Chapter 15

 

Though everything within Cristiana told her to run with Thebe—to get as far away from these soldiers as possible, she found herself unable to move. Unable to leave Sir Jarin, though she doubted he could overcome two such well-trained soldiers. Still, the babe…. She glanced down at Thebe, who thankfully was playing with a strand of Cristiana’s hair, unaware that her life hung in the balance. She should run, seek shelter ere these men bested Jarin. Nay! She should do something to help him! But what? She could not release Thebe again to wander off.

Lord, what do I do? Don’t abandon me now.

Alas, barely able to breathe, she remained as the two warriors advanced on Sir Jarin. Yet he stood confidently urging them on. Audacious fool! Holding Thebe tight, she closed her eyes, unable to watch. “One…two…”

The clank and chime of steel on steel sent a shiver down her. Thud, clunk! Cursing filled the air. Blades rang. More cursing. She dared open her eyes, and instead of Sir Jarin on the defensive, instead of Sir Jarin being overwhelmed, he wielded his sword in such rapid precision, she thought she must be dreaming. But nay, ’twas as real as the man himself. All strength, courage, and skill. He swung his sword this way and that, dipping low and high, warding off the soldiers’ attacks as if he were rowing a boat down a lazy river.

Hope dared peek its head inside her heart as Sir Jarin struck one of the soldiers unconscious to the dirt, then advanced on the other. But a sound—the barest hint of a sound—slinking through the forest forced hope back into hiding.

Men’s voices. Many of them.

Sir Jarin heard them too, for he quickly dispatched the other soldier and scanned the forest beyond. “Three…four…”

Leather and steel appeared in splotches through the underbrush. Helmeted heads bobbed above ferns. ’Twas too late. They’d be upon them in seconds.

“Oh, Lord.” All strength abandoned Cristiana as she dropped to her knees, clutching Thebe close. The girl wiggled to be free, but she managed to cling to her while touching the Spear on her thigh. “Protect us, Lord. Prithee, protect us! Five…six…”

“Over here. I heard something!” The thump of boots grew louder.

A puff of wind caressed her cheek, no more than a whisper, but with it came a cold moisture that left droplets atop Thebe’s hair and dampened her cloak. Cristiana drew in a breath, saturating her lungs with the mist, and glanced up to see a forest painted in white. Fog as thick as creamy pottage blanketed the scene, hiding tree, plant, and boulder. And Sir Jarin. Was he even still there?

“Be still, my lady.” His whisper came from close by. Aye, still there. She couldn’t help but smile.

Leaves rustled. Footsteps thudded. Voices, muffled in the mist, shouted. “God wot! Where did this fog hail from?”

“A most damnable thing.”

“I cannot see my hand before my face!”

“Back to the camp. Make haste!”

They were close…so close that the fog nigh two steps away stirred with their movement. Cristiana held her breath, praying Thebe would remain silent. She did. The men retreated, their footsteps and voices fading until naught but the deafening silence of the mist remained. That and the sound of Sir Jarin’s breathing.

A hand reached out of the fog and touched her arm. “Are you unharmed, my lady?”

“Aye,” she whispered. Thebe added her giggle and the word, “hand.”

“Yes, darling ’tis Sir Jarin’s hand.” Cristiana rose, and the man himself materialized out of the mist, smelling of sweat and man and pine. Moisture clung to the tips of his dark hair and the beard on his chin and jaw, but ’twas his eyes as they took her in that sent an odd rush of heat through her.

“This way. Come.” He swung an arm around her and led them carefully around the fallen soldiers, over the creek, and through a craggy web of branches and bushes. She dared not ask him how he knew the way without seeing, for he walked with the same confidence as always.

“This strange mist.” He finally spoke when they were well out of earshot of the soldiers. “It came up so suddenly.” Even as he said the words, the fog began to thin, and trees, shrubs, and even the ground they walked on emerged bit by bit.

