Knight Errant (10 page)

“Aye, as soon as your sisters are finished haranguing your cook. The man is drunk again. May I help you to mount?”

“Yes, thank you.” She moved with Robert to the white mule and allowed him to help her into the saddle. “Cook’s drunkenness troubles me. We cannot afford to lose him. I doubt that any cook we might find here would know how to prepare the dishes that Gretle and Berthild are accustomed to.”

“A few strong words from you should straighten out the man. Despite your trust in your captain, I worry more about him and Basti than your cook.”

As he walked away, she wondered what Robert saw in Luigi that she did not. Yes, the Saracen was overbearing in his attentions, but she’d managed to make clear her disinterest and he had taken it philosophically if not well. She could not believe she had anything to fear from Luigi, now that their time on his vessel was ended. Surely Robert was the greater danger.

“And you say some of the Beguines still live here?” Standing between Robert and Sayyid Hassen—Luigi’s uncle—with the rest of her companions behind, Juliana stared, appalled and saddened, at the blackened walls of the building situated atop a hillside on the outskirts of Palermo. “We came because the sisters here wrote of trouble with the local weavers, but the letter said nothing of fire or being burned out.”

The missive from Palermo had contained more serious concerns, but she would not speak of those secrets. Indeed, she had hoped to learn details from the few Beguines who remained in Palermo. That hope dimmed quickly.

“Thank heaven we hired guards,” Robert muttered.

Nothing remained of the courtyard gates. A sooty marble fountain with a statue of Saint Olivia carrying a jug stood gloomy watch over heaps of ash scattered among the cobbles. No water poured from the figure’s urn. Windows and doorways yawned in dark expectation that some fearless soul might enter and risk the wrath of whoever had done this. Juliana suspected Basti’s agents, although the weavers were as likely culprits.

Sayyid Hassen cleared his throat. “Indeed, rumor says that Beguines do remain in this house. However, I have not personally encountered any of them. Shadows have been seen scuttling in the courtyard from time to time.”

“Shadows? Do the women not come out of the building?” Juliana asked.

“Not that I have heard.”

“Who helps these women? This damage is not recent. Does no one go in?”

“This happened but four weeks past, and because of the power of the weavers’ guild, none dare give aid or succor. Even my fellow merchants are reluctant to help. Although I have heard that food is left in the courtyard every evening. And the food is gone by morning, replaced with small, beautifully woven or embroidered items of cloth. I purchased this belt from a man who found it here when he came to leave food for the good women of this place.” Hassen lifted the tasseled end of a decorated length of fine wool.

Juliana eyed the colorful cloth. “I cannot imagine where in this wreck of a building such a thing could be made.”

“Nor can anyone in Palermo. Nonetheless, you see the evidence before your eyes. Now, I regret that I must leave to conduct business in the city. As you see, this area is poorly protected.” He gestured to the scorched hillside where little but weeds grew. “Sir Robert is a worthy knight. He and the guards should be able to keep you safe if you must linger here. I will return soon to help you find a more suitable place for your women’s house.”

“Thank you, Sayyid Hassen. We will consider your kind offer.”

The Saracen turned away.

Juliana lifted her hem and strode forward.

“Nay.” Robert caught her by the arm, halting her progress into the dingy courtyard. “I like this not.”

She caught his glance—suspicious and fierce—returning it with a smile as stony as the fountain. She would not be denied in this.

“Sir, I must enter and aid my sisters.”

His mouth thinned, then he nodded. “Assuming those shadows the Sayyid spoke of are truly Beguines, you will, but first the guards and I will make certain no danger lurks.”

She cast her gaze heavenward. “Those within are but women, poor and mayhap sick or injured. What danger could they cause?”

He bared his teeth. “’Tis not any Beguines remaining here who worry me.”

“Oh. Then please you search out any danger with all possible speed.”

Robert conferred for a few moments with the guards, who paired up and moved off in opposite directions within the building. Turning to the rest of the group, he pointed inside the courtyard to the nearest juncture of two walls. “Henry, take the women and animals to that corner of the courtyard and guard them well.”

