The Blue Falcon (44 page)

“
It was late in summer. We searched until the weather would not permit and searched again when it warmed.”

“
Weather will not slow me,” Mallory said resolutely.
“
With all respect, Conan, I must ask you to release me from my promise to help you fight Tedric. I have a task at hand that cannot wait. In the letter from Edythe, she talked of the cold, the promise of snow. It could not have been written before she left here.”

“
Perhaps the winter before?” Alaric suggested.

“
Nay. We did not leave England until after Easter. Le
tters would have been sent to Ve
zelay. This letter was written just as winter threatened.” He laughed suddenly.
“
I was sorely in want of words of love from Edythe! She talked of wet and cold; of clouds ready to spill their flakes; of wind, icy on her face! She was telling me the time of year: the time she was alive!”

The picture became clear to Alaric. For the same reasons he had kept the news from Mallory, so would Edythe. If Mallory could not return and had been preoccupied with worry of her circumstances, he might have fared badly in the battle.

“
The missive might have cost her her last livre, but it was sent,” Mallory said.
“
The reason must be that had you sent
w
ord to me that she was missing, I would have been encouraged by her letter. But had I heard nothing, I would continue to think she was safe. Either way I had no cause to worry.”

“
And how will you find her, if your theory is true?”

“
If there is some reason Edythe fears telling even you where she hides, she will make herself easy to find when she learns that the Crusaders have returned to England. Never fear, my lord, I will find her.”

“
I will help you,” Conan offered.

“
Nay, Conan, this time you cannot. You have another task at hand. And should I make this mission short, I will return to help you. For now, you cannot be occupied away from this keep. Your place is here; my place is in search of a damsel.”

“
You will send word?” Conan asked.

“
I will find a way.”

Alaric looked over this group. They had all changed a great deal. They were older, their faces showing the strain of fighting in the heat of the sun in that faraway land. Mallory showed some gray in his hair, and Thurwell, while still a hulking, solid man, looked his age of forty. Conan, handsome and tall, seemed tired and worn. In his eyes there was a notable lack of energy but an over-abundance of anger.

“
My lord,” Mallory addressed Alaric.
“
I do not lay blame to you, but I must test your story to the limit of my endurance.”

Alaric nodded.
“
I hope that you will succeed where I have failed.”

“
I can promise that I will try,” he returned. Thurwell came forward and put a hand on Mallory’s shoulder, indicating that he would be going with his friend. Mallory looked to Conan.
“
What are your plans?” he asked.

“
We have talked of plans on the road,” Conan replied, not anxious to say any more in the presence of so many servants.
“
Above that, I will train a falcon.”

“
And a horse?” Thurwell asked.

“
Aye, though I do not expect a beast such as Orion in such a short time. Neither the bird nor the steed can be replaced, but my priorities in that have not changed. Other loyalties have changed, but for my birds and beasts I have the same devotion.”

Alaric nodded his head once and let his eyes rest comfort
a
bly on his son’s face. A slow smile grew on the aging lord’s lips. To his sword, his ability to fight, Conan would be true
--
for he would not be betrayed.

“
‘Tis a time that comes in every man’s life. It has come in yours. Do what you will. I will be steadfast.”

“
Thank you, my lord. I have need of nothing more,” That said, he turned and went to the stair, intent on finding his chamber.

There were few returning knights, so that it was an easy chore for Anselm to see them well fitted for the night. All were given rooms. Conan’s chamber was richly appointed with tapestries and animal-hide rugs. Pelts were strewn over a fine bed to keep the cold from penetrating his bones and to raise this great knight from the floor. Mallory and Thurwell were not thought after as carefully, but their chamber was not beggarly.

Even in a room kept warm by a blazing fire, with pelts to give him comfort, Mallory could not sleep. His mind twisted in his own private agony as he considered the many possibili
ties surrounding Edythe’s disappearance. And Thurwell, who shared his feelings more closely than any other, tossed on his pallet for a long time before falling into badly needed slumber.

