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8 Intrigue
The room was silent when Suri woke. She sat up, saw that the slab had been removed from the door. She paid it no mind for the moment, seeing no need to panic, and washed herself for her “morning” prayers. She finished dutifully and had begun to put on her few ornaments when the door opened. She did not panic or turn, knowing without looking who was there. When she finished dressing, she rose softly and bowed to him. “Good Evening, Hospitaler.”
He stopped, looking down at her, still uncertain about his charge, even after spending the first and the last hours of the day in prayer. He grunted a greeting and collected his sword. He noted absently that his blade was easily the size of the girl he was charged to protect. He shouldered it, adjusted his tabard and belt and then gestured for Suri to follow him.
The guards at the gate did not question Agravaine as he approached, merely stepped quickly out of his way. The outer hall was mostly empty, only a hand full of humans and even less of the blood. Agravaine approached the audience hall, only to be told by the guards that the Duke was still in his chambers and wished both his presence and that of the girl as soon as they had arrived. He nodded, led her through a side chamber and upstairs.
The Duke was preparing himself for the evening. He dismissed the mortal servant who was adjusting his clothing and turned to face them. “Ah, Agravaine, Sorieya. Come in.”
Suri bowed. “Good Evening, Dueno.”
He nodded in her direction. “Agravaine, I have an errand for you. There is word of a body near the canal by the east wall. I need you to check it out before some mortal finds it. Make certain it is not… a breach of our security, before dispatching the mortals to deal with it. Pick two men whose discretion you can trust. You know what to do with it if there is a problem.”
He bowed, nodding, giving off a low growl of acceptance. He turned and left the room.
The Duke turned back to where Suri was standing quietly. “Ah, have you fed, my dear?”
“Si, Dueno. Your knight fed me well last night.”
“I see. Well, I have not, and I might as well show you the cellar.” He gestured for her to follow and led her to a curtained wall, pulling the tapestry aside. He pressed upon a certain stone and, with a soft click, a door swung open into a dark corridor. He took up a gold candlestick and entered the passage, closing the door behind her. “This place is full of these things, secret byways and peepholes.” He led her down a narrow, twisting hallway and down a long stairway. She could feel the change in the atmosphere as they went deeper, knew when they had entered the cellar.
“Does anyone else know about these passages, Dueno?” she asked softly, fearfully touching the walls as she passed them, but getting nothing.
“Several people, I’m afraid. Too many to isolate, but I believe only I know them all. I am certainly the only one who knows where I keep my private stock.” He made a turn, entered a narrow side tunnel and pushed something out of the way. “There are normal ways into the cellar, but this is the quickest, most private path from my chambers.”
Suri found herself in the wine cellar, the walls lined with barrels and casks. On one wall was a large floor to ceiling rack of bottles. It was to this wall that the Duke led her, after carefully dropping the inner latch on the door to the kitchens. He grabbed hold of the side of the rack and pulled it away from the wall to reveal a series of holes dug into the stone. Most of these holes contained plain glass bottles. He pulled one out and showed her a small, handwritten label on the side. The symbol was unfamiliar to her.
She shook her head, “It makes no sense to me, Dueno.”
He smiled. “Hopefully, it makes no sense to anyone. It is my own coding. This one is one of my favorites, criminal, properly judged and executed. Which I believe you cannot consume. He set the bottle back and pulled another. He slid it back, withdrew and replaced a few others before he managed to find one he was satisfied with. He showed her the label. “This symbol represents wrongful death, violence, accidents, etc.” He pulled another, “and this one natural death. I never bothered with diseased blood, so you should not have to worry about that. These are usually kept in the back corner, as I rarely drink them, not with such a ready supply of villains to sate me, but some are interspersed.”
She looked up at him, watched him for a moment. “Tell me, royal one, why are you showing me this? Telling me all of this?”
“So you can have a supply of sustenance at hand,” he answered, looking at her oddly.
She smiled, shook her head with a light jingle. “I understand that, but… why show me, when you have shown no one else? Why choose me, a woman you have known less than a day to confide in?”
He stopped, found he had to think about that. “I don’t know. I guess part of it is that you belong to me and I’ve never owned anyone in that way. I feel a responsibility to you. Something about you makes me trust you and…” he sighed, “I need someone to confide in, someone with no designs upon me or my power. In my position, there are few you can trust.”
She nodded, her eyes going sad and dark, “I understand that. I know that kind of isolation well.”
