Alain pushed through the brush to find Sorrow standing on top of a man. His right wrist bled where Rage had bitten him. A bow carved of oak lay on the ground atop a fallen arrow. The man writhed, moaning and whimpering, as Sorrow nosed his throat.
A ragged wool tunic covered his torso. It had been patched with the overlarge stitches that betray an inexperienced hand. His hands were red from cold. He was also barefoot; his feet were chapped, heavily and recently callused, and the big toe of his right foot was swollen, cracked, and oozing pus and blood.
Alain picked up the arrow and broke it over his knee, then unstrung the bow and tied it onto his pack.
“Mercy! Mercy! It was my sin! I am the guilty one!”
“Sorrow! Sit!”
Sorrow sat on the man’s left arm, pinning him, and panted, drooling a little, as Alain stepped forward to look the man in the face.
“I know you. You’re called Heric. You were a man-at-arms in Lavas Holding seven or eight years back.”
The pungent smell of urine flooded as the man wet himself.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I pray you, forgive me!”
“For trying to kill me just now?”
Heric kept babbling. “It was my sin! Mine!”
Although it made his head ache a little, Alain remembered. “You were the one who put me in the cage.”
“Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me!”
“What of the reward you received for bringing me in to Geoffrey? Surely he gave you something? How after all that do you come to be hiding in the woods wearing such rags?”
“Don’t let them chop off my hand! I didn’t steal anything!”
“Only my freedom!”
Heric screamed and jerked his leg, but Rage was only licking at the swollen toe. “I had to! You were an outlaw! You were a thief, the worst of all! You took what wasn’t yours to have. So they all said!”
“Roll over onto your stomach.”
“The beast’ll bite me!” But he did so, easing his arm out from under Sorrow as the hound looked up at Alain for direction.
Heric had been a big man once, but hunger had worn him down. He hadn’t a belt for the tunic, and a crude cord woven out of reeds tied back his unruly hair. This man had betrayed him. But Alain could find no indignation on his own behalf for this pathetic creature who had no shoes, no gloves, and only two arrows, one now broken, with which to kill himself some supper. He hadn’t even a knife.
“Why are you here at Ravnholt Manor?”
“Heard deer and rats seen roundabout,” Heric replied, head twisted to one side so he could speak without choking on dirt. “I’m hungry.”
“Do you know what happened to those four women?”
“No.”
“Ah.” Centuries ago, as humankind measured time, Alain had been bitten by a blind snake hiding in the lair of a phoenix. The effects of that venom still coursed through his blood, and where the poison burned, he burned with outrage. “You’re lying, Heric. I pray you, do not lie. God know the truth. How can you hide from Them?”
“I didn’t kill anyone! It was the others. It was them who are guilty! Even here at Ravnholt. I just stood watch, I never hurt anyone! After you escaped the cage, after that storm and that monster—ai, God! Then all those who were so friendly to me before, all them turned on me and cast me out! What was I to do? The woodsmen—that’s what they call themselves—they’re not so particular!”
“Although an honest woodsman might object to a pack of bandits calling themselves by an honest name.”
“We was hungry, just like others. Did what we had to do to get a scrap to eat.”
“Murdered folk here at Ravnholt Manor? Where are the four girls who were taken?”
He sobbed helplessly into the dirt, nose running. He stank with fear. “I left them after they done it. I wasn’t guilty. I didn’t do it!”
“After they done what?”
“Killed them! Raped them and killed them. Said they might try to escape. I said they ought to spare ’em. But no.”
“You touched none of those girls?”
“I didn’t kill them!”
“But you raped them! Isn’t that harm enough? And stood by and let them die after! Doesn’t that stain your hands with their blood? The one who refuses to act to save the innocent is as guilty as the one whose hand strikes the blow!”
These words set Heric caterwauling and writhing on the earth like a man having a fit.
“Roll over and sit up.”
