wear when she turns.
“Do you know why God brought this plague upon us?” Matheus asks.
“Horse buggery,” Tristan says.
“No,” Matheus replies.
“Because we have sinned,” Belisencia says. “We have sinned, and this is our punishment.”
Tristan glances at me, closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them again. I respond in the same way. It is an old signal from our days in France. It means action. The guards have lost interest in us. They watch the baptisms. I glance at the outbuilding, only a few dozen paces away, and nod.
We leap to our feet and sprint toward Hugh the Baptist’s temple. Despite our armor, we do it so quickly that no one has time to react until we are halfway there.
The two mercenaries are the first to respond. They run to intercept us. Tristan draws open the door to the outbuilding. I know he wants a hostage, and Hugh is the perfect choice. I stop outside the temple, but I have no time to pivot toward the oncoming soldiers. One of the mercenaries explodes into me and we crash to the clovered grass. The second mercenary pulls at Tristan before he can get inside the temple. Tristan locks his fingers against the doorjamb.
I try rolling to my feet but another soldier throws himself onto me. More soldiers help pull Tristan from the door. All of them tumble to the ground beside me when Tristan’s fingers lose their grip. Armor flashes. Men grunt. Fists swing. Someone’s blood splatters against my cheek. A booted foot knocks a man away from the scrum. I swing with all my fury at an olive-skinned face near me. My blow is hard enough for the jolt to travel all the way up to my elbow.
And then it is over. Spearheads glint before my eyes. Swords are drawn. A dark-haired mercenary holds a hand to his cheek and stares at me with murder in his eyes. The door to Hugh’s temple is open still. I peer inside. A man sitting in a chair leans toward me, just a silhouette in the tiny building. The sun catches a corner of the man’s misshapen, scarred mouth. The skin is wrinkled and brown and split around the lips. He whispers something as a soldier shuts the door.
Matheus looks down at Tristan and me, shakes his head.
“Hugh the Baptist will bring peace to your souls,” he says. “He will free you from your darkness.”
Chapter 15
Two soldiers remove my gauntlets and bind my hands behind me with thick linen cords. I wince as the cords bite into the wound on my wrist. The soldiers do not take any notice of the festering gash, but the pain from the cords is so great that tears come to my eyes. They bind Tristan’s hands as well but leave Belisencia unfettered.
I cannot seem to catch my breath. Perhaps I am too old to be wandering the countryside in armor.
Matheus barks an order to one of his soldiers: “Fetch the tapestry.”
The soldier nods and runs into the manor house, holding his scabbarded sword with one hand so that it does not flap. He returns with a rolled tapestry.
Matheus leads us toward a small church on the manor grounds. Eight soldiers, including the two foreign mercenaries, join us on our walk. The mercenary I struck in the scuffle watches me the entire way, snarling anytime I look toward him. He has close-cropped black hair and an old scar at the corner of one eye. His cheek is swollen and blue and bears a lobstered imprint from a finger of my gauntlet. I wonder at his nationality. Spanish or Italian maybe. Both breeds are fiery. This one seems an inferno.
“Where are we going?” Belisencia asks.
“Sir Tristan wanted to see hell,” Matheus says.
“I’ve seen hell,” Tristan says. “It’s full of crying women.”
The church is similar to the one in Edwardstone, only smaller. Long and stony, with a square Norman tower at one end. The double doors open with a clank of iron latches and the creak of old oak. The smell of stone dust and lamp oil wafts from inside. The cool air of the church feels good against my skin, and I realize that I have been sweating. I wonder if
“Do you know why God brought this plague upon us?” Matheus asks.
“Horse buggery,” Tristan says.
“No,” Matheus replies.
“Because we have sinned,” Belisencia says. “We have sinned, and this is our punishment.”
Tristan glances at me, closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them again. I respond in the same way. It is an old signal from our days in France. It means action. The guards have lost interest in us. They watch the baptisms. I glance at the outbuilding, only a few dozen paces away, and nod.
We leap to our feet and sprint toward Hugh the Baptist’s temple. Despite our armor, we do it so quickly that no one has time to react until we are halfway there.
The two mercenaries are the first to respond. They run to intercept us. Tristan draws open the door to the outbuilding. I know he wants a hostage, and Hugh is the perfect choice. I stop outside the temple, but I have no time to pivot toward the oncoming soldiers. One of the mercenaries explodes into me and we crash to the clovered grass. The second mercenary pulls at Tristan before he can get inside the temple. Tristan locks his fingers against the doorjamb.
I try rolling to my feet but another soldier throws himself onto me. More soldiers help pull Tristan from the door. All of them tumble to the ground beside me when Tristan’s fingers lose their grip. Armor flashes. Men grunt. Fists swing. Someone’s blood splatters against my cheek. A booted foot knocks a man away from the scrum. I swing with all my fury at an olive-skinned face near me. My blow is hard enough for the jolt to travel all the way up to my elbow.
And then it is over. Spearheads glint before my eyes. Swords are drawn. A dark-haired mercenary holds a hand to his cheek and stares at me with murder in his eyes. The door to Hugh’s temple is open still. I peer inside. A man sitting in a chair leans toward me, just a silhouette in the tiny building. The sun catches a corner of the man’s misshapen, scarred mouth. The skin is wrinkled and brown and split around the lips. He whispers something as a soldier shuts the door.
Matheus looks down at Tristan and me, shakes his head.
“Hugh the Baptist will bring peace to your souls,” he says. “He will free you from your darkness.”
Chapter 15
Two soldiers remove my gauntlets and bind my hands behind me with thick linen cords. I wince as the cords bite into the wound on my wrist. The soldiers do not take any notice of the festering gash, but the pain from the cords is so great that tears come to my eyes. They bind Tristan’s hands as well but leave Belisencia unfettered.
I cannot seem to catch my breath. Perhaps I am too old to be wandering the countryside in armor.
Matheus barks an order to one of his soldiers: “Fetch the tapestry.”
The soldier nods and runs into the manor house, holding his scabbarded sword with one hand so that it does not flap. He returns with a rolled tapestry.
Matheus leads us toward a small church on the manor grounds. Eight soldiers, including the two foreign mercenaries, join us on our walk. The mercenary I struck in the scuffle watches me the entire way, snarling anytime I look toward him. He has close-cropped black hair and an old scar at the corner of one eye. His cheek is swollen and blue and bears a lobstered imprint from a finger of my gauntlet. I wonder at his nationality. Spanish or Italian maybe. Both breeds are fiery. This one seems an inferno.
“Where are we going?” Belisencia asks.
“Sir Tristan wanted to see hell,” Matheus says.
“I’ve seen hell,” Tristan says. “It’s full of crying women.”
The church is similar to the one in Edwardstone, only smaller. Long and stony, with a square Norman tower at one end. The double doors open with a clank of iron latches and the creak of old oak. The smell of stone dust and lamp oil wafts from inside. The cool air of the church feels good against my skin, and I realize that I have been sweating. I wonder if
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