The Wretched of Muirwood (7 page)

“I should think learners would prefer this account, if only the original could be found.”

- Cuthbert Renowden of Billerbeck Abbey

* * *

Lia and Sowe both slept in the loft that night. The young man who would not tell them his name insisted on sleeping on rush-matting on the hard kitchen tiles. After complaining that he had dozed for much of the day and was not tired, he paced and skulked through the dark kitchen as if it were a prison. Lia watched him from the loft. After Sowe fell asleep, which never took long, he took up a broom and practiced with it like a sword, swinging the pole around in a series of studied moves, that would have been graceful except for the time he stumbled against a bucket or when the makeshift blade clacked against a table during a down strike. He muttered to himself often. Lia watched for as long as she could keep her eyes open, then fell asleep out of pure exhaustion.

She awoke before dawn and discovered him sitting by the small oven, his face reflecting the hue of the fire, rubbing his mouth as he stared into the flames. His clean shirt covered the chaen, fitting him well at the shoulders. He glanced up at her as she started down the ladder, then looked back at the oven fires.

“Did you sleep?” Lia asked him, noticing the bandage over his eyebrow was missing, the scar red and swollen.

“Does it matter? I can do nothing but sleep during the day.”

She determined he was in a sour mood again, and thought it best to prepare him something to eat before Pasqua arrived. Hunger made the calmest men cranky. After tying on an apron and fetching some oats, she started a pot boiling and gathered some spices to flavor it. The water bubbled quickly and she added the oats. Then she cut into a loaf that had survived the day before and lathered some butter and honey on it then set it by the oven to warm and melt the butter. He took it, without thanking her, and started to eat.

His sullen expression threatened to wilt her courage, which made her angry and determined. “The horse that Jon Hunter found must be yours,” she said, handing him the steaming bowl she’d prepared and a wooden spoon.

“I am sure it is,” he said sourly, taking it.

“I could help you get it back.” She scooped some milled flour onto a mat and then cracked an egg into it. “He must be keeping it in the pens behind his lodge. It is on the other side of the grounds, but not far and if the horse knows you, it probably would not make much noise.”

“I am not afraid of your hunter.”

“He has a bow and a gladius and you have nothing.”

“What, a half-sword? And who trained him to use it?” He grunted with a chuckle and turned to look at her scathingly. “Do you ever stop talking?”

She wanted to strike the bowl of porridge out of his hand. Instead, she frowned with fury and kneaded the dough. “I have plenty of faults but would rather have mine than yours.”

“It is not a fault to enjoy a respite from constant conversation. A respite is...”

“I know what
respite
means,” she said, slamming the wad of dough and looking back at him fiercely. “Do you understand where you are? This is the Aldermaston’s kitchen. He has eaten many meals in here. I see him every day and serve him his food. Do you think he changes the way he speaks to suit us? No! I have heard him use words that
you
may struggle with. When I do not understand something, I ask. He answers me for the most part – and when he will not, there are learners who do. I know what
respite
means.”

“I have insulted you.”

“You are very astute, Sir Armiger.”

“Perhaps you will afford me now a moment to think quietly.”

She was incensed. “You have had it quiet all night! What do you need to think so quietly about still, if I may ask?”

He turned back to his bowl and ate more of the steaming porridge, poking it angrily with his spoon. “I may not stop you from asking, it appears, even when I insult you. I am trying to determine your age.”

It had flattered her that the knight-maston thought she was tall enough to be sixteen. “The man who dragged you to my doorstep was more polite than you. If you desire to know, then ask!”

He looked baffled. “It would not be proper to do so.”

“Is it more proper to insult me instead? Why do you care how old I am?”

As Lia continued to punch the dough, adding the proper ingredients, she spied movement at the top of the loft and saw Sowe rubbing her eyes. That their argument was loud enough to have awakened her was surprising. Quietly, Sowe climbed down the ladder and disappeared behind the changing screen.

His eyebrows were knotted with anger and he looked at her as if she were a fool – as if his every action should be obvious. “It is inconvenient knowing that my fate and my life is in the hands of a wretched who cannot keep quiet. Your friend is quiet. I find her courtesy and deference admirable. You talk too much for someone who says she keeps secrets.”

Lia wanted to laugh and she did, under her breath. “Sowe is quiet because she is shy, especially around boys. She hardly says two words when the Aldermaston comes.”

“I would say that is a proper token of respect.”

“Then you fear that I will spill your secret? That I might stumble and it will come blurting out of my mouth? Is that it?”

His eyes were earnest, and something in his mouth was defiant. “I do not fear it, but yes.”

Her fingers were thick with dough, and she scraped them clean on her apron. She scooped up the bud of dough and began shaping it. Part of her crinkly hair dropped in her face, and she brushed it away with the back of her hand.

“I am not like the girls that gossip in the laundry,” she said. “Maybe that is what you are used to.”

“It has been my experience that females in general cannot keep secrets. My life depends on your ability to keep mine.”

“But
I
am not like that. You may believe me or not, but I have kept a secret of this abbey for years. A secret that the Aldermaston has forbidden anyone to know. You could trust me with your name, and I would tell no one. Not even the Aldermaston.”

His mouth tightened. Was he starting to believe her, or did he still doubt?

“I cannot trust anyone like that,” he said softly. “Except my sister.”

Lia shrugged. “At least you have a sister. You had better climb up to the loft. Pasqua will be here soon.”

He nodded, scooping the last of the porridge with his spoon and took the bread and honey with him. Pausing at the ladder, he looked at her.

