Читать книгу Reynold de Burgh: The Dark Knight - Deborah Simmons - Страница 11

‘It’s just as the l’Estranges said!’ Peregrine’s voice, laced with awe, rang out in the silence, but Reynold was not so gullible.

‘Yes, it does seem very familiar, doesn’t it?’ he asked, his voice lowering to a harsh whisper. Stepping closer to Mistress Sexton, he bearded her with a pointed look. ‘And I’m curious as to who is responsible.’

To her credit, the woman appeared bewildered by his attitude. No doubt she had been chosen with an eye towards her charms, which were intended to dazzle him into witlessness, and he felt the sharp sting of insult. ‘Was it Stephen? Or Robin? Whoever it was went to some trouble to involve you, considering how far you are from Campion.’

He turned to Peregrine. ‘Is that why you led me here?’

‘I—I? I did not lead you here!’ Peregrine stammered. ‘You chose the roadways, my lord.’

‘Yet I recall you suggesting Bury St Edmunds.’

‘But that’s just because you were heading east, my lord.’ The boy’s face flamed, and he acted indignant, yet Reynold had seen mummers and such who could appear convincing in some sham. And there was no denying that Peregrine was allied with the l’Estranges, a family that both Stephen and Robin had married into.

Reynold opened his mouth to demand some answers, but everyone started talking at once, and it was all he could do to sort them all out. As far as he could tell, Peregrine was denying any involvement in the so-called quest, Mistress Sexton claimed to know nothing of the boy or Campion, and Ursula wailed unintelligibly.

‘Silence!’ he said.

Everyone looked to him, even Ursula, who finally ceased her moaning. And in the ensuing quiet, Reynold heard something, an odd roar that was faint yet discernible in the stillness of the deserted village. Curious, he cocked his head to listen, but the noise was replaced by that of footsteps. Just how deserted was this village? Reynold put his hand on his sword as a man ran into the church carrying a pitchfork.

‘Get below!’ the fellow said, rushing toward the rear of the room, and the women, white-faced, turned to follow.

‘Hurry,’ Mistress Sexton said, putting a hand out as if to take Reynold’s arm just as something shot past him.

‘Alec! I told you to return to your mother,’ Mistress Sexton said to the blur that revealed itself to be a young boy. ‘Where is she?’

‘At the manor, mistress. I can run there.’

‘No, you cannot!’ Reaching for his arm, Mistress Sexton dragged the youth towards the back of the building, where shadows hid a narrow door and a spiral stair that led into a small cellar. Although Reynold did not share his brother Simon’s abhorrence for underground spaces, he was reluctant to join these strangers, especially if it was part of some prank being played upon him.

But he had been raised to respect women, no matter what their manner, and the urgency of these people made him follow, if more slowly than Peregrine. He did not shut the door completely and halted on the steps, where he could keep both the area below and the door in view. He could probably kick it in, if necessary, but would rather prevent it being shut—or locked—against him.

The two women huddled together, Ursula whimpering softly, and the man took up a stance next to Mistress Sexton. Although his pitchfork pointed toward the ceiling, there was no mistaking his defensive posture. Surely he was not her husband? Reynold tensed at the thought. He had assumed she was unmarried because she wore her hair down and, well, she was so beautiful … Reynold frowned at such reasoning. But hadn’t she called herself a damsel? Reynold felt a certain tautness in his chest ease.

Besides, the man’s clothes were not as fine as hers, nor was his manner, for he said nothing, only looked frightened. Indeed, everyone was still and silent, as though awaiting something, though Reynold had no idea what. Perhaps Stephen was arriving to personally witness the havoc wrought by his jest.

The thought annoyed him. ‘All right, I have followed you here like a trained monkey. Now what?’ he asked.

‘Shh! He’ll hear you,’ the boy Alec said, his face ashen.

‘Who?’

‘The dragon,’ the man whispered in a fierce tone.

Reynold snorted. ‘So it is here now? I admit I’d like to see the creature for myself.’ He turned to go up the stair, but a squeak from Alec stopped him. The stark terror on the boy’s face made him hesitate.

‘He can hear really well,’ Alec whispered. ‘Or else he sniffs us out.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Because sometimes he’ll burn the places where people are hiding with his fiery breath.’