Mallory finally rose and pulled on his chausses and gown. Ever the warrior, he never considered so much as a breath of night air without strapping on his belt over his hips, his broadsword in place. He took no mantle, for he hoped the chill would snap him out of his worrisome musings and into clear thinking. Then, perhaps, he could sleep.

He passed the forms of sleeping servants in the hall and heard no sound as he moved through the galleries. Alaric had a few guards posted about the hall, and Mallory passed them all without being questioned. He walked into the courtyard and found a pile of rocks on which to sit.

He wondered what insanity had prevailed in his absence. He could not even consider that Edythe’s last letter was the product of a slow courier. She had written it from some hiding place. He remembered the days before he left England. He had delivered Edythe to her father’s house and gone to Stoddard for Thurwell. He had had very little time with her before le
aving
--
time enough only for good
byes. But there
w
as bliss even in this, for they no longer had to steal their moments at midnight in the garden, nor did they have to pretend nonchalance in parting.

She had been strong when he left her, secure in her heart.

“
Do not be afraid,” he had told her.

“
I am not afraid. Never doubt me. Move forward and know my heart.”

“
It will be hard for you while I am away,” he had said.

“
Love knows no time but that spent apart. Yea, it will be hard, but I am strong. And I know my reward.”

No man could have had a stronger, more determined wife. Her love was steadfast; even in the earliest days of her youth she was capable of knowing her mind and standing by her word.

Dead? It could not be. Alaric must have adopted this hapless reasoning to avoid the truth: there was treachery here. Tedric, who would hurt anyone Conan loved, did not even seem the proper villain in this case. It would have meant too much planning and expertise, and Tedric would not effect Edythe’s capture and death to provoke Conan unless he could gloat over his success. Thieves in the night? He could not quiet his mind. But his business was on the road, not musing in the night. There would be no stone unturned before he was finished.

There was no moon, and though it did not rain, the night fog had settled over the keep and the air was damp. Twice, as he walked toward the stables, he tripped over a stone in his path. A torch at the entrance lit the path, but within, there was only darkness, for the stable also housed some sleeping men.

Mallory left the door ajar so that he could see the articles of his profession. He found what he expected. Every bridle and saddle was clean and neatly laid out with other items necessary for his early departure. He closed the door quietly, taking great care not to disturb those sleeping in the stable. The tower stair would allow him a swifter path to his bedchamber, and he moved to the rear of the keep to take that route. A light, faint and hazy through the fog, was the torch that he knew lit the door to the tower stair, and he moved toward that light, mindful of the darkness and possible hidden obstacles in his path.

Suddenly he was caught about the neck and pulled back
w
ard into the deeper shadows, where his assailant held him against the wall of the keep. He quickly found the hilt of his sword, but his hand was frozen there as he felt the blade of a sharp knife against his throat.
“
I know what you seek,” a husky voice whispered in his ear. The person speaking was trying to disguise his vo
ice.
“
The nunnery
--
Swaffham Bul
beck near Bury Saint Edmunds
--
will show you the answer.” Mallory’s hands were on his assailant’s forearm, pulling with all his strength to ease the hold on his throat. He felt his temples begin to throb from the strength of the hold, but the attacker did not ease.
“
Tell not a soul of this warning. Tell no rider your destination. Your life depends on your silence.”

Another unexpected move threw Mallory flat to the ground on his face. As he hit the earth, the air was knocked out of his lungs, and he gasped, drawing in not only air, but a mouthful of dust. He coughed to clear his chest and then listened. The quickly departing footfalls told him his attacker had fled.

“
Who goes there?” came the voice of the tower-stair guard.

Mallory struggled to his feet and rubbed his aching neck.
“
Sir Mallory,” he attempted, his voice hoarse.

“
Trouble?” the guard questioned, giving him aid in stand
ing.