He lifted her chin to look at him. “I guess that is what I sense in you.” He smiled. “You see, I, too, am not without my powers.” He turned, took out a bottle and replaced the rack. “Now that you know where it is, feel free to take what you need, when you need. Just be certain that the secret is kept, and let me know if the supply of acceptable blood runs low.”
She bowed, “As you will, Dueno.”
Agravaine led the way down the dark street. He had chosen soldiers of the blood so that no torches would be needed which would call attention to their work before they were ready for it. He hated this part of town. It was filled with low women and baser men and the whole district disgusted him. There was a tavern near the East wall, busy even at this time of night, and occasionally, on slower evenings, the barmaids would hover near the doors, seeking air and custom. He turned down an darker alley before they came too near the tavern and headed for the canal. Even here the stench of unwashed bodies and cheap scents made him stop breathing.
By the time the canal was in view, they had already found the body. Or rather, part of it. One of the soldiers stepped on a hand. Agravaine stopped, concentrating his senses. He followed his instincts closer towards the canal, just out of the starlight and knelt by an old fish barrel. Even its stench was not enough to keep him from locating the body of the corpse. He rolled it over and growled, low in his throat.
One of the soldiers approached carrying part of a leg and crouched near the giant. “Pretty neat sword-work, sir,” he admired. “But there’s no unnatural decay or suspicious marks. There is not so much blood, which leads me to believe someone went overboard and did what they could to cover it up. I see no reason not to let the mortals….” He looked where Agravaine was pointing and frowned.
The chest cavity had been cracked open and the heart partially pulled out, squeezed. But imbedded in the organ was the broken off end of a make-shift stake. The soldier unfolded his cloak and laid the leg on it, went back to tell his other companion to start collecting.
He led her back up to his chambers, paused first to make certain no one was in the room. Noticing the spyhole, Suri stepped near it and closed her eyes, holding out her hands without making any contact with anything. She felt something here, someone watching, waiting. It was a cold presence, sending a chill down her back. Whoever had stood here recently had waited with no good intent upon them.
The Duke’s soft voice came near her ear. “What? What do you sense?”
“Someone… was here, other than we. They… wanted… nothing good. More I cannot sense. Too old, too far away. Other passings have disrupted the sensations. But it was strong to still have even a remnant.” She turned to him with her sad eyes. “Forgive me, Noble Dueno, for my limitations.”
He gave her shoulder a tender pat. “You are young yet. Have patience and work with what you have. Your gifts will grow in time. For now, I accept your limitations.”
They entered the Duke’s cozy chamber, just as a disturbance was erupting outside the room. Listening, they could hear Ben’s distraught voice over the protestations of the soldiers guarding the door. Turning, Suri gestured for the Duke to return to the passage. “Let me deal with him, Dueno. Please.”
“What if he….”
“God will protect me. Besides, it is you he wishes harm to, not me. Perhaps I can set his mind at ease, reason with him, which will not be possible if the object of his anguish is present. Go, listen from inside.”
He smiled, let her usher him back inside the passage and straighten the tapestry over the closed door.
Suri went over to the fire and knelt beside the Duke’s chair, as if he were sitting there and she were at his knee. A moment later, a soldier entered, looking for the Duke. He saw her and bowed. “Is the Duke….?”
“Please, let the man in,” she said softly. “I have been asked by the Duke to speak with him. But do not tell Seńor Crofter that he is not here. Just send him in.”
He bowed again and opened the door. The husband, a man of medium height and a farmer’s build shouldered his way into the room, prepared to storm up to the Duke only to find the room empty save for the girl. He pulled up short. “Where is the Duke?!” he demanded.
Suri looked up, read his plain brown eyes. He was angry, dangerously so. But he felt it a righteous anger and his accusations just, that much she could tell. His pain, also so prevalent, tugged at her heart. Silently she gestured to a chair across from her. He stalked over, but refused to sit. Fists on his hips, he glared down at her. “Who are you and where is the Duke?”
“Please, Seńor. He is not in this room. I would like to speak with you, if I may?”
“Who are you?” he demanded again.
She touched her heart then her forehead as she bowed. “I am Sorieya, the Duke’s Soothsayer and Truthteller.”
“What has that to do with me and what I wish to discuss with the Duke?” he sneered.
“Noble one, please, if you will allow me to speak?”
