The Blight of Muirwood

The Aldermaston motioned to Prestwich who withdrew another scroll. The steward’s voice was thick and cultured. “This letter informs us that the Queen Dowager will be attending Whitsunday at Muirwood this year. We expect her arrival in a fortnight. Her retinue will be joining her as well and we have been asked to provide lodging for them at our expense.”

Lia looked at the Aldermaston in alarm. “Does she know that Ellowyn is here?”

“I do not know. I can and must presume that somehow she does know and that her retinue will be prepared for many possibilities. They may try to abduct her, poison her or the earls, or determine what they can about our defenses – to plumb the depth of our commitment to protect her. They may test the strength of our thoughts. That is why the earls are staying here and not in the village. That is why they will only eat from my kitchen. And that is why my own hunter will be responsible for their safety while they are here. If any threat emerges, you are to flee to the tunnels and use the orb to find a safe haven for them. Martin, you do not have long to find your quarry, for you must return before the festival so that I have both of you here when the Queen Dowager arrives. Remember, she was the slain king’s wife. I understand that she has been visiting the towns and Abbeys in surrounding Hundreds in recent months. She is a…cunning woman. Be on your guard with her.”

Martin leaned forward. “It would be safer to move the girl now then, Aldermaston.”

He shook his head. “I would rather she stay under Muirwood’s protection while it still is strong. We have time yet, Martin. There is still time.”

Lia’s mind was burdened with too many thoughts and worries. She folded her arms and looked down at her lap, feeling the weight of her responsibility.

The Aldermaston’s voice intruded on her thoughts. “So you see, Lia. I have not sent Martin on the harder errand after all.”

CHAPTER SIX:

Promise

Lia smoothed the linen napkin enclosing the foodstuffs and carefully packed it inside Martin’s baggage. She included some small pouches of spices that she knew he liked and then cinched it closed and held it out to him. Martin gave her one of his rare smiles. His bow was strung, the two quivers full of brightly-fletched arrows, his hand resting casually on the gladius pommel in a way that made her worry. Anything involving the work of death and war made her slightly sick. The nightmares of the battlefield of Winterrowd still haunted her, though not as often.

She gave him a hug, which always made him scowl and shoo her away. “’Tis you who need the comforting, lass. By Cheshu, I get the joy of wandering again in the fenlands and smashing little bloodsucking flies. Your work is more dangerous.” He looked at her sternly. “I have taught you well enough if you had the mind to listen. The hunter is patient. The prey is careless. You are a good lass. Be wary. Be wise. Be cautious. I will return within a fortnight.” He reached out and smoothed a lock back over her ear. It was a tender gesture, a subtle showing of affection, and it made her swallow.

“I will have Pasqua save you a slice of sambocade,” Lia said. “Maybe a whole dish.”

He shook his head and pounded his stomach. “It would not settle right to eat the whole thing. But a slice – that would be worth returning to. Keep an eye on the learner quarters. I think there are several of the first years who are getting a bit daring now that the year is finishing. I would not scold you if you dyed some of their hair blue if they wander at night. Woad is a useful plant for that.”

Lia laughed and gave him another hug. Then she opened the pouch at her waist and withdrew the Cruciger orb. He peered at her, his eyes suddenly fierce and penetrating. The scowl was still there beneath the bushy cropped beard that was mostly silver and black. He grimaced, his teeth showing. It was as if he wanted to say something, but could not.

“Show me the way to the man known as Scarseth,” Lia whispered, unnerved by his gaze.

The orb twirled and spun in her hand and pointed northwest, towards the Bearden Muir. He looked at the spindles, at the writing that appeared on the surface of the orb, but he could not read either. He nodded to her and then departed, tugging up his leather cowl to shade his face from the noonday sun.

After he was gone from sight, she looked down at the orb again. Show me Colvin, she thought, and again it directed her, pointing towards the Cider Orchard, where she expected him to be. Carefully, she placed it back in the pouch and headed off towards the orchard. So many thoughts collided in her mind, that she nearly stumbled as she walked. Of the many threats and dangers, it was difficult untangling them all. Mastons were still being murdered. The Demont girl had enemies. The Queen Dowager would be arriving soon at Muirwood. How could she, one person, handle it all? Part of her had been dreading Whitsunday for weeks, and that had turned to excitement when she learned Colvin had arrived. But instead of enjoying the dance, she would be worried about him.