“
Nay. I fell. ‘Tis the darkest of nights.”

“
I heard another sound,” the guard offered.

Mallory laughed in feigned embarrassment.
“
‘Twas the sound of a man boasting of too much wine trying to stand
u
p.”

The guard laughed.
“
Sleep will remedy that,” he advised.

“
Aye. Sleep.” Mallory stumbled a bit, and the guard was convinced that Mallory had taken the better part of a keg before his nighttime stroll. The guard chuckled softly as Mallory attempted the stairs. And then the door closed softly behind him.

Mallory stood for a moment just inside his chamber. Someone here knew of Edythe’s flight: her purpose and her destination. He was warned to say nothing even as he rode in pursuit of her
--
as he valued his life. That could only mean that a traitor could be anywhere, even among the men who would ride with him. If she was still alive, someone here had taken her away. If she was dead, her murderer was still within these walls.

It was now impossible for him to sleep. He was up and dressed before dawn and rousing his men and Thurwell at the first light of day. When the horses were ready and the provender loaded, he could not be on the road fast enough. His manner was cool and detached, and he was suspicious of every face.

Those who rode with him knew his burden and were not surprised with his quick and almost angr
y departure, but the terse good
byes to Conan and Alaric left many shaking their heads in wonder. Even Thurwell questioned this behavior.

“
Tis no fault of theirs, yet you seem bent on placing blame. And after such good lodging, is it meet to leave them with such poor thanks? And where do we go? You have told us of no plan, no route.”

Mallory just looked forward as he rode, his only answer to his longtime friend as short and sharp as his farewells.
“
Northeast.”

Chapter 22

There was a time when the lacemaker’s shop was bright and cheerful. As Giselle looked around her modest dwelling, she could hardly remember those days of happiness. Few of her neighbors visited her, and Lady Udele was the only one to ask for predictions. It no longer helped to support her. Udele was no longer a generous benefactor.

Giselle felt the end of something drawing near. It could be the ending of her own life that she felt, but she could not say. Her sight had become clearer as her body began to fail. She feared death, even in her old age, because she wondered if anyone could subdue Udele when the predictions were finally over. She opted to try one more time.

On her next visit, Udele thrust a shirt at Giselle.
“
It is still warm from his body and I know you can tell me much.”

Giselle knew before she was told that the shirt belonged to Conan. She had developed such a oneness with the knight that she could sense his presence as if he were in the room with them.

“
In a moment, madam,” she said evenly.
“
I am growing old and you must be patient.”

“
I would know where my son has been since he put in to port,” Udele snapped.
“
Don’t bother to lie to me.”

“
He was, in fact, at Cordell, madam. He saw Lady Chandra for only a moment. He warned her that he would meet Tedric.”

Udele gave a short grunt and looked away.
“
And where was the need for that? It is not as if she wouldn’t guess.”

“
He does not blame her for Tedric’s crimes. He knows she is blameless in all that has befallen her.”

“
Blameless? Never! Don’t tell me of her innocence. She has lusted after my son for years!”

Giselle felt the anger bite her deeply, but she held her tongue.
“
Lady, there is nothing you can do about what will be,” she said pleadingly.
“
Some seeds are planted long before a child is conceived. Let matters rest
--
”

“
Bah!” Udele huffed.

“
Madam, I have spoken of a plan. For one man, his purpose is done when he has sown the seeds for the winter rye. For another, the purpose is not served before eighty summers have passed. Some must kill that others would be martyred. My sight does not tell me every man’s purpose. It tells me what is to be. And Sir Conan will be a great leader of men. One of the most powerful men in England.”

“
You see so distantly?” Udele brightened, captivated not only by the prophecy, but by the power promised to her son.

“
When you carried the child in your womb, did I not tell you he would be a great knight?”

“
Tell me what you see,” she urged.