“The shirt – thank you for troubling yourself to wash it.”

“It was no trouble.” She turned back to the dough and set it in a bowl, sprinkling flour on it. “I am thirteen. My nameday is a fortnight from now so I will soon be fourteen. So you do not have to wonder any more. Hopefully, if all goes well, your knight-maston friend will come for you tomorrow. ”
And then you will leave us,
she thought with satisfaction
.
He truly was insufferable.

“I hope so,” he said and climbed the ladder, disappearing into the tangle of vats, pumpkins, sacks, and jars.

“As do I,” she whispered as she walked to the main door and raised the crossbar. Pasqua arrived shortly after.

* * *

Dawn was cold, bringing a soupy fog to the grounds. With Sowe working again, the chores were nearly done when the pear tart was finished baking. Pasqua asked Lia to carry it to the Aldermaston while it was still hot. Donning her cloak, she set off the short distance to the manor, tortured by the aroma from the tart. It smelled fragrantly of cinnamon and nutmeg, and she broke off a little crumb around the edge to taste it. She entered the manor from the rear, scuffing her shoes on the rush-matting to keep from tracking mud across the tiles and went to the Aldermaston’s study. Normally it was quiet there, but it was abuzz with commotion.

Lia knocked on the door and opened it, spying the Aldermaston in conference with his elderly steward, Prestwich, who was bald except for a fringe of snowy white hair, and Jon Hunter, who was explaining something to them both.

“I was thorough. No markings on the bridle or on the saddle or saddle bags. No coat of arms, no signet. No maston symbols either, but that is not surprising considering the murders. The saddle was of such quality as you would expect from a knight…or squire.”

The Aldermaston leaned back in his chair, motioning Lia to enter and directing her to the serving table. With his other hand, he gave a little motion which meant that Jon Hunter should stop talking. He was very good at that, Lia noticed. The Aldermaston’s hands were gnarled with hard work, the skin purple with veins, but there was still strength in those hands, and a feeling of authority.

“Thank you, Lia. Come here, child.”

She obeyed, trying not to look at Jon, or else she might start giggling. She was tempted to get him in trouble by saying she already knew about the horse and they could go on talking.

He squinted at her, then rubbed an earlobe that had several gray hairs poking from it. “I have a message for you to give to Pasqua. Please pay attention.”

Lia stood still, listening.

“We are expecting guests. Emissaries from the king arrived in the village last night. They stayed at the Swan, not the Pilgrim. Pasqua will care about a detail like that, so do not leave it out. I have been told that they will come to the abbey. I received no warning about this visit, so apologize to her that she was not given time to prepare.”

Lia’s heart fluttered. Her stomach went sour. She remembered the knight’s warning.
If Almaguer comes, do your best to hide him.

As innocently as she could, she asked, “How many shall we cook for, my lord?”

“Tell Pasqua that the retinue is at least twenty men.”

“What does retinue mean?” she asked.

“They are those who owe a noble lord their allegiance. They do his bidding and travel with him. There will be many mouths to feed. I know that Whitsunday is approaching, and she will be loathe to relinquish her stores. If you must, send her to me to discuss it. They should be given our hospitality.”

The sound of footsteps came running down the hall, and the page opened it. His name was Astrid, and he delivered messages for the Aldermaston throughout the grounds. He was ten.

“Riders from the village, Aldermaston!” he gasped “We told them you would greet them in person in due time, but they…they would not wait. My lord, they are riding their mounts on the grounds instead of walking them! One of them asked me… he demanded to know where the kitchen was.”

The Aldermaston surged to his feet, his face livid with anger. “Take me now.”

Lia experienced a sudden bristling rush of panic. Her ears burned hot, her stomach twisting like one of Reome’s wet garments. Her knees became shaky. She nearly dragged the hot pan off the serving table accidentally. It could only mean one thing.

The possibility was now real.

The king’s men had come to search the abbey. What if they were already at the kitchen doors? What if she was too late?

Worries swirled through Lia’s mind, and most of them ended up in her stomach. When she had decided to hide the young man, she had truly believed she would not be caught doing it. She had faith in her own cleverness, but events unfolded differently than her plans. A single thought blazed in her mind – she had to get the squire out of the kitchen. Pasqua might not be able to climb the loft ladder, but she had no doubts that soldiers could. No one would believe her if she pretended not to know that he was hiding in their midst. She could not begin to imagine the trouble that would hound her then. Where could she hide him though?

Lia rushed. As she turned the corner of the squat, square building, she dreaded that she might have arrived too late.

No horses or soldiers could be seen, but she could hear them. The morning fog hid the sights, but the whinnying of steeds, the jangle of spurs, and voices filled the void. Even the air had a strange smell to it – a coppery scent that clashed with the aroma of flowerbeds and grass.

Hurrying into the kitchen, Lia found Pasqua by the preparing table, mixing something for the mid-day meal. “Soldiers!” she said, gasping. Sowe’s eyes blazed with fear at the words and her face became chalky.

Pasqua looked up irritably. “What nonsense are you talking about, child?”

Lia knew she had to get Pasqua out of the kitchen immediately. “Soldiers from the village. They just arrived. The…the Aldermaston said they are the king’s men. I think one is a nobleman. He wants us to prepare a meal for them.”

“A meal for…? And they just arrived? I have a mind to let them eat uncooked fish. And with Whitsunday coming. Does he realize how long it takes for bread to rise? The nuisance.”

Lia swallowed, straining the hear the sound of hooves approaching in the mist. “The Aldermaston wishes to speak with you, Pasqua. Right away. He just sent me.”