Wild Wood (30 page)

The man put his hand on the prie-dieu. Anxiety flickered like fire in his eyes. “Lord Bayard, we are all civilized men. Devout men.” He paused on a breath. “However, Father Matthias brought reports to our prior”—Simeon swallowed—“that could not be ignored. He said your brother, your whole family, was cursed by the presence of evil in this place.”

I responded confidently, “The man was criminally deranged, Father. That is why we sent him away.”

“But Father Matthias spoke of a succubus preying on the soul of a Christian man—your unfortunate brother, Lord Godefroi. And this thing that became his wife oppresses him still in spirit. My brother-in-Christ even saw that fiend fly out at night. Without wings.” The priest’s eyes were the size of eggs.

“You would know that Matthias robbed the altar of our chapel?” My tone was tolerant.

Simeon opened and closed his mouth.

I prompted gently, “Those were the articles you carried from the priory.”

How reluctant he was to agree. “It is true I was instructed to remove certain holy items from our priory and provide them to you; however—”

I raised my voice. “For that crime Matthias was lucky to escape death. You know this. But to blame others as an excuse for what he had done, to destroy the reputation of my sister-in-law with gossip so foul that she died from very shame giving birth to my niece? Heinous!” My tone was harsh.

The priest blinked.

I said more calmly, “The Lady Flore was married to my brother by this same false priest in the proper way. He did not speak of her in those terms then.”

Simeon’s expression wavered. He said cautiously, “My brother-in-Christ cannot have lied.”

I paused as he dwelt in uncertainty. “We bear no ill will to this man—how can one hate those who are mad?—but you are Hundredfield’s priest now, Father. Will you not help us? Our brother Godefroi most particularly.”

The man’s expression was confused. “But if your brother
has
been cursed, it is my duty to expel the succubus that plagues him. It is my duty before God.”

“Father, tell me. Have you ever seen a succubus?” I asked the question innocently.

The man’s eyes snapped wide with horror. “No!” He gripped his rosary beads.

“Neither have I. Nor has any man. Can an educated person seriously allow himself to think such things exist?” I solemnly, sorrowfully, shook my head. “No. The truth is this. My poor sister-in-law has most tragically died in childbed, and my brother is ill from sorrow and from the lies that have been spread about his wife. Mortal despair afflicts him, and for this, prayers are the best cure. And also to see the burial of his beloved wife performed with reverence. The Lady Flore is to be buried in our own mother’s grave—to lie beside her mother-in-law for all eternity. Would he, would we, permit such a thing if we believed the foulness of these rumors?”

Simeon’s face was profoundly troubled. He looked with longing at the prie-dieu. “Lord Bayard, will you allow me to pray on this?”

“The place for your prayers is the chapel, Father. My brothers and our people wait for you there.”

The gathering in the chapel was quiet as the bell was rung and the host elevated before the altar. Beyond the rood screen, outside the chancel, men on the right, women on the left, Hundredfield’s garrison and all our household servants stood in rows behind Godefroi, Maugris, and me. In unison, all of us bowed as Simeon uttered the final words of the Christmas mass and turned earnestly to bless and cense the congregation as the service finished.

I could finally breathe out.

At my side, Maugris muttered, “The hall.”

Half listening to Simeon’s final words, I said, “Yes. All is prepared.”

Maugris whispered to our brother, “Godefroi, you must lead the household to the feast. Bayard will see you settled on the high dais with Father Simeon.”

Our brother was pale and had spoken little since I had brought him from his chamber. He stared at Maugris. “Where shall you be?”

“I will join you soon.” Maugris did not look at me.

Now the service was done, a soft mutter moved from the men’s side to the women’s. It cheered me to see that some of their faces were bright. The familiarity of the mass, and the custom of we three brothers standing with the household for the service, had done its work.

Maugris beckoned the priest. “Father Simeon, this is Lord Godefroi.”

“Sir, I am sad indeed to hear you have not been well.” The man’s expression was kind as he sketched a cross in the air over my brother’s head. “However, it is my duty—”

I looked at Simeon keenly.

His face colored, and he stuttered, “It is my duty to commend you to the Lord’s good grace on this glorious day. I shall pray for your health and, er, happiness.”

He paused before he said the last word. Godefroi’s haggard countenance, his red eyes, spoke only of misery.

“In Christ’s name it is time for you to break your fast, Father.” I turned to the household. “Join Lord Godefroi in our hall, friends, for the yule wassail.” Without asking his permission, I took Godefroi’s arm and led him from the chapel. We were followed by the priest with the crowd streaming behind. Maugris stayed in the chapel, kneeling as if to pray privately at the altar rail.

Outside, I picked out Dikon in the throng and signaled him quickly.

“Yes, lord?”

“Go to my brother, boy. He needs you. Do as he says.”

The boy’s expression cycled from anxious to dismayed and back again. Even in the chapel, we could smell the meat roasting in the kitchen.

I patted him on the shoulder. “A silver penny will pay for your pain. And your discretion.”