Heric’s sobs ceased and, cautiously, he rolled onto his back, then sat, not even brushing off the leaf litter and dirt and twigs that smeared his rags. He eyed first Rage, who wanted to get back to licking the infected toe, then Sorrow, who yawned hugely to display his teeth.
Alain took a few breaths to clear his anger. “I believe you are telling the truth about those poor girls, but I’ll see those graves.”
“There aren’t no graves! The others slit their throats and cast them into the brush, that’s all.”
“Then you’ll bury their corpses. Lead me there.”
“Won’t! It’s close by the hidey-hole. We’ll be killed, you and me. Twenty of them agin’ two of us. I have no weapon, not now you took mine … unless you want to give me back my bow.”
“No, I don’t want to. Come, then.”
“We’re not going there, are we?” His voice rose in panic. “I don’t want to die.”
“Did those girls want to die? Did they cry and plead, Heric? Did you hear them begging while you stood by and watched?”
“I turned my back!” he said indignantly. “I’m not a monster, to watch murder done!”
“If turning your back is not a monstrous deed, then what is?” He signaled with a hand. Tails lashing, the hounds waited for his command.
“Where are we going?”
“To Lavas Holding.”
“Not there, I beg you! They’ll hang me! They’ll chop off my hands and then my head.”
“If you’re not guilty, why do you fear their justice?”
Heric spat into the dirt. Rage growled.
“Are you so wise?” he sneered. “What justice is there for a man like me? I served the old count faithfully, and what did I get for my good service? I got turned out by the new lord without even a thanks! An old hunting dog is treated better than I was! Lord Geoffrey will hang me just to be rid of another mouth to feed. He was happy enough to offer boots and clothes and a handful of sceattas when I brought you to him, for him to parade around the county. Because he thought folk would stop their whispering. And after—hsst!” He spat again. “After that storm, after you escaped, those who cheered most to see you mad and chained slapped me and spat on me and called me an evil man. Because they feared it was God sent the storm to free you. Why should I not fear their justice? They’ll be glad to hang me to make the shame pass from their own sinful hearts.”
“I’ll see you get justice.”
Heric laughed hysterically. “How can you do that? How can you? What are you? Where are you come from? What happened to the madness that ate at you?”
After all, Alain found that spite still lived in his heart. “A little late to ask those questions, isn’t it?” he said with a sour grin. He turned his back and began walking.
After a sharp rustle came a thump and a yelp of pain. Alain turned to see Sorrow sitting on Heric’s chest again. With a growl the hound opened his mouth and gently closed his jaws right over Heric’s face.
“Come,” said Alain firmly. Sorrow eased back, scratched an ear as though he didn’t know what for, and padded after Alain.
Blubbering, Heric rose and limped after, Rage bringing up the rear.
“One will always be awake,” said Alain. “One, or the other.”
“I’ll come! I’ll come!” He staggered along like a man walking to his death.
And, Alain reflected, it must seem so to him. It might even be true. Yet, however little Heric deserved mercy for his cowardice and his rapine, he must at least be
judged only for the sins he had committed, not made into a sacrificial beast by those who wished to assuage their own shame with the blood of someone else.
They walked in a silence broken only by the wind’s passage through branches still bare of spring buds. Except where evergreens gave cover, it was possible to glimpse vistas into the forest, a place of muted colors and a profound solitude. Now and again a clearing opened up; here and there coppices filled a well-husbanded section of woodland. They passed an old charcoal pit, two or three seasons in disuse, with leaves and dirt scattered in damp mounds and a half burned log laced with clinging vine. Human hands had teased a streamside clearing into an orchard made proud by a dozen trees, not yet far gone in neglect. Farther on, a wide meadow boasted a sturdy shelter suitable for a flock of sheep on summer pasture.
“This was a peaceful place once,” said Alain. “Well tended and well loved.”
“Maybe so,” muttered Heric, “but they still kept a girl from Salia to serve the steward’s son in whatever manner he wished.”