“I prayed. I touched the Spear.” She mumbled the words, only now remembering.

“You prayed?” He took her elbow and helped her over a large rock.

“I asked God to protect us.”

“Humph,” was his only reply, and she knew he didn’t believe it any more than she did. But there was no denying what had happened. They had faced certain capture and now were safe. God had answered her prayer, but only because of the Spear. What power it possessed! No wonder the bishop desired it above all else.

Thebe wiggled in her arms, wanting to get down. “Thirsty,” she said.

“Not now, little one. Soon.” Cristiana reached in her pack and pulled out Thebe’s doll and handed it to her. Though the child weighed less than two stone, Cristiana’s back began to ache.

Though she made no complaint, Sir Jarin tugged the child from her arms before either could protest and set her atop his shoulders.

So high! She could fall. Surely the babe would be frightened. “Be care—” she began, but Thebe’s laughter cut her off as he bounced her up and down, the child’s fear of him dissipating like the mist around them.

Rays of sunlight speared through the remaining fog, winning the victory over darkness. Hence, by the time they emerged onto a dirt road, Cristiana turned her face to the full sun, soaking in its warmth.

Jarin started down the road, avoiding the muddy ruts. “Make haste, my lady. They won’t be far behind us.”

She hurried beside him, thankful to see he clung tightly to Thebe’s legs as he jostled her along. “Why? How can they know we’ve escaped?”

“I left those soldiers alive. They will regain consciousness and tell all.”

Of course. She hadn’t thought of that. Ergo, her fear returned as they proceeded down the road, glancing at every tree and shadow alongside them, looking for enemies. In fact, expecting them. Yet mayhap as long as she had the Spear, God would not abandon her.

 

Sancreet was a quaint little village built on the side of a hill, with a large manor house in the distance. Circular towers rose on either side of the open gate, and perched upon the grand arched entrance betwixt them was a painted statue of the king. Jarin gave the monarch a cursory glance ere he walked underneath, and she wondered if he missed being a King’s Guard and what he thought of His Majesty.

The stench of pigs, rotted meat, and urine caused Cristiana to draw a hand to her nose as the sounds of the village clambered for preeminence in her ears—shouts of laborers, cries of vendors, the thunderous chime of hammers, the cluck of chickens, a babe crying, and church bells.

Jarin pulled a man aside. “Good day to you, sir. Prithee, direct me to the spice monger’s.”

“Ah, ’tis old Teagan ye wish to see.” The man whose dark hair appeared permanently matted to his head and whose face bore more lines than the ruts across the muddy road, gestured down the street. “Turn the corner at the square, and ye can’t miss it.” He glanced up at Thebe and then over at Cristiana. “If ye be in need of lodging, sir, for ye and your family, I run the Hollow Ox Inn just down the road. Can’t miss it.”

“Thank you.” Jarin nodded toward the man and proceeded.

Tossing the sack over her shoulder, Cristiana did her best to navigate through the mud, pig and horse droppings, and chickens, thankful she didn’t have Thebe to hold as well. Nay, the girl seemed quite happy atop Sir Jarin, which surprised her most of all. Thebe had never taken well to strangers.

’Twas an easy task to find the spice monger’s shop, for it bore a sign out front carved with the images of herbs and flowers. Once inside, a plethora of scents assailed Cristiana, and she drew in a deep breath—lavender, caraway, cinnamon, garlic, mustard, and rosemary all combined into an overwhelming sensual delight. Though ’twas dim within the tiny front room, sunlight filtering in through the window revealed shelves filled with jars, bottles, and jugs of all shapes and sizes. A stained and divoted table stood to the right covered with dried herbs and mortars and pestles.

A man, as short as he was wide, waddled into the room, wiping his hands on a stained apron and approached them.

“Master Teagan?” Jarin took Thebe from his shoulders and handed her to Cristiana. The girl pointed to the herbs. “Flower.”

