Knight Errant (11 page)

“No. I have them still.”

“How? Where?”

“When the weavers attacked, I was away with
Sorella Beatrice
tending to the sick in a village several miles away. By the time we returned, our sisters had died, fled, or been arrested, and the beguinage was in flames. I burnt my hands rescuing the letter. Now, due to my injuries and the sickness that swept this village recently, I am dying. I must find another guardian for the letters. God has sent you to aid us. You must keep the letters safe.”

Juliana thought of all the reasons why she should refuse. Having those documents would place her in greater danger than her Beguine status or marriage to any man. ’Twas far too precious a treasure for one person to have sole care of. What if she lost them or they were damaged in her care?

“Please,” rasped Angelina. “You cannot ignore what God has placed in your path. I can no longer guard the letters. By virtue of your arrival at the moment when the need is greatest, you must accept this task.”

Juliana could not ignore the echo of the words she’d used to compel Robert to guide the caravan, which, despite her personal trials with him, had proven a very good thing for the travelers.

“Very well. I will keep the letters. Where are they?”

Angelina lifted her left arm and with her stump of a hand pointed at a mosaic on the far wall. Three tiled panels showed Peter denying Jesus.

“The bricks below the center panel are not mortared. Pull them out,” Angelina instructed. “Behind is a space containing a box of iron lined with cedar, and inside are the letter and the epistle. They have lain hidden too long. Use the letters for the good of our Beguine sisters and all women.”

Footsteps approached in the hallway, but no one entered.

Angelina gestured for Juliana to come closer.

She cast quick glance at the door. No one lingered there. She bent over, her ear near the woman’s mouth. “Hurry,” rasped Angelina. “Get the letters now. Leave the box. Hide the documents elsewhere.”

“Aye.” Juliana nodded and leapt for the mosaic.

Finding the bricks and removing them took precious moments. Finally she succeeded, revealing the iron box.

Her throat grew dry, and she shivered as she read the vellum sheets placed inside. The letter would condemn the pope and throw the church into the fire of anarchy from which it had just begun to emerge after two years of argument between the cardinals before they elected this current ascetic pope. The epistle of Saint Peter would be like pitch to that flame, and unimaginable disasters could result from its revelation if extreme care was not taken. Robert wanted to guard against dangers, but she doubted he could do much about the threat these letters posed.

Sister Angelina said to take the letters away, but where better than here to hide them until the time came to use them? Juliana replaced the missives, then closed the lid on the box. Returning it to the niche, she replaced the bricks. She needed time to consider how best to carry out Angelina’s wishes without causing a cataclysm.

Hurried steps echoed in the hall beyond the room.

Juliana rushed back to Angelina and bent to reassure her that the letters remained safe, but the woman no longer lived.

The door to the room opened and Robert entered. “Berthild was occupied, so I brought the medicine.”

Juliana rose from the dead woman’s side. “We won’t need it.”

“Sister Angelina is dead? I should have been faster.”

Juliana touched his arm. “Had you flown, I could not have saved her.”

“Truly?”

“Truly, and my thanks for your help. I have much to do now—would you meet me in the garden in a short while? I would have private speech with you.”

He nodded. “Aye. We must give the dead their due. While you deal with that, I will check with Henry and the guards to be certain all understand their duties.”

“Come, we must tell Beatrice and the others so we might comfort her as best we may.”

They turned together and, heads bowed, went in search of her friends.

“Gretle and I will prepare Sister Angelina’s body and keep watch with Beatrice,” Berthild said when told of the woman’s death.

“That is very good of you. Go tell Gretle. I will be with you shortly.”

Juliana headed for the garden to await Robert. Why hadn’t the letters, especially the epistle of Saint Peter, been broadcast already? Would not many Beguine lives have been saved and made easier if the saint’s true opinions about the priesthood had been known? Perhaps. And perhaps greater disagreements would occur because of Saint Peter’s contradictory writings about the place of women in the church. Yes, she decided, finishing her gruesome chore, Sister Angelina had been right to keep the letters hidden. She would follow that example, safeguarding the letters for a time when they could do the most good.