“How do you know?”
“She got free and come to the bandits, that’s why. It was she made the plan, and give the signal. She knew the ways and times of the household, that’s why. The others said she killed that one herself, the one who used her, but I didn’t see it.”
“Made she no protest when four girls were taken to be used in the same rough manner she was? And worse, for they were killed after?”
“What did she care for them? She wanted revenge, and took it. It was she argued loudest that they were a nuisance and ought to go. I think it was for that she was jealous of the attention they got. She liked keeping the men on a string, you know how it is. That girl at Lavas, called Withi, I liked her well, but she did do that to me, curse her. Went off in the end with a man who could keep her fed.” His tone was self-pitying. “The Salian girl, she said also those other girls cursed her ill with words and slaps, back when she was only a concubine. So it was revenge twice over.”
“Might she have been lying?”
“About what? Being taken to bed each night by a man she hated? The other girls slapping her and calling her a Salian whore? How would I know?”
Alain tramped on, unable to speak for the bitterness lodged in his throat. It seemed that injustice was woven through the world in inexplicable patterns, impossible to tease apart without unraveling the entire web.
“Seems like God are blind and deaf and mute,” continued Heric, having gotten a good wind to fill the sails of his complaining. “But I heard a story about a phoenix. You heard it? They say a phoenix descended from heaven and tore the heart out of the blessed Daisan to make him suffer just like the rest of us. I wonder if it’s true.”
“I think that story was twisted in the telling.”
“Huh. ‘Truth flies with the phoenix.’ That’s what one of those girls cried out as they was cutting her throat. Well, she flew, anyway, right up to the light, or into the Pit.”
“Don’t mock!”
Rage barked and Sorrow growled. Heric fell into a sullen muttering that was not audible enough to fashion into words.
They went on, and soon a second murmuring noise caught Alain’s hearing. He lifted a hand and halted on the path just before it curved left. He recognized this place from his morning’s passage along this way. In another twoscore or so steps they would come to the main road. As they listened, they heard the sound of a cavalcade moving along the as-yet-unseen track: harness jingling, wheels scraping along dirt, voices chattering, and a dog’s bark. Sorrow whined but did not answer.
Heric whimpered. Alain looked back to see that Rage had gotten hold of the man’s leggings as he tried to creep back the way they had come.
“That’s a big party,” he whined. “Listen! A hundred or more, Lord Geoffrey riding to war. Maybe come to have you killed!”
Alain shook his head. “They’re riding toward Lavas Holding.” He turned to the hounds. “Rage. Sorrow. Stay. Guard.”
He picked his way past fallen branches, more numerous close to the joining with the road as though the bandits had pulled down obstacles to cover their tracks. Soon he heard the procession in full spate but marked also with the giggling of children and an unexpected snatch of hymn from a voice he had heard before but could not quite place.
“… who made a road to the sea
And a path through the mighty waters.”
He came to the last turning, where the path hitched around a massive oak that served as a towering landmark. He recalled it from earlier years. The autumn storm had half torn it from the ground. Its vast trunk had fallen westward to leave roots thrust like daggers across the path. He used these as cover as he examined the road.
There were soldiers riding in pairs or marching in fours while between their ranks trundled carts and wagons filled with household goods and children and elders and caged chickens. Youths and sturdy looking women walked alongside, most of them carrying a bundle or two. A pair of clerics walked beside a wagon containing several fine chests. He saw—
Hathumod!
She sat on a wagon next to a white-haired woman placed among pillows. Another, older woman dressed in cleric’s robes made up the third in the bed of the wagon. Her back was to Alain, but by the movements of her shoulders and hands she seemed to be talking in a lively way while the others listened, the white-haired woman with a smile of patient interest despite the pain etched into her face, and Hathumod with a scarcely concealed look of boredom.
