Chapter 6

 

Thwack! The arrow split the tiny branch in two, firing splinters in all directions. Alexia drew another, nocked it in her bowstring, and pulled it back, this time aiming at a pine cone sitting atop a fallen trunk nigh twenty yards away. She imagined it was Sir Knight’s tiny head housing his tiny brain. She released the string. Missing its mark, the arrow disappeared into the forest.

“You are not in the Spirit today, Alexia.” Friar Josef stood beside her, a basket of nuts and herbs he’d gathered from the forest floor in his hands.

“They seek the Spear, Friar.” She lowered her bow with a huff.

“At the castle, not here.”

“’Tis only a matter of time. This Bishop Montruse knows my mother had it in her possession.” On her way out of the castle, Alexia had found Anabelle waiting for her in the courtyard, and the young servant had conveyed all she had heard in LeGode’s study. Alexia’s worst fears were confirmed. The powerful Bishop Montruse and his three King’s Guard had come for the Spear. And from what Anabelle had said, they did not intend to return to London without it.

Friar Josef smiled and glanced at the rays of the morning sun piercing the canopy in glittering beams of light. “Where is your faith, child? God will protect it.”

“God expects me to protect it. Or so you’ve been telling me for years.” She positioned another arrow, this time aiming at a closer branch, all the while desperately trying to evict Sir Knight from her thoughts. An almost impossible feat. Infuriating man. Arrogant boor. Demanding a kiss as the price of his silence!

“God will give you the power to do His will. What a lovely morn.” The friar stopped to pick up another walnut then drew in a deep breath of the moist, loamy air. “Praise God for the beauty of His creation.”

Alexia wasn’t in a praising mood at the moment, nor could she understand why the friar wasn’t more concerned. The King’s Guard were not men to be trifled with. Lifting her bow, she took aim, this time striking her target. Anger. That’s what she needed to keep her focus. Pure, raw anger. “He saw the mark.”

“Hmm. Is that why your fury runs so rampant this morn? Holy saints, this Knight’s Guard has you quite perturbed.”

“How now, Friar? What makes you say so?” She taunted him as she drew back the string and fired at a distant tree. Thwack! It struck the spider she’d aimed for.

He shook his head. “Because the poor innocent trees, cones, and insects suffer so dearly when you are angry.”

Lowering her bow, Alexia kicked a pile of leaves. “Did you not hear me? He saw the mark.” She lowered to sit on a moss-covered boulder and examined the spear tip on her right wrist.

The friar shrugged. “What of it? He knows not what it is.”

“He’s no simpleton, Friar.” Or a weakling. The man was strong. A warrior with reflexes of a cat. Wisdom had mocked her from his eyes. “He will figure it out.”

“You worry overmuch. ’Tis a sin not to trust God.”

“’Tis a sin to throw caution to the wind as well.”

“Patience, child.” The friar smiled down at her from a face so filled with peace and kindness, she wondered if he weren’t one of God’s angels. “God well knew these men would arrive. We must but follow His leading. And pray.”

“I have been.” Almost all night. Sleep refused a visit, so Alexia had spent the dark hours kneeling before the Spear, appealing to God for His protection and to aid her in her task. She’d felt His peace, aye. And His power. But there was something unsettling about Sir Knight that had kept her emotions awhirl. A formidable opponent, to be sure. But ’twas more than that.

A squirrel darted into the clearing and stood on its hind legs, staring up at the friar.

“Here you go, little one.” He plucked a nut from his basket, knelt, and handed it to the creature, who scurried off with his treasure.

Alexia smiled. Her first one today. All woodland creatures adored the friar. She’d yet to see one run from him in fear. ’Twas the loving Spirit of God inside of him, he oft said. Which made her wonder why that same Spirit within her bore not the same effect.

He rose slowly, pressing a hand to his back, his cross wavering over his belly. “The creatures loved your mother as well.”

“You loved her too.”

“Everyone loved her. She had a gentle, kind spirit.”

Sorrow clamped Alexia’s heart. Memories of her mother had faded much these past ten years. “I am nothing like her.”

“Not true.” The friar’s busy brows rose. “You are much like her. Yet different in your own way, stronger, more determined. God made you a warrior.”

“But she was also charged to protect the Spear.”

“Aye, for a different time than this.”

Images filled Alexia’s mind, images of a candlelit room, sobbing servants, a priest giving last rites, and her mother’s frail body lying in her bed. Moist hair had stuck to her feverish face, the strands glittering gold in the candlelight as if they clung to the last spark of life leaching from her. “I remember her last day like ’twas yesterday…the fevers, the bleedings, the bitter stench of death.”

Sitting beside her, the friar placed his hand atop hers. “She loved you immensely.”