“Aye.” The man replied, his suspicious look taking in the myriad weapons strapped to Sir Jarin’s belts and baldric.

“I am Sir Jarin the Just. Father Godwin sent me for your horse, Challenger.”

The man’s bloodshot eyes assessed him yet again, until finally a spark of relief lowered the tension within them. “Aye, I remember him speaking of ye. Come on in the back.” He gestured for them to follow him past a curtain, down a hall, and through another door into a sitting parlor.

“I’ll tell my wife to put on some tea.”

“We cannot stay.” Jarin grabbed his arm, spinning him around. “Forgive my ill-manners, but we must leave posthaste.”

“Ah, you are being chased.” Nodding, he blew out a sigh and settled his hands atop his rotund belly as if his statement bore no effect on his speed.

Thebe wiggled to get down, and Cristiana lowered to one of the couches and put her on the floor. “Ere we leave, Master Teagan, may I trouble you for some water for the child?”

Sir Jarin rubbed the back of his neck and snapped an annoyed look her way.

A female voice sounded from outside the room. “Hernais, a band of soldiers just rode into town. Methinks they search for someone. Should we—” Entering the room, she halted. Her eyes—or rather one eye—glanced over Sir Jarin, Thebe, and Cristiana.

“My wife, Matilda.” The man introduced the woman who was as narrow as he was broad. Wispy light hair was pulled back from a long face and hollow cheeks. One eye drifted to the right whilst the other stared at them with a mixture of horror and…spite?

Thebe waddled over to a ceramic bowl sitting atop a table and started to pick it up, but Cristiana quickly snagged it from her grasp. “Nay, darling.”

“In good sooth, I see the cause of your haste, sir,” Master Teagan said ere turning to his wife. “Get thee hither, woman. Mind the store. If the soldiers enter to search, delay them.”

“A sip of water for the babe, mistress?” Cristiana spoke up.

“We haven’t time, my lady,” Jarin said. “She can drink later.”

But the woman had already darted off, returning in minutes with a mug of water.

“Gramercy my dear woman. May God reward you for your kindness.” Taking the cup, Cristiana lifted it to Thebe’s lips and smiled when the girl gulped down its contents. “And you as well, Master Teagan.” Cristiana looked up at the man.

“Now, may we leave?” Jarin said, annoyed.

Cristiana gave him a pointed look as she handed the cup back to Mistress Teagan. She longed to ask the lady if she could pray for her eye, but dared not. ’Twould not only be most unseemly to mention it, but Sir Jarin was right. Time was of the essence.

“Allow me to show you to Challenger. This way.” Master Teagan started out the door, but his wife drew him to the side and down the corridor toward the front.

“No doubt they would pay handsomely for them, and ye know we need the coin.” Her words, meant only for her husband, made their way to Cristiana’s ears, withal. And Jarin’s as well, for his jaw tightened and he gestured for her to grab Thebe and rise.

“God’s truth, what ails you, woman?” Master Teagan spat back in a hissed tone. “Get thee hence and do what I say. These are friends of Father Godwin.”

The man reappeared, a tight smile on his lips, and led them through a door into a small fenced yard where a stable housed two horses. He dragged one of them—a pale palfrey that had seen better days—out into the yard and, with Sir Jarin’s help, made quick work of saddling it and strapping on bridle and reins. Then after tying on their packs, Jarin lifted Cristiana and Thebe onto the saddle and swung up behind them.

He grabbed the reins just as the sound of Mistress Teagan’s voice blared from inside the shop. “Back here, sirs! Make haste!”

Master Teagan growled. “Ah, that woman! Go now! Take the path behind the market square. ’Twill lead you to a back gate. Make haste!” He slammed his palm onto the horse’s rump, and Challenger bolted forward.

Cristiana slammed against Jarin’s chest and tightened her grip on Thebe just as shouts peppered them from behind.

“There they are. After them at once!”