton suspected that in the days to come, he would find her out on the streets again, looking for food.
And he would be waiting.
CHAPTER SIX
Farringdon House
It was a chamber filled with knights.
In fact, the very walls reeked of power… swords… and blood. They had absorbed such things over the years, walls that had seen much of the politics of England.
The first floor solar of Farringdon House was a meeting place, one that William Marshal used to summon the great and powerful of England. It covered nearly half of the floor, and it was a very big floor, so there was easily room for fifty or more men in the solar with its great stone hearth, exposed beams overhead, and painted walls. The floor was made from wide slats of wood, heavy, but pocked from men who had walked upon it with their spurs and heavy boots. It was a spectacular room, meant for men of greatness.
This morning was no exception.
After his encounter with Andressa, Maxton had returned to Farringdon House, entering through an arched and secured gate built into the house itself and protected by several guards. Once inside, he passed through a tunnel that led into a damp, enclosed courtyard. To his right were stalls for the horses and a small corral, but stretching above that were four stories of a great stone house.
Windows faced into the interior courtyard and he could hear voices coming from the open panels – servants, people moving around, and the smells of baking bread. To his left was another arched doorway, heavily fortified, and there was another guard standing at it. He passed through with ease, entering the ground floor of the house, which was mostly servants’ quarters, a big armory, and the kitchens. It was low-ceilinged and dark. A stone walkway through the ground floor led to a large mural staircase, and he took the stairs two at a time as he made his way to the first floor above.
This floor was bigger, with higher ceilings, and bright with windows. It was also the floor with the enormous solar. Maxton could hear men in the solar and as he entered the room, which was lit by the morning sun because the windows facing west were all wide open and the sun was filling up the sky, he could hear Kress’ voice.
“Finally!” Kress declared. “We were about to send a search part out for you, Max. Where have you been all night?”
Maxton quickly realized there were several powerful knights in the chamber, all of them turning to look at him as he sauntered in. In fact, his reply to Kress caught in his throat as he looked at the familiar faces, some men he’d known for years, and men he’d served with in The Levant and even before.
He was, in truth, shocked to see such a collection, and it looked as if they were all waiting for him. Every eye was on him, including The Marshal, who was sitting near the window with a cup of something steaming in his hand.
“Well?” William said, gesturing with his cup. “Answer de Rhydian. Where have you been all night? We have been waiting for you.”
Maxton’s attention was drawn to The Marshal, but he was distracted by several grinning faces of men he considered his friends, for the most part. “I was not tired last night,” he said evenly. “I sought to enjoy all that London has to offer.”
“To indulge?”
“To think.”
William came away from the window and approached him; he didn’t appear genuinely perturbed at Maxton’s disappearing act, merely curious. “Good,” he said. “I hope you have been thinking a good deal. That is why I have brought these men with me. Some are friends of yours, I believe.”
Maxton nodded, now looking at some of the men who were starting to crowd around him. “You said you had a meeting with the king and the marcher lords,” he said. “I did not realize that you meant they were gathering here, at Farringdon House.”
William was rather humored by the man’s surprise. “They weren’t until last night,” he said. “I sent word to them and asked them to join me here this morning. And not all of these men serve marcher lords, either, but are simply men loyal to England. I will come to the point, Maxton – I have told them of the threat against the king. They know of your mission. That is why they are here. They want to hear of your plan to keep the king alive and they want to know how they can help.”
Looking at the group, Maxton respected those he knew a great deal, but he really didn’t want or need their help. Moreover, there were a few men he didn’t know and he wasn’t pleased that they were in on his mission. Too many men with that knowledge and he might not have the edge he hoped because men, even trustworthy ones, had been known to talk. That was the truth. Nay, he wasn’t pleased at all. But that irritation was pushed aside when he focused on Christopher de Lohr, the very same knight he had told William he wanted no interference from.
