Pagan Fire (12 page)

The sisters closed in tighter and Maere could no longer see Dylan. In the ruckus, a candle was knocked over. It fell against the heavy homespun drapes, immediately igniting the fabric like dried tinder. Sister Jane screamed as Dylan shoved her out of the way to reach Maere.

He made his way through the crowd and, for a brief instant, Maere thought she saw something in those hard black eyes, something akin to a mixture of pain and longing. “Come,” he shouted over the din.

Maere knew there was no choice but to go with him, but she was rooted to the spot, as if her legs were cast of heavy lead. Flames shot up behind the altar and licked at the crucifix. Maere’s gaze followed the line of the statue. Near the top, right above the crossbeam, black wings were spread wide and silver eyes stared back at her. “Oh dear God.”

Dylan turned his head and saw it too. “Be gone from here!” he shouted at the raven. He grabbed Maere’s arm and gave her a hard shake. “We have to go. Now.”

She looked at him. Didn’t he understand? In the course of a single evening, the abbey she had loved and felt secure in had been transformed into a hateful place of accusations and mistrust. Maere began to cry, desperate to be away from the maddening noise and rush of the sisters, frantically trying to douse the fire and save the chapel. But Maere was still unable to take a single step.

Seelie touched Maere’s shoulder, making her jump. She looked at her friend through tears. “You must go with him,” Seelie said. “You know what awaits you here. You cannot stay.”

“But what of you? You’re in danger as well, now that they know.”

“I’m not afraid.” Seelie smiled, a little. “When I died that night, I saw heaven. It’s a peaceful place and I will return with joy in my heart when my time comes.” A sister jostled past, bucket of water in hand, and tossed it at a smoldering altar cloth. Someone shouted again, then a scream. “The fire spreads quickly.” Seelie quickly hugged Maere. “Now, off with you. He’s a good man. I can feel it. He’ll keep you safe.” Seelie gave her a shove and Maere’s legs finally began to move.

“Thank you, Seelie,” Dylan said. He grabbed Maere around the waist as she stepped forward. Dragging her beside him, he shoved his way past the sisters and Father John, stopping only when Abbess Magrethe blocked their way. In her hand was the iron processional pole. The banner hanging from was it stained and bloodied. On the steps of the altar, at her feet, lay the monk. His head was bashed on one side and his eyes stared sightlessly at the simple vaulted ceiling.

“I’ve loved her like my own and would protect her with my life,” the abbess said, looking at Maere. Magrethe reached a hand toward the other woman, then, seeing it was covered with blood, quickly pulled it back. “There is no evil in you, my child. This I believe.” She nodded toward Bertrand’s lifeless body. “I have fulfilled my vow to protect you and dealt with this evil man. There is no one here now to accuse you. And he will not touch another.” Magrethe’s eyes met Dylan’s. “Take her far from this place and keep her safe for me.”

Tears ran down Maere’s cheeks as she reached for the older woman. Dylan pulled her away from the abbess and toward the side door. As he pushed it open and directed Maere outside, he turned for one last look at the wild display: Sisters tossing pans and bowls of water at the burning drapery and wood statues while Father John waved his arms and shouted and the abbess stood serenely where they had left her. Blast Morrigu and her goddess ways! She’d led this beautiful night into an orgy of pain and suffering and death.

Ever so slightly, Magrethe touched her fingers to her lips and smiled. She then nodded at Dylan as he turned away from her, ready to leave.

Somewhere in the night, the raven screamed again.

Chapter Thirteen

On the distant horizon, with the setting moon behind them, a band of men on horseback approached Saint Columba’s Abbey. It was still cool this late May morning and a fine mist rose from the land. The horses’ and riders’ breaths mingled together, billowing out and blending with the fog. At times the animals were concealed as they made their way east, appearing as if the riders floated on the very air itself. And so it seemed to the occupants of the abbey when they first spied the men emerging from the surrounding forest.

An alarm sounded from behind the fortified stone walls as the riders came closer to the grounds. Vikings! The loud iron bell pealed unceasingly, mixing with the shouts of women and men barking orders.