Alexia glanced up at the canopy of leaves fluttering in the wind. “The last time I felt her touch me, she slipped the Spear tip into my hand and closed my fingers over it. At the time I had no idea what it was. Then she motioned me forward and whispered in my ear, ‘You are the Protector of the Spear now, Alexia. Guard it with your life.’”

Alexia fingered the mark on her wrist. “Then this appeared. One minute there was naught but bare skin, the next, the mark of a spear. At a mere eight years of age, how was I to know what it meant?”

The friar nodded, sorrow glistening his eyes. “She asked me to look after you.” He set down his basket and breathed a sigh. “Less than a year after that, I heard of the plot against your life.”

“I still wonder at the truth of such a tale.” Anger surged at all the wasted years.

“I would not have stolen you away if I weren’t convinced your life was in danger. Afterward, ’twas a simple task to spread the rumor of your death by wolves since you so oft snuck from your chamber at night.”

“Yet we still do not know the perpetrator. Or if he is even still at Luxley.”

“I have asked God to reveal the villain, but alas, He’s been silent. He has only told me the threat is still very real.” He gripped her hand, pleading in his eyes. “If you would but use the power God has given you when you are at the castle, mayhap you could discover the truth.”

“I have tried, Friar.” She fisted her hand and groaned. “I am too distraught over my sister, too nervous. I cannot sense things like I can here in the forest.”

“You must seek the peace within. Trust God, and the sight will come.”

She nodded. “I do sense something there. Evil, darkness.” She looked at him. “I simply do not see the source.”

“It will come.” He smiled.

“It makes no sense.” She rubbed her temples. “What threat am I?” A chorus of birdsong filtered down from above as if God were trying to lighten their mood. But how could Alexia find joy when she was kept from her home, from her family? “What threat is my sister?”

“How does Cristiana fare?”

“Worse. In truth, Friar. I fear she’s being poisoned.”

Friar Josef frowned and grabbed the cross hanging on his chest. “This is not good.”

At the lack of his usual optimism and faith, Alexia’s gut clenched. “You suspect someone?”

“Mayhap. But ’tis too early to say.”

Rising, Alexia grabbed her bow. “I know you told me to stay away for a time, but ’tis been a sennight. I must see my sister.”

“What of this King’s Guard?”

“He knows only that I am the Falcon of Emerald Forest. I cannot…nay, I will not leave Cristiana alone. Not when she is ill. What if someone wishes her dead as well?” She flung the bow over her shoulder. “Besides, Sir LeGode will wonder at my absence, and I must discover how the search goes for the Spear—whether they take to the forest and we must be on our guard.”

The friar gave a tilted smile. “You give many reasons for your disobedience.”

Alexia kissed him on the cheek, luring a blush from his lined skin. “You have been a father to me, dear friar, and I love you dearly, but I must follow God’s leading.”

“I fear ’tis your leading you follow.” His dark eyes held censure. “Remember patience, dear one, and listen to the Spirit.”

“You have my troth. Now, see that pine cone?” She pointed to the one she’d missed before. Then, positioning an arrow, she pulled back the string and closed her eyes, seeking direction. Her senses woke, her spirit saw. She released the arrow.

The pine cone shattered into a dozen pieces.

 

♥♥♥

 

After a week of searching every crack, corner, and crevice of Luxley Castle, no trace of the Spear had been found. At least not the one they sought. There were spears aplenty, of course, along with crossbows, swords, armor, and pikes, not to mention dust, sewage, slop, and rats. But no spear tip. Would they even recognize it should they find it?

Now, as Ronar and his men rode through the muddy streets of the village, he wondered if the French priest had told the truth. Or had he merely been trying to relieve himself of the king’s emissaries ere they chopped off his head?

Rubbing the sweat from the back of his neck, he exchanged a glance with Jarin, riding beside him.

“’Tis hotter than Hades out here.” Jarin removed his hat to rake back his hair.

“Might as well be Hades for as miserable as I am,” Damien remarked from Ronar’s other side, holding his gut as his horse ambled along.

“Mayhap if you didn’t take to your spirits every eve, Damien.”

“What else to do? I tire of this search.” He gripped the hilt of his sword. “Warriors sent on a lady’s errand.”

“’Tis important to the king,” Ronar returned, though he quite agreed. Surely their skills could be put to better use. He’d signed on with the King’s Guard because he wanted his life to count for something. He wanted to do good for once, to serve God and king, and to leave his mark. But after a week in Luxley, boredom began to set in, especially since he’d not seen a glimpse of Lady Falcon.

“There are many delights in the castle to entertain besides spirits, Damien,” Jarin interjected, wearing a quite-pleased-with-himself look that always followed a night spent in female company.

Damien only groaned in reply.

Upon spotting the King’s Guard, villagers parted the way, some casting cursory glances toward them, others dipping their heads out of respect. No doubt word of their mission had spread, and Ronar wondered if ’twould do any good to question them as the bishop ordered. Surely if someone knew anything about the Spear, they would have come forward by now to collect the reward.