The wagon passed and was gone beyond his line of sight through the trees before he realized who he had just seen. And where she must be going: Lavas Holding was about three days’ journey west, and there was no crossroads that came sooner on the road than the holding itself.
Soon it would be dark. The cavalcade must camp for the night, most likely on the road itself. Soldiers scanned the woodland as though they expected attack, but the upturned oak hid him because he did not move. What strange company was this? It was like an entire village on the move, not like a noblewoman’s royal progress.
When the last ranks of infantry had passed, he waited a while longer, and at length a trio of silent outriders ambled by. He waited even longer until one last pair of men rode past with hands easy on the reins, their gazes keen and penetrating, and a bow and a sword, respectively, laid across their thighs.
It was one of these who saw him, although he hadn’t meant to be seen.
“Whsst!” The young man’s chin jerked around fast. He had his bow up and arrow ready, holding his horse with tightened knees, before Alain could take a second breath. The other man reined his horse around to face back the way they’d come, sword raised.
“I’ll come out,” said Alain in an even voice. “I’ve been waiting for you. What business has Biscop Constance in these parts? I heard she was a prisoner of Lady Sabella in Autun.”
“Come out,” said the archer. “What think you, Captain? Are there more? Should we shoot him?”
The other man’s horse took one side step. “Let him come free if he moves slowly. Let’s see what he knows first. Better the battle come sooner when we’re ready for it than later when we’re not.”
Alain put his hands out with palms raised and turned toward them, and walked onto the road.
The captain narrowed his eyes, examining him. “I’ve seen you before.”
“Gent!” said the young one. “In Count Lavastine’s company. Wasn’t he—?”
The captain hissed sharply between gritted teeth. “You’re Lavastine’s heir—the very one. Your claim was put aside in favor of Lord Geoffrey’s daughter.” He extended his sword as a threat. “What brings you here? I heard you had marched east as a Lion.”
“So I did. Now I am come back.”
“To challenge Lord Geoffrey?”
“No. I have another purpose.”
“What might that be?” asked the captain in a genial tone that made it clear he demanded an explanation.
In that woodland, sound carried far.
The progress of the cavalcade had faded westward. With the promise of nightfall, the wind sighed to a halt.
A jingle of harness out of the east rang brightly in warning.
“Damn,” said the captain. They had all heard it. “As I feared.”
“What are we to do, Captain?” asked the young man, looking exceedingly nervous but also determined and angry. “If they catch us …”
“Who follows you?” Alain asked.
“Lady Sabella’s soldiers,” said the captain.
“If I can turn them back,” said Alain, “will you take me to Biscop Constance? I ask only to speak with her briefly. Then I’ll be on my way.”
“Turn them back!” scoffed the young man.
“Hush, Erkanwulf! We must get the biscop to Lavas Holding. You ride and alert the rest. Form up with all soldiers to the rear and flanks, out into the forest. I’ll stay here.”
“No, Captain. Begging your pardon, Captain. It’s you they need, more than me. I can wait behind and catch up. If I don’t come, it’s because I’m dead.”
The captain considered. He was a thoughtful man, Alain saw, one who was neither too eager nor too cautious; a good commander. His features triggered an old memory, but if he’d seen this man at Gent, and he surely had done so, it was in passing. Many men rode in the war parties of other nobles. A lord might note faces and go on, not marking them because he had no authority over them.
With regret, the captain nodded. “So be it.” He turned his measuring gaze on Alain. “If Erkanwulf brings me news that the ones who follow us turned back, then I’ll see you have an audience with the holy biscop.”
He sheathed his sword, gave a hard look at Erkanwulf, and rode on. He looked back twice before vanishing around a bend in the road.
“Best if I do this alone,” said Alain.
“I’d rather die than betray my captain!”
“If you take the horse down that path, you can tie him up and then watch without being seen.”
“And without hearing! You might tell them anything, the disposition of our forces, our numbers, our destination if they haven’t guessed it already. You might be a spy in league with Lady Sabella.”