All save Juliana shuffled off to obey his orders. She remained apart, hands clasped, and refused all Henry’s pleas to come within the safety of the group.

She watched Robert draw his sword, then approach the far wall and a door leading to the interior of the house. He paused to listen. No sound disturbed the dead quiet. Using his foot, he shoved open the unresisting door.

The unnerving quiet continued.

She held her breath as he stepped closer, peering through and around the door frame to the left and right. He disappeared within.

Unreasoning fear for him struck her, and she rushed to follow before anyone could stop her.

Inside the building she saw Robert moving slowly down a long hallway. A large stain darkened the floor and lower wall directly across from the door. Even old and dried, Julian knew blood when she saw it. The sight caused her to stumble, and her shoe scraped on the stone floor. Robert whirled and swung his blade. The edge halted a finger’s span from her neck.

She retreated a hasty step.

He lowered his weapon.

“Why are you not with Henry and the others?” Robert’s jaw clenched and his tone was fierce.

“Because someone must go with you.” She mimicked his tone.

“You are wrong. No one need come with me. This is the kind of work I do. I find and subdue those who would threaten or harm. I do not need any help with this.”

“You sent the guards off to search in pairs—why?”

“Because two swords are better in a fight than one. Do you think to swing a blade in my defense?” Brows raised, he looked her up and down. “Where is your weapon?”

“I have no weapon, and you know it. Nonetheless I will come with you.”

She was wrong about her lack of weapons, but he would not tell her that her smile could fell an army.

“No.”

“What if you should suffer hurt? Who would help you?”

“None could hurt me who would not kill me, so if I were hurt, I would also be dead, as would anyone with me,” he bit out. “Now go back to Henry.”

“No.” Foolhardy she might be, but she would not abandon him to face danger alone.

“Must I carry you back?”

She folded her hands together at her waist and turned up the corners of her mouth. “Only if you wish to make us both appear foolish. Once you set me down, I will simply follow you again.”

His jaw relaxed visibly, and he gave a resigned sigh. “Were I to hobble you next to Henry, your companions would find a way to set you loose. Better you should come with me than wander unprotected. But stay next to me lest I mistake you once more for a threat.”

She nodded hasty agreement and swallowed. “Which way?”

“There.” He gestured to the right and the nearest of several doors within the passage.

Pacing beside him, Juliana watched as he carefully opened the door and several after that. He methodically searched each space, though little besides dirt, ash, and scattered debris could be found.

They arrived at a set of stairs, and Robert paused.

The sound of faint weeping broke the silence.

“Oh, Robert, hurry,” Juliana whispered in his ear.

He climbed the staircase with silent speed, and she scrambled to keep up.

The volume of the weeping increased, until they stood before a narrow doorway half the distance down the hall from the stairs. His empty hand closed over the latch.

Juliana’s hand closed over his. “There is no threat here.”
“You cannot know what lies beyond. Now stand back.”

She yielded reluctantly.

Sword at the ready, Robert lifted the latch.

The door opened revealing two figures. The one who wept sat on the floor, her hand on the shoulder of the other, who lay upon a rough bed of straw.

The sobbing woman looked up. Fear flailed against the tide of tears but drowned in sorrow and resignation.

“Please do not hurt us,” the seated woman begged. “She is dying. When she is gone, I promise to take her body and leave.”

Juliana eased around Robert. She approached the woman, then knelt between her and the figure on the straw bed. Touching the shoulder of the sobbing female, Juliana got her attention.

“I am Sister Juliana. We will not hurt you. We have come to help.”

She studied the woman’s face, looking for any signs of illness but found only heartsick weariness.

“Praise God.” She took Juliana’s hand and kissed the palm. “I am
Sorella Beatrice
, and I have been afraid for so very long.”

Juliana gestured Robert forward. “You need fear no longer. Here is Sir Robert Clarwyn. Go with him. He will take you to Sister Gretle, who will give you food and ease.”

“Come.” He held out his hand to the exhausted Beguine.