• • •

“You wanted to speak with me, Lady Juliana?”

Would she tell him what was hidden behind those bricks he watched her move? Would the Beguine still live if he had not paused to observe Juliana’s odd activity? Nay, Juliana assured him that was not possible.

Waving a hummingbird aside—the creatures seemed to be everywhere—Robert strode into the gardens, a frown on his face. Much of the reason for the frown ambled along behind him.

Hassen’s smile dimmed when he spied her. “I hear you have lost a friend just as you found her.”

“Thank you for your understanding, Sayyid Hassen. Yes, Sir Robert. I wish to discuss what we must do to be able to remain in this house.”

“Nothing must be done. The house is too vulnerable to inhabit.”

“I must agree with Baron Ravensmere.”

Robert winced. Somehow the weasel had discovered how much Robert disliked his title, and the man never failed to seek an opportunity to use the rank.

“That is too bad. Sir Robert, a way must be found to make this place habitable. Beatrice will be holding vigil over Angelina’s body for the next three days, and the body cannot be moved before then. After the burial, we will be cleaning this place and resuming the normal duties of the Beguines in Palermo.”

“You can’t…”

She raised her palm outward. “Hear me out. I can and I will use this building to restore the Palermo beguinage for the simple reason that we cannot afford another, and since we must be here for at least three days, we might as well remain. What coin we have must be used to purchase building supplies and other necessities for making this ruin into a home.”

“’Tis foolishness to remain here.”

“I have available properties that would suit you better than this one,” the weasel said.

“Thank you, Sayyid Hassen, but we Beguines do not own those buildings, and we do own this one. Making this building livable will cost us only time and effort.”

“You are determined on this course?” Robert asked.

“I am.”

“There is nothing I can say to convince you to change your mind?” Hassen queried.

“Nothing.”

Robert frowned more. “And you have not forgotten your promise to return to England with me?”

“I have not forgotten.”

“Since you are determined, I will endeavor to provide for the building’s safety before we depart for England.”

“You do not intend to remain in Palermo, daughter of England?” the weasel asked, puzzlement clouding his face.

“’Tis a matter between myself and Sir Robert. You need not concern yourself. Whether I stay or go, the beguinage will be here.”

“Oh, well then, let us discuss how best to return this house to its former state and keep you safe while that is being done. I know many merchants in Palermo and could persuade them to deal very fairly with you, despite the discontent of the weavers. In fact, we may be able to use the rebuilding of your community as a way to placate that guild. And, with your permission, baron, I will send guards of my own to assist you until the walls can be rebuilt.”

Those guards could attack as well as protect—which did the man intend? Robert studied the merchant’s sharp features but could find no hint of guile. With no obvious reason to decline the offer, Robert nodded. “The help will be most welcome.”

He and his men would have to keep watch against the men Hassen sent. In this place, danger seemed to lurk in the very air. Robert would take no chances with Juliana’s well-being.

After the time of vigil and the funeral, the Beguines saw Beatrice safely on her way to her family home in Messina, then returned to the burned-out beguinage and began to clean. They had been cleaning for days now, and Robert wondered if the women would ever stop. Save for evidence of fire, the house had seemed tidy enough to him. But Juliana, Berthild, and Gretle had
tsk
ed and shaken their heads, then gone to war with dirt he could not even see. Relieved to be asked to run errands, he escaped to the market and tasks he understood.

He spent one full day haggling with merchants and carrying parcels to and fro. He returned from his last foray expecting a hot meal and some conversation. Henry met him at the door with the news that the ladies had retired to their quarters too exhausted from their labors to prepare any food.

“What happened to the cook?”

“B’ain’t seen ’im since ye left this morning, sir,” answered Henry. “Like ’n he’s gone and got drunk again.”

Obviously, Gretle’s harangue on their arrival in Palermo failed as an effective measure against the cook’s drunkenness.
I should have beaten him senseless the first time
.

“What will we do, sir?”

“About what?”

“About food, sir. My belly’s awful empty.” A rumbling gurgle punctuated Henry’s plea.