He snorted. “Noble? You are sadly mistaken, witch.” Suri flinched at the word witch, something he noticed and, oddly, delighted him. “If I were noble this would never have happened. I married a lady of minor nobility, and your precious Duke resents that.”
“Forgive my rudeness, honorable one, but the Duke does not resent, to my knowledge, your marriage to nobility. I heard whispers that night that you were warned it was not wise for one of the blood to marry a mortal.”
Now it was Ben’s turn to flinch. He looked down at her warily, suddenly on edge.
“You see, Seńor, I can see into the souls of men, and read the impressions and emotions they leave behind. I have been set the task of helping find out who did kill your noble wife. And I can tell you with all honesty, that my royal master, the Duke, did not commit the act.”
“He had a hand in it. Ordered it if it was not his hand that stabbed her,” he sneered, pacing angrily.
“I assure you, as God is my witness,” she went on softly, her voice soothing, “the Duke did not wish this, or have to do with it. You were warned, as I understand it, because there are those among our kind who do resent the match, but the Duke had no ill intentions to your lady, may her soul reside happily in heaven.”
He sneered again. “Not damned likely.”
“Belief is your choice, honored Seńor, but I tell only the truth. Someone here wishes the Duke a great deal of harm, if not the true death….”
He cut her off, unmoved by the softness of her voice. “It was not the Duke who was attacked, but my Genevieve!” he snarled. In his rage, he swung his ham-fist and sent a small table full of ceramic jars and vases crashing to the floor. Suri did not even flinch.
“And someone wishes you to point your finger and preferably your dagger in the Duke’s direction.” She paused, let that thought sink in. She looked up at him, capturing his dull brown eyes with her golden ones. “Will you let yourself be so used by the nobility in their petty games of intrigue and politics? A man of your strength and skill should not be a mere pawn in someone else’s game.”
Frustrated and pushed into a stalemate, Ben deliberately broke a cut glass vase of Venetian cobalt. “I… I will give him more time, but… not much. And he’d better be able to prove it, witch!” he snarled as he left, slamming the door behind him.
Suri remained as she was until the Duke sank into his chair beside her. There was silence for a long time, filled only by the crackling of the fire beside them.
The Duke sighed. “This bodes not well,” he muttered.
She lowered her head. “I did what I could, Dueno.”
He reached out and set his hand gently on her hood. “You did well, my girl. You bought me time, and even that was more than I should have asked of you.”
She looked up at him, a sparkle in her eye. “You did not ask, Dueno. You allowed me my own will in the matter.”
He smiled ruefully. “You are too wise for a woman, you know that, Suri?”
She bowed. “God has been generous, Dueno.” She glanced over at the broken pottery and glass. “As was Seńor Crofter with his temper.”
He looked over at the damage. “I loved that vase,” he muttered sullenly. “I guess there is naught for it but to call a servant to toss the pieces to the midden.”
She looked up at him. “Dueno? If I may be permitted, I might be able to salvage the pieces.”
He looked at her curiously. “Even if you could discern which piece went to which pottery, and managed to reassemble them, they would never look right. Unless you were thinking of donating them to the poor, though they would make poor enough donations at best.”
She bowed slightly, “Though the gifting of alms is noble and expected, Dueno, you are right. Even reassembled they would serve poorly. I had something more ornamental in mind.”
His eyebrow went up. “Oh?”
“Do you remember the box I brought to you last night?”
“The one with the rat?” he said, making a face.
She nodded. “Si, Dueno. The ‘jeweled’ surface of that box was made by me, from bits of broken tiles, glass and pottery. It is called lapidary, a form of art with which I indulged myself at the Mosque in Lisbon. I could sort through the shards and salvage most, use them to enhance some object of yours. A box, a chest, a section of floor or wall. Anything you desire, Dueno.”
He leaned back, mulling the thought over. “I do have this box, something I was going to give to the Bishop as a gift, a place to keep his stationary and supplies. Do you think you could do something with it?”
“I will certainly attempt to, Dueno. Is there a small box or bag I might use to collect and sort the pieces?”
He got up, rummaged through some papers on a shelf, found a plain box underneath one stack and pulled it out. He removed the few quills that remained inside, setting them on the shelf by themselves and handed her the box. Suri rose, thanking him and moved to collect the pieces. She was still on the floor, when Agravaine was admitted into the room.
Agravaine was not in a good mood. The soldier who had entered with him shrank back against the wall by the door, as out of the way as possible. Agravaine looked only briefly at the woman on the floor, saw what she was doing, but kept his opinions to himself. The scent of lotus oil still clung to her and brought forth memories of…. He forced his mind back to the work at hand, bowed to the Duke.