“I shouldn’t leave
Sorella Angelina
.” Her companion lay so still, Juliana feared the woman was already dead.

“Lady Juliana has some skill at healing. She will take good care of your friend, and you may return as soon as you are rested.” He helped Beatrice to stand.

“Save her,” begged the woman.

’Twas both an order and a plea.

Juliana studied the sick Beguine. “With God’s help, I will do all that I can. Now go and rest. Robert, send Berthild with our medicines and fresh water.”

“Aye.” He left with the younger Beguine, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Juliana didn’t need to touch the ailing woman to feel the heat that rolled from her body. Fever, unabated for days, could unhinge the mind. Worse than the fever was the fetid odor of rotting flesh. Was Angelina injured?

Intending to check for open wounds, Juliana lifted away the thin blanket. She bit back a gasp. Where Angelina’s hands should have been lay blackened stumps that oozed blood and pus, the source of the foul smell. Her arms above the mutilated hands were swollen and streaked with red beneath the skin.

“Dear God in heaven, what did they do to you?”

“Nothing,” came the raspy answer.

Juliana jerked her head around, searching for the speaker, until her gaze was caught by fever-bright brown eyes.

“You do not sleep.”

“
Non
. I pretend for
Sorella Beatrice
’s sake.” Angelina’s voice was weak and rough, and even that short speech left her panting for breath.

“Don’t speak.”

“Did you come from Ghent?” Angelina ignored Juliana’s order.

“Yes.”

“Praise heaven, my prayers have been answered.”

“Hush now. Save your strength. We have much work to do to get you well.”

The injured Beguine gave a little smile. “I will be well in heaven.”

“But . . .”

“No, do not make me waste my breath or time with protests. I want you to hear my confession before anyone else comes.”

Juliana opened her mouth to object. Beguines did not believe in the necessity for confession, although they recognized the benefits. Angelina would rest easier if Juliana did as the dying woman requested. “I am listening.”

“When I was a young woman, I was seduced by a married man of my village. We became lovers, but eventually we were discovered. The man’s wife, and of course the villagers, believed that I had led the man to sin. He denounced me and was forgiven. I was stoned from the only home I had known. I confess to hating the man and his wife so bitterly that I wished them both dead. I learned a few years later that within a month of my stoning, sickness spread through the village. The man’s wife died, and he became a hermit. Even though I knew I could not have caused the sickness, I carried tremendous guilt because of my evil wish. For years I prayed for forgiveness and peace. When I became a Beguine, I went on pilgrimage to Rome where the man now held priestly office because of his piety and good works. I spoke with him. He gave me a letter absolving me of all guilt. At the same time, I forgave him. We became good friends and exchanged letters privately. In one of his letters to me, he recognizes the Beguines as a holy order of priestesses in the church.”

“But the pope alone can do that, and we are women. Women cannot be priests. This is according to Saint Paul and supported by letters to the first bishops written by Saint Peter himself.”

“
Si
. The man who wrote the letter to me is now the pope, and in the letter he explains that the church has many more epistles from Saint Peter than the ones sent to the first bishops. Those epistles were held back because they show that, among other things, Saint Peter changed his mind, disagreeing with Paul about the work the priesthood should do and who should be allowed to do that work. The pope included a copy of Saint Peter’s most emphatic epistle with a papal seal to verify authenticity.”

Juliana sat back on her heels. If true, this shocking news would change everything. Women would be the equals of men in the laws of the church, and the laws of men would follow those of the church. Men like Basti could no longer persecute the Beguines or other innocent Christians whose beliefs differed. Then it hit her, and she inhaled sharply.

“Basti knows of this letter?”

Laboring for breath, Angelina nodded. “
Si
, he has the pope’s ear, and the pope may have regretted his letters to me. I believe Basti’s deputies stirred the weavers’ guild to anger against us, for that anger arose very suddenly and with little apparent cause.”

“Did his deputies get the letter?”

Angelina smiled broadly. “No. The anger they stirred in the weavers got out of control, and the beguinage was burned before anyone could find an excuse to search it.”

Juliana slumped. “Then the letters are gone.”