Reynold tried to remember if he had seen any charred areas when riding through the village, but thatched roofs were prone to fire, as were the flimsy structures of most village homes. What would make these people think a dragon was responsible? Reynold’s eyes narrowed and then he shook his head as if to clear it. This was only a jest, some nonsense concocted by his brothers, and though the players were convincing, he would not be mocked as a fool. He turned once more to go.

‘Don’t move.’ The man spoke in a nervous high-pitched voice, but his words made Reynold swing toward him. Although the fellow still appeared frightened, he was holding the pitchfork in front of him, as if intending to run Reynold through with it. Let him try, Reynold thought, his hand on his sword hilt.

‘No, Urban, stop!’ Mistress Sexton said, grabbing at the man’s arm. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I am protecting us all from this stranger and his actions,’ the man said, though he seemed to possess more bravado than bravery.

‘This stranger is a lord and a knight who is here to save us,’ Mistress Sexton said, and the pitchfork dipped, as though its owner faltered in surprise.

‘Perhaps your weapon might be better used against the dragon,’ Reynold said, wryly. ‘You are welcome to join me above.’

Without waiting for a reply, Reynold was up the stair and through the narrow door in a moment and heard no sound of pursuit. Indeed, he heard no sound at all. Whatever had driven the group to the cellar had stopped, and the building was eerily quiet once more. Reynold moved to the exterior door and scanned the area outside, but nothing stirred. Thankfully, his destrier and Peregrine’s mount remained where they were tied, Sirius idly flicking his tail at a fly, with no sign of distress.

Reynold glanced upwards, but the only thing in the sky was a bird or two. Leaning against the doorframe, looking out over the oddly empty village, he tried not to wonder why his brothers had concocted this elaborate scheme. In their younger days, boredom, restlessness and a competitive streak might have driven them, but to these lengths? And now they all were occupied with new responsibilities, except for Nicholas, who usually was not one for such silliness. Had Reynold once expressed some yearning to Geoff over a romantic tale long forgotten? To slay a dragon? His wish for a damsel, or a lady of his own, he hoped he had kept well to himself.

Reynold shook his head. There would be time for such musings later. Now he just wanted to get away from a place that, fraud or not, was too strange for his taste. And then what? And then where? Again, Reynold pushed such thoughts aside, focusing solely on Bury St Edmunds. Hearing footsteps behind him, he straightened, but it was only a rather shamefaced Peregrine who approached.

‘You would think that a hungry beast such as a dragon would make short work of such tasty morsels, wouldn’t you?’ Reynold asked, inclining his head toward the horses.

‘My lord, I swear I had no hand in this,’ Peregrine said. ‘All I know is what the l’Estranges told me about your quest.’

‘The seers,’ Reynold said, with a low sound of dismissal.

‘‘Tis true! They can foretell the future, my lord! Why, I’ve heard that—’

Reynold cut the boy off with a raised hand. ‘Do you see a dragon?’

‘No, my lord.’

‘Then let us cease this nonsense and be gone.’

‘My lord, I …’ Peregrine’s words trailed off as though reluctant to voice his opinion. That had to be a first, Reynold thought wryly.

‘Well, what is it?’

Wearing a worried expression, Peregrine faced Reynold directly. ‘I think they are serious.’

‘What?’

‘About the beast, my lord. I know you believe the l’Estranges had something to do with it, but I don’t see how. And those people seem really frightened.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘I didn’t follow you up the stairs right away, a cowardly act that I’m sorry for, but the man with the pitchfork was right by me,’ Peregrine explained in a rush. ‘And after you left, they were arguing.’

‘Who?’

‘That man Urban and Mistress Sexton. I think he’s her servant or inferior, but he still tries to tell her what to do.’ Peregrine glanced behind him and lowered his voice. ‘I fear he’s a bully.’

Reynold almost laughed aloud. They were standing among empty buildings in an abandoned village inhabited only by a couple of people who were raving about a dragon. And Pergrine was concerned that one of them, a fellow who looked ill at ease wielding even a pitchfork, might act the petty tyrant? It didn’t take his brother Geoff’s intelligence to figure out just why the boy was concerned. Mistress Sexton had made at least one conquest, though not, perhaps, the one intended.

‘I don’t think we should leave her here with him,’ Peregrine said.