’Twas the fear he saw in some of their eyes that disturbed Ronar most. He had no wish for anyone but his enemies to fear him. He had tossed the cloak of power away once and had no desire to wear it again. But ’twas well known that the King’s Guards fiercely obeyed his Majesty’s every command, no matter how harsh or cruel it may be.

They passed the wealthier homes made of stone and slate and came upon the smaller peasant cottages of wood and straw. Thatched roofs, made green by moss and lichen, extended down over walls to offer shelter from the rain and snow. Gray smoke rose from openings in roofs, while chickens and geese wandered about yards strewn with piles of firewood, privies, and various houses for hens, geese, baking, and brewing.

The clank clank of a blacksmith’s hammer rang through the street, accompanied by lowing of cows and snort of pigs, and villagers conversing and haggling over wares. The odor of refuse, animals, and pottage pricked Ronar’s nose as he lifted his eyes to gaze over the thatched roofs and beyond the city wall to farmland spread in all directions. Both men and women labored among the crops in the stifling heat, and a vision emerged of the bishop as Ronar had last seen him, lounging in a chair in the great hall while servants attended his every need.

They turned a corner and headed toward the parish church, where all important village business took place. There, shops lined the streets—the apothecary, spice monger, metalworker and leatherworks among them. Hawkers shouted from the front of stores and also from carts they wheeled about, carrying their wares.

“Hot peascods,” one of them shouted.

“Rushes, fair and green!”

“Hot sheep’s feet!”

A troupe of musicians played instruments while a man dressed in colorful attire danced. Children ran and twirled to the music, nearly bumping into two men playing draughts. On the opposite corner, a man in a cowl preached to a crowd.

Ronar was about to give the order to halt when several yards past the church, exclamations of glee hailed from a mob of peasants. A few of them shot gazes toward Ronar, and instantly their gaiety ceased and whispering ensued.

“What goes on there? Disband at once!” Ronar shouted as he urged his horse into a gallop toward them.

Shuffling sounded, followed by grunts and groans, and the group moved as one behind a cottage. Within minutes, the peasants reappeared and scattered over the street, none of them daring a glance his way.

Raising a brow toward his friends, who had also witnessed the oddity, Ronar halted Penance before the cottage, now abandoned by all but a mother sow sifting through a pile of refuge. Ordering Jarin and Damien to remain out front, Ronar dismounted and, with a hand on the hilt of his sword, crept around the side of the house toward the back. There, he found naught but an old woman washing clothes over a pot of boiling water, a small herb garden, and a litter of piglets wallowing in the mud. The woman gave him a toothless grin. The piglets began nibbling his boots. Shaking them off, he circled around front and gestured toward the door. With his men behind him, he pushed open the wooden slab that hung crooked on its hinges and entered the dim interior.

A woman and her children huddled in the corner opposite a cow chewing hay. A man stood in the center beside a trestle table and chairs, hiding something with his body. Ronar peered around him to two piles of hay that failed mercilessly in their attempt to hide deer carcasses lying near the back of the room. The smell of some type of stew rose from an iron pot over the fire.

“Where, pray tell, did you get that fresh meat?” Ronar asked.

The man cowered before him, not meeting his gaze. “I know not, Sir.”

“The bucks simply appeared in your home?” Ronar snorted. “The king forbids hunting in his forest. You are to buy meat from those licensed to bring it to market.”

The woman spoke, her voice quavering. “We cannot afford t’ purchase it, Sir.”

“Heed your tongue, Martha!” the man snapped toward the woman, and she retreated into the corner, her little ones diving into the folds of her skirts.

Ronar glanced around the tiny one-room cottage with its dirt floor, two straw mattresses, and scarcely any furniture. And he forced down the anguish in his heart. Not forty yards hence, the lady and steward of the castle lived in excess. How abundance mocked the needy. Yet hadn’t he done the same in his youth?

Glancing at his friends, he snapped his head toward the door. “Leave us.”

Jarin and Damien hesitated a moment, but finally did as he said.

Ronar faced the peasant. “Tell me who brought you the deer, and you will suffer no punishment.”

The man kept his head down, his breath coming fast. The cow snorted, and one of the children whimpered.

“I wish ’er no harm.”

“Her?” Ronar shifted his stance. “No harm will come to her either, you have my troth.”

“’Tis…’tis the Falcon of Emerald Forest, Sir. She is good t’ us. She feeds us when we ’ave naught else to eat. Prithee, leave ’er be.”

“What is her common name?”

“I know not.”

“When was she last here?”

“Only minutes ago, Sir.”

Ronar sped from the hut and found his friends. “Question the villagers about the Spear and report back to the bishop.” He mounted his horse.

“Where are you going?” Jarin shouted after him as he galloped away.

“To catch a thief.”