“
Conan’s lands will stretch wide across England, much of his holdings next to what Count John claims. Richard will provide no heir and John will be king
--
a hard king to abide. There will only be a few strong enough and brave enough to temper a bad king’s rule. Sir Conan will be one of them. A hundred angels will guard him from death. His dynasty will be long and closely attached to the royal court. His descendants will emerge in later years to fight in a great war lasting one hundred years. That is where his people will end.”

Giselle took a breath.
“
His future is so well defined, madam, that your attempts to alter it will only prove a disaster. You will fall before he will.”

Udele’s eyes looked suddenly sad.
“
I would only ensure my place in his life. He owes me that much. I gave him birth.”

Giselle answered in soft tones.
“
There is a place for you in Sir Conan’s life. Your pension will be plentiful, for his justice is well known. Your abode would be rich, for he would not take one pleasure from you. He is a hardened man, but within his heart there is compassion for those he loves. Let Conan be and
--
”

“
He is to be rich
--
as rich as Count John,” Udele said, as though the news had just settled in.
“
There is still time for Alaric to find him a rich bride. And I am young: I have many
y
ears yet to live. I will see him come to power and I will be near enough to aid him.”

Giselle lowered her eyes. Her back was aching. Her frustration was intense. She did not know how to help the lady of Anselm.

“
I can only urge you as I have in the past, madam. Let it be, and Conan will achieve his destiny.”

There was a glassy sheen in the eyes that looked back at her. Udele had come to hate Chandra. In the beginning, the lass was a threat only because of her meager dowry, but later the threat became greater as Udele saw the strength Chandra exhibited.

Udele began to shake her head wildly. First she had maneuvered Edwina toward her son to save him from a beggarly marriage. Then she had borrowed money to pay Tedric to remove Chandra from her son’s eye. She had been responsible for one death, and when Edwina had uncovered that truth, Udele had killed with her own hands to silence her. And even her own daughter, she had ordered killed. The lies and murders had multiplied. After all her efforts to deny Chandra a life with Conan, how could she live peacefully under the same roof with her now? Never would Udele be second behind her. Never!

She asked the same question she had asked years earlier.
“
Who stands by my son’s side?”

“
A woman fair and strong. A woman whose wisdom reaches beyond her years. Her hair is golden as the sun; her eyes bright as the sky. It is clearly Lady Chandra.”

“
It has not happened yet!”

“
You are wrong, lady. It has happened. She has already borne him a son.”

“
Nay,” she cried.
“
Nay, it could not be so! Conan has been away
--
”

Udele stopped suddenly and plunged her hands into her hair. Tedric had a son: a child of almost two years. When would the child have been conceived? Before th
e Crusade? But Conan left for Ve
zelay to join Richard. Or was he in England, at Cordell, with Chandra?

Chandra might know! Tedric might have told her that it was Udele’s tampering that encouraged him to kill the first Jew, usurp Phalen and continue his life of crime. Conan could not claim Chandra now!

Udele suddenly began to laugh, a shrill sound that rang loud in the small room. Giselle felt a cold draft, as if evil had suddenly entered the house.

“
She is an adulteress!” Udele cried victoriously.
“
And what do you suppose Tedric will do? How will he reward her?” The laughter rang out again, a wicked and chilling laugh close to hysteria.

“
And what of the child?” Giselle asked in near panic.

“
What of the child?” Udele retorted.

“
Will Tedric let a child of Conan’s live?”

“
What does it matter?”

“
It matters to Sir Conan. He knows he has a son. He cherishes the thought.”

“
You tell me Conan will live for many years. There is time enough to father more children.” Udele rose to her feet and moved toward the door.
“
You swore my son would marry Chandra, and I saw him wed to Edwina. Your great predic
tions aren’t as strong as my hand!”

“
Nay, madam,” Giselle said, rising from her stool.
“
You did not interrupt the plan. He was meant to have Edwina. Edwina brought him Phalen.”