Reynold shrugged. ‘She is welcome to go with us to Bury St Edmunds.’ Or wherever she makes her true home.

Peregrine shook his head. ‘She won’t go. I think she’s pretty stubborn since she wouldn’t listen to that man.’ The boy gazed up at Reynold with a look of expectation, as if waiting for him to fix everything with a wave of his sword.

Reynold frowned. As the runt of the de Burgh litter, he was used to seeing such blind faith directed at his brothers, not himself. ‘What would you have me do?’

‘Listen to me.’ Mistress Sexton’s voice rang out behind him with a strength and determination not evident before, and Reynold turned towards her. She stood alone, lovelier than ever in a shaft of light from the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her, and he could see why his young squire was so taken with her. But Reynold told himself he was older and wiser—and far more cynical.

‘You cannot abandon us,’ she said, with a fierce expression that did not lessen her beauty. ‘I charge you upon your vow as a knight to hear me out. Let us go to my home, where you can eat, and we can talk.’

‘Why should we open our pitiful stores to those who may rob us?’ Urban asked, appearing behind her.

‘There is precious little to steal, should they be so inclined,’ Mistress Sexton said, without even turning towards the man. She kept her attention upon Reynold, and such was the force of it that his own will wavered. What if she wasn’t lying? He could almost hear his father’s admonition not to turn his back on a woman in trouble.

‘You don’t know this stranger,’ Urban protested. ‘And you have only their word that he is a lord or a knight.’

Reynold gave Urban a long, assessing look, trying to determine what part he played in the scheme. The fellow appeared both frightened and belligerent, but one thing was clear: Peregrine wasn’t the only one taken with Mistress Sexton. Was Urban simply covetous of the damsel, or was he the bully Peregrine thought? Reynold had an obligation to aid those in need, as Mistress Sexton liked to point out. But was there a need, and, if so, just what was it?

If he could get her alone, Reynold thought he might be able to discover the truth, but that idea led his mind in another, more tantalising direction until he put a stop to it. He needed to keep a clear head, lest he become just another addled admirer of Mistress Sexton. Even if she wasn’t a liar, experience had taught him to be wary of women, especially beautiful ones, for they had no interest in a man like him.

‘Very well,’ Reynold said. ‘I shall hear you out.’

The look of relief on her face made Reynold uncomfortable, and he stayed well back when she led the way out of the church. From that position, he could keep a wary eye on the pitchfork, lest it find its way into his back.

Gathering the reins of their horses, Reynold and Peregrine retraced their route round the curve in the road, then followed a short track to the small manor. It looked like any to be found in a little village, solidly built of stone and slate, except for the forlorn aspect and the grass that was growing too tall around, proclaiming its neglect.

Inside, the hairs on the back of Reynold’s neck stood up again, for he had never seen a hall such as this: empty, lifeless and silent except for their own footsteps. Mistress Sexton’s voice, when it rang out, nearly made him flinch.

‘Adele,’ she called. ‘Come out, for it is safe now. And we have guests.’ A woman hurried in from the kitchens, fright etched upon her worn features, but at the sight of the boy she cried out and ran forwards.

‘Alec!’

Throwing her arms around the lad, she wept with apparent relief, and for the first time this day, Reynold began to wonder whether he was in the wrong, for who would pretend such fear and joy? The words of the l’Estrange sisters might be coincidence or otherwise, but these people did not seem capable of perpetrating so enormous a hoax. Indeed, Reynold felt a bit ashamed of his assumption that even here, so far from Campion, the de Burghs would hold sway.

With a glance, he took in the small band that appeared to be the only inhabitants of the village: one sullen fellow who looked unable to defend himself, let alone others; a boy younger than Peregrine; the boy’s mother, obviously a servant; and the two other women.

As if divining his thoughts, Mistress Sexton turned towards him. ‘This is all that is left of Grim’s End,’ she said, her bearing proud none the less. ‘Will you hear our story?’

Over a simple meal of cheese, dried apples, and some kind of egg dish, Mistress Sexton spoke. ‘It began even before spring, so that few proper crops were put in, and the winter seed was destroyed. Animals were killed and their owners were run off.’

‘People were afraid. They would rather start anew than face the beast,’ Urban said, and Reynold couldn’t tell whether he was disgusted with those who fled or wished he had joined them.

‘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.’