“Damn,” Eugis cursed under his breath. He supposed he should have expected as much, surrounded as he was by the fair-haired men of the north. He had hoped that Glastonbury was far enough inland to be unaware of the tales of the savage acts performed by the Viking raiders. And in this hope, he had allowed his driving urge to retrieve Maere to cloud his judgment. He sighed. It was too late for regrets now. He’d have to make the best of this situation.

Eugis drew in the reins, slowing his mount as he and his companions neared the huge iron and oak gate. He motioned with his hand and the escort hung back while Eugis rode forward. “Greetings,” he called.

“Go away, Northmen!” came a man’s voice from within. “This is a place of God. Take your heathen ways from here. We want no trouble from you.” Despite the commanding words, the voice was shaky.

“We’re not here as raiders. If you know of the Vikings, then you know they prefer the easy prey of monasteries along the coastline,” Eugis said with a smile, in case someone was watching. He wasn’t given to easy friendliness, though there were times, such as this, that he tried to affect a gentle nature. “These men here are in my employ. We mean no harm to any of you.”

“What could possibly bring you to Saint Columba’s if not looting and murder? We know the tales of those men you ride with. You might be a Briton, but you will not take us for fools!” Behind the wall, several men joined in shouting their agreement.

Eugis shifted on his saddle, renewed urgency threatening his careful composure. “I have come to visit with Abbess Magrethe.”

There was a long silence before a man answered. “She is no longer with us.”

Eugis looked sharply at the gate. “No longer with you? Has she been transferred to another position?” The forced smile quickly disappeared. “Tell me, where might I find her?”

Voices rose from beyond the walls of the abbey as the residents argued amongst themselves. Finally, an older man replied, “You’ll find her nowhere on this earth. Magrethe is with the Lord our God. She died just last evening in the chapel fire. May God have mercy on her soul.”

Dead?
Eugis leaned back in his saddle and thought of the proper-born abbess with her commanding presence. He hadn’t seen her since bringing Maere to the abbey. Images of that night, so long ago, filled his thoughts. After the deaths of Manfred, Rhea, and Fox, he’d carried the young girl off and hidden her safely away with Magrethe, filling the nun’s head with notions of Northmen and murder and pagan rituals in order to entice her to take on the child. He could see her now, in his memory, back erect, face carefully composed as he shared the story he’d concocted about the deaths of his brother and his wife.

“That is correct, Abbess Magrethe. Poor Maere’s family was lost at sea during a Viking raid.” Eugis looked heavenward and dabbed at the corners of his eyes delicately with his little finger. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the woman’s finely carved golden oak desk. “She is the sole survivor of the attack.”

Magrethe raised her thin, ethereal form out of the tapestry-covered chair. Holding the skirt of her bark brown habit in one hand, her worn prayer beads in the other, she approached the girl. She walked slowly all around her as Maere stood perfectly still, her eyes focused straight ahead. Magrethe slipped the beads around her neck, arranging them neatly beneath the long black cowl, then lifted a lock of Maere’s dark red hair. She let it sift out of her fingers. She touched the girl’s shoulder. The child never moved.

The woman crouched and looked into the girl’s expressionless eyes. “Would you like to tell me what happened?” she asked, a warm, encouraging smile on her faintly lined face.

Maere continued to stare, blinking only once or twice, while the nun waited for a reply.

“Does she not speak?” Magrethe finally asked Eugis as she straightened.

Eugis stood and motioned for the abbess to follow him to the other side of the room. His boots scuffed against the polished stone floor as he walked, the only sound to be heard in the abbess’ chamber. When they were out of earshot of the girl, Eugis answered. “Not since the attack.” He tugged at his dark blue tunic, then tucked a strand of brown hair behind an ear. “As her only living relative, the responsibility of her welfare has fallen to me. I am not married so, naturally, the first thought that came to mind was to have her placed in your fine convent here in Glastonbury. The piety and devotion of your sisters is known throughout southern Britain.”

Magrethe smiled and nodded. She folded her hands beneath her mantle as she continued to listen.

“I must warn you of a few things though.” He took a step nearer the abbess. “She is given to the telling of fanciful stories.” He glanced at Maere. “Of course, that was before the accident. But once she finds her voice again, I imagine she’ll bend your ear with many a tale. It’s nothing you need to be concerned with, and she’ll no doubt outgrow the inclination.” While he spoke, Eugis stroked the new sprout of beard gained while on the trail east to Glastonbury. “And I think it best you are aware that my brother’s family lived in the wild region of Tintagel.”