“Here.” Robert handed one of the parcels to the groom. “The fruit and bread in that should sustain you and the guards until tomorrow. When the animals are fed and watered in the morning come and get me. We will go into Palermo together to hire a new cook. When and if the present cook returns, tell him he’s not needed. We’ll also hire more men to replace those Sayyid Hassen sent and for whom we pay too much.”

“Those we got came straight off t’ docks. How you goin’ to find more guards you can trust in this place, sir? ’Cause of them weavers bein’ so stirred up, b’aint no Christian person wants to be seen with us. Tho’ they take our coin fast enough when that Hassen asks ’em to.”

“We’ll start at the docks looking for mercenaries like we did with the first four men. Such men care little who pays them as long as they get paid on time and the food is good.” Which concerned Robert somewhat. The loyalty of mercenaries was for sale to the highest bidder, and even he did not have gold in endless supply. However, other means could be used to counter the lure of hard coin. He’d just have to make certain guarding the beguinage was worth more than gold.

That had been four days ago. Robert had little trouble finding suitable guards. But of the dozen or more potential cooks he sent to the beguinage for the ladies to approve, every candidate had been sent packing. A good cook was essential to hiring enough good guards. Without decent food, the guards would not even stay for coin, which would jeopardize the safety of the beguinage. And Juliana would never leave until the women who remained here were safe. Nor would he be satisfied to leave Berthild and Gretle defenseless. The older women had become good friends, and he valued his few friends highly.

For a moment, he was tempted to remain in Sicily, to bury his dreams of redemption and regaining the Ravensmere lands and take up the simple work of keeping the Beguines safe. But scorn and dead dreams or no, he must fulfill his promise to Edward. Until now, Juliana kept him from that promise with little more than smiles. That must end, and soon.

Early the next morn, Robert went in search of her, determined to get her to commit to a date for their departure.

He could not find her, and his control slipped. He roared into the kitchen, where Berthild and Gretle stirred a noisome mess in a kettle.

“Where is Lady Juliana?”

Both ladies jumped.

“Sister Juliana,” Berthild reproved, “is out.”

“Out! What do you mean, she is out?”

“Indeed, sir. Berthild means exactly what she says. Juliana is not here.”

“Gabriel’s ghost, I know where she is not. I want to know where she is!”

The two women shared a puzzled look. “Sir Robert, do you smell the contents of this pot?” Berthild challenged.

“Aye. What has that to do with Juliana?”

“She is out finding us another cook,” the taller Beguine revealed.

“Indeed, none of the slatterns you sent were acceptable, sir. You cannot judge a cook’s ability by the size of her bosom,” Gretle remarked.

“Do you tell me Juliana went into Palermo alone in search of a cook?”

“Nay,” came the reply in unison.

“Nay what? Nay, she did not go to Palermo, or nay she did not go alone?”

“She went to Palermo . . .”

“Indeed, she took Henry and two of the guards with her,” completed Gretle.

“Oh.” Anger at his lady’s absence warred with relief that she was safe. “That is well, but she should have asked me to go with her.” He knew he was being churlish, but he could not stop. Juliana’s preference for a groom over himself pinched at his pride.

“You were still asleep, and Sister Juliana did not wish to disturb you,” Berthild stated the obvious.

“Indeed, yes. You were,” Gretle echoed.

“She could have waited.” He cringed at his own words. Now he sounded like a spoiled child.

Berthild cast him a fulsome glare and pressed her lips into a firm line. “Sir Robert. Would you like to eat the stew we have prepared?”

Robert took one sniff. “Nay. I have no time to eat. Send Juliana to me as soon as she returns.”

As morning lengthened, Robert lingered in the courtyard with the excuse of creating a practice field for himself and the guards. The field was necessary. Even the best warriors practiced to keep their skills sharp. But worries about Juliana lingered. If she did not return soon, he would have to go after her.

Why had he assumed she would stay placidly in place while he solved the problem of the cook? In the weeks he had known her, she rarely behaved as he asked.

Palermo was too large to search on his own, and he did not want to remove more guards from their work. He needed help. He would go to that weasel, Hassen. Robert did not like to be indebted to the man, but finding Juliana was of greater importance than his preferences.