The boy dropped his eyes, but the money made a difference and he waited happily enough for the tide to surge past as the priest and I helped Godefroi up the chapel stairs.

I trusted the boy. I hoped he trusted me.

An hour and more had passed, and I made sure that ale and Rhenish wine flowed better than our river; no goblet was to remain unfilled, and food was always to be before each man and each woman on the benches.

With mutton and salt pork heaped up in mounds, with roasted eggs—so rare in winter—and sausages, with fritters and fricassees of salmon and trout and pike on salvers, and ale slopped all over the tables set below the high board, the household grew boisterous. One or two friendly glances were thrown to me from some of the girls—which I returned, along with choice dishes as marks of favor (to the chagrin of their beaux)—and I was beginning to relax.

Too soon.

Maugris entered the hall, Dikon at his heels. Both were sweating.

“Where have you been? You smell like a winded horse.” Godefroi’s tone was waspish. He spoke in French.

“Brother.” Maugris dismissed Dikon as he bowed to Godefroi, and then to the priest. “You seem much improved. God grant you even better health tomorrow.” He used English loudly, so that many of those present would hear his words.

Scanning faces in the hall, Godefroi replied in French, “Only if I survive the night. Some here will not like that.”

Perhaps they did not understand what Godefroi said, but his sour expression punctured the mood.

Maugris said hastily, “Father Simeon? Private prayers will help our brother rest.” He met my eye.

I stood. “After the blessing, perhaps you will lead us to the chapel, Father.”

The priest’s expression was strained but he rose politely enough. “
In nomine Patris, et Spiritus Sancti
, amen.”

As the sonorous words rolled out into the smoky air, I watched men’s faces. Some were hostile and, as the blessing finished, one, then two, then more of the keep’s household left the hall as if going to the kitchen, or to relieve themselves. They thought themselves unnoticed.

Perhaps Godefroi was right.

“Why have you brought me here? I do not wish to pray.”

On trestles before the altar lay a long, cloth-covered box. A hole had been dug beside it in the tiles, immediately beside the grave of our mother.

“Father, are you ready?” Maugris did not answer Godefroi’s question.

Simeon’s face was pale. “Lord Maugris, I—”

Godefroi said loudly, “What is that thing?”

Maugris led our brother forward. “Your wife lies here, Godefroi. See, this will be her resting place, with our mother. As we discussed.”

Godefroi shook off Maugris’s hand. “You told me that she, that her body . . .” The confusion was pitiful as he tried to put his arms around the casket.

I stepped closer. “Come, brother. Our mother will care for her now.”

Godefroi wailed, “But you have closed her in. I cannot see her face.” Tears gathered and began to fall.

The priest, discomfited, said, “Your brother is distressed, Lord Maugris. I do not feel that—”

“Lord Godefroi’s wife is to be buried, Father, as you agreed. She died some days ago. It will not be good for the health of those in the keep to delay further.” Maugris was courteous but he was also armed and his face was grim.

Simeon tried to light the candles on the altar—it was hard with hands that shook—but he began to prepare for the requiem mass without further protest. Maugris and I, one on either side of Godefroi, helped our brother kneel at the altar steps, and his sobs, so loud at first, grew quiet.

The priest, at last, faced the altar and, lifting his arms, began the mass. As he found the rhythm of those eternal words, their blessing and forgiveness, the hope and acceptance they offered, Godefroi became calm. And after the host had been elevated, and we had shared the bread and wine, Simeon called us forward for the last of the rite.

Maugris and I sweated to lower the rough coffin decently into the hole in the floor, and as the box descended, I muttered silently,
Forgive us, Mother, for what we do here.

“Lord Godefroi.” Simeon beckoned our brother to stand beside the open grave. There was earth to sprinkle on the coffin lid.

I saw Godefroi’s face change.

“Maugris!”

Godefroi was quicker than a cat as he tried to jump down, but Maugris and I caught his arms.

“I want to go with her.” As he struggled, soil from the banked-up sides showered the coffin.

“Lord Godefroi, please! You disgrace your wife and your mother.” Simeon’s face was a horrified mask.

“Whoreson!” Godefroi wriggled from our grasp. He had flushed a dangerous red and would have struck the man, but we hauled him away and I put my hand over his mouth.

Simeon threw a reproachful glance at me. “Your brother
is
possessed!”

“Come, Father. I shall take you to your cell.” Maugris turned the priest neatly and walked him from the chapel.

Godefroi bit my hand.

“Brother!” I tore it from him. He was growling, and marks from his teeth tattooed my palm.

His eyes bulged. He spat as he said, “I curse you. I curse Maugris. And the priest. All priests!”

He spoke with such venom that I considered, seriously, if Simeon was not right. “Calm yourself.”

“You took her from me!”

I ducked to avoid his fist.

“No, Lord Godefroi. They did not.” We both turned at the sound of that voice.

Margaretta stood there, the baby in her arms. As before, Aviss clung to her skirt. “The lady chose the time and place of her leaving.”