“The land of pagans and devil worshippers,” Magrethe said, her mouth set in a firm line.

“There are a growing number of Christians in the area, but,” Eugis said, “unfortunately, Maere’s mother and father – Rhea and Manfred – were not among them. They practiced the pagan ways.”

Aghast, Magrethe’s hand flew to her mouth. She looked at the child again, a new pity forming for her. She shook her head. “You’re telling me she knows nothing of the Lord our God?”

“I fear not. I cannot tell you how many times I tried to get my brother to accept the sacrament of baptism.” He shrugged and tossed his hands in the air. “But, alas, he’d have none of it. Now, he has died with nary a chance of seeing heaven.”

The abbess’ small eyes darted back and forth between Eugis and Maere. A pagan child. To be presented with such an opportunity for conversion didn’t happen often enough. Most of the converts she’d met were introduced to God by traveling monks well before they thought of coming to her abbey. “It seems to me our Lord has guided you wisely, sir.” She turned and walked back to her desk. Perching lightly on the edge of the chair, she said, “We at St. Columba’s are always eager to accept potential novices. There can never be enough serving in His name.” She made a short sign of the cross over her breast. “Of course, there
is
the matter of a dowry.”

“Say no more.” Eugis reached into the purple sash tied neatly around his waist and extracted a leather pouch weighted heavily with gold. He tossed it onto the desk and the coins clinked pleasantly together. “Are there any other requirements for admission?”

“No. The dowry will cover whatever the girl will need,” Magrethe said, reaching for the money as she spoke. Eugis placed his hand down over it. She quickly withdrew her hand to avoid the man’s touch.

“However, I have one special requirement of my own,” he said.

The nun raised an eyebrow. Wealthy nobles were always taxing her patience with their silly games. Pagan or not, how would they like it if she simply refused admission to their young charges? It would cost them a great deal more to put forth a marriage dowry than to pay nun’s wages to take them off their hands. Her eyes narrowed. “What is this requirement?”

“Maere is very dear to me,” he said. “I want you personally to make certain no man touches her. When she is eighteen, I will return to claim her.”

“Claim her?” Magrethe said.
What an odd choice of words.

“What I mean to say is, I’m certain that by then I will have arranged a marriage for the girl. No doubt her betrothed won’t want to wait any longer past the age of maturity than that.” Eugis buffed his nails on his sleeve and looked at the abbess.

The weight of the man’s stare caused Magrethe to shift nervously. He was a strange one indeed, with his pale gray face and blue eyes. There was no doubt about that. “I understand.” She shifted again. “Now, you say there is no other family?”

Eugis shook his head. “None.”

“And no betrothed at this time?”

He leaned forward. “There was, but he’s been killed as well. Most unfortunate.” He sighed and leaned back. “I don’t mind telling you, finding a betrothed is the least of my concerns at the moment. For now, I wish only to see the child safe and protected.”

Magrethe folded her hands in front of her and nodded. She looked at the girl again. She was so pitiful standing there in the bright light of the morning, not moving, only staring straight ahead. The child’s tunic, obviously once pristine white, was dirty and stained with what appeared to be dried blood. It must have been left from the attack, she reasoned. And, of course, an unmarried uncle wouldn’t know what to do with a young girl, which would explain why she hadn’t been cleaned up.

“Considering the circumstances you have described, I will admit her.” Her eyes met his. “And await your instructions concerning her future.”

Eugis had left that night with a smile on his face, knowing Maere would be kept safe for him, untouched. And now that he was here, he’d not let something as minor as Magrethe’s death stand in his way. “What of Maere cu Llwyr? I am her uncle, Eugis cu Llwyr, and I would have a word with her.”

Another argument from behind the walls. This was growing tiresome, indeed. “Is there no one in charge of this blasted place?” Eugis interrupted.

“That girl has gone as well,” came the solemn reply.

“Gone? Did you say gone? Where did she go?” Eugis said. When no answer came, he sidled his horse and pounded on the heavy gate. “I’ve had enough of talking through wood and iron! Let me in!”