A wild look came into Udele’s eyes as if she had been betrayed. Giselle had never hinted that this was to take place.
“
Your sight be damned! I will yet find a way to change your great plans. My son will have his power. But / will share it!”

Udele whirled and flung the door open wide. The last sight of her was her swirling cloak as she fled angrily from the cottage.

Giselle suddenly felt a warm sensation encompass her. Her eyes glowed as many questions were clearly answered in her mind. A slow smile came over her face.

“
Our end is near, madam,” Giselle said softly.
“
Sir Conan will have his lands, his love and his power, but you will not share it. Yet you have done your part to secure it for him.” She sighed deeply.
“
The pity is he cannot be expected to feel anything but hate for you.”

***

November passed and December touched England with icy fingers. The doors to the village huts were closed tight against the wind, and there were no villeins about selling their wares or hanging out their laundry. Even the animals that were not sheltered huddled together to stay warm.

Sir Mallory traveled slowly, stopping at every village and country home. His impulse was to fly to Swaffham Bulbeck, but he did not dare to leave this path unchecked.

If Edythe had passed this way, it would have been in summer when the streets were crowded with merchants and travelers. Trying to trace her footsteps in winter proved difficult, for doors had to be opened to the knights before inquiries could be made. Everywhere he asked, he told of the bright emerald-green eyes and the long black hair, features hard to forget. But no one remembered such a woman.

Cold winds and snow slowed the journey even more, and the trip stretched into the third week before they neared Swaffham Bulbeck. Mallory had seen nunneries before, including those of the Benedictine order, whose purpose was to live with hard work and simple means. Still, because he hoped to find Edythe here, he was taken aback with the weak construction of the buildings. The convent was in sore need of repair. Smoke rose above the outbuildings and the doors were stout, but the roof was soaked through and there was no evidence that the convent could boast even a stable.

“
What brings us here?” Thurwell asked.
“
It cannot be your intention to investigate every convent we pass. We leave a dozen behind us.”

Mallory ignored the question and went to the door of the first outbuilding, pounding his fist on that oaken portal. There was no response from within. He pounded again and again. Finally a voice answered him.
“
Who calls?”

“
A knight of the Cross. Will you open to me?”

The bolt from the inside slid back, and the door creaked open slowly. An elderly man in a ragged shirt peeked out.

“
How can I serve you, sir knight?” he asked gingerly, looking carefully at the white cross on the chest of this visitor.

“
I am in need of information. I have traveled far to hear if a maid I seek came to the sisters here.”

“
There is no maid here,” the old man said, trying to close the door.

Mallory’s arm hit the door and prevented its closing.
“
I have come too far, old man, to be sent away now. The Sisters of Saint Mary may have word of her. I have been sent in this direction by one who knows. I will speak with the prioress or I will enter against your will.” He indicated the men still astride by a glance over his shoulder. The order would not contain
m
ore than a dozen nuns, some aging people cared for out of charity and perhaps a guest or two in need. All totaled, servants and residents would not number over thirty, and they would have no arm
s to defend themselves.
“
‘Twould
not be difficult to enter and have my questions answered.”

“
Milord, milord, you know the penalty for defiling the House of God, and these good sisters would
--
”

“
The prioress!” he shouted.

“
Aye, milord! I will tell her a knight of the Cross is here. I will fetch her now.”

“
Be quick,” he warned, removing his hand and allowing the door to close. He heard the bolt as it was quickly replaced.

Thurwell came up behind him.
“
Who sent you to this place?” he asked quietly.

“
The eve before our parting I was struck down by a man while walking from the stable late at night. I could not see him nor identify him in any way, but he told me to come to Swaffham Bulbeck. He said that what I seek is here.”

“
But you said nothing, and you did not come here straight
away.”

“
He warned me to say nothing or my life would be cut short. That could mean a traitor in our party even now. I never doubted you, but there were too often other ears within our range. And I did not want to leave those villages between Anselm and Swaffham Bulbeck unchecked.”

“
Whom do you doubt now?”