“Yes, Agravaine,” the Duke began, turning from contemplating the fire. “What did you discover?”
Agravaine looked from the Duke’s dark and thoughtful mood, back to the broken glass and pottery the girl was picking up from the floor. He looked questioningly back at the Duke, made a sign the Duke had come to be quite familiar with in the past year of the knight’s service. ‘Trouble?’
The younger man waved it off, shaking his head. “Ben. He threw a tantrum in here.” He held up his hand for peace as he saw the color heighten in Agravaine’s face. “No, I was not here. That does not matter at the moment. Please tell me the body can be handled by the mortal….” He stopped, sighed. The look on his first knight’s face told him otherwise. “Someone’s sloppy feed?”
Agravaine shook his head, catching the Duke’s attention with his somber expression.
“Suri, come here a moment,” he called.
Suri swept the last few pieces into the box and rose, bowed before the Duke. “Si, Dueno?”
“Your voice, please.”
Agravaine turned to her, told her what he needed his Duke to know. Her face paled as she turned to her master. “He says the body… was one of the blood.”
“One of us? How? Staked? Dismembered? Charred? If there had been a fire….”
Agravaine growled, shaking his head. He tried to explain, then gestured for the Duke to come to see the body himself.
“It is here, in the castle?”
He nodded.
“Lead the way,” he said.
Suri started to follow, but the instant Agravaine heard her move, he stopped, gestured for her to stay here. The Duke frowned, but Agravaine was emphatic. The body was no sight for a woman: slave, peasant or lady.
The Duke turned to her. “Can you read a corpse as you read the living and objects?”
She gave a small bow. “Forgive me, Dueno, but I do not know until it has been attempted.” She saw the firm set to Agravaine’s jaw and realized the source of his reluctance. “I was taken from a captured city,” she told him. “I have seen death before. I am willing to try if you think this might be in some way connected with the lady’s death.”
The Duke turned the Norseman. “She comes.”
Agravaine ground his teeth, but silently led the way. Sometimes, he thought, the boy had no sense of propriety.
The body was laid out on a table in an empty room near the back of the keep, had been roughly reassembled on the cloak that had carried it in. There was very little blood. The head was missing, presumably somewhere at the bottom of the canal. Agravaine felt proud of his chosen men when one of them moved to block the veiled girl’s view of the corpse the moment he saw her.
Suri smelled what little blood there was the moment she entered, and prepared herself for the worst. With silent prayers, she steeled herself for a brave face whatever she might see.
The Duke looked the body over without touching it. There was a broken shaft of wood imbedded in the crushed heart. He turned to Suri, waving the man away. “It is grisly work, my dear, but…” He stopped, saw her already rolling up her tunic sleeves and setting her shawl out of the way.
The Duke had everyone step away from the body as Suri approached it. Agravaine had to admire her steady reaction. Deep inside, Suri told herself that she had seen worse, done worse once, though not nearly as neatly. She laid her hands gingerly on the severed hands of the corpse, closed her eyes and tried to see what remained of the soul. Images of soldiers, Agravaine, paraded before her vision, making things difficult. A booted foot crushed the dead fingers. She delved deeper, focused beyond that.
“He was a thief,” she began. “Petty, no real ambitions beyond greed. His are certainly the hands which killed Ben’s wife, and he was paid handsomely for the death, but the coin… I cannot determine. It was not gold, I think. But… something is wrong here. Someone… he was meeting…” She moved her hands over other parts of him blindly, following signals and images already hours old. “His last emotions were anger and betrayal. And hunger.”
She opened her eyes. “He is younger than I,” she said with a start. “I would say only three nights old at the most. That he murdered and was murdered I have no doubt, nor that he knew and was expecting the killer, if not his own murder. I believe he was waiting for the one who had given him the dagger. The face of his killer I could not determine. I do not think even he saw that clearly, but he knew the person, if not true identity.”
The Duke thanked her, moving out of her way as she stepped back from the body.
Agravaine watched her curiously as she crossed to a nearby basin of water and washed her hands carefully. He had been told her abilities, but had never seen them work. As she had passed her hands over the body he had felt something radiate from her. He doubted anyone else had noticed, but it had resonated against something deep within him that was on a similar chord, something, to his surprise, he could only describe as holy.
She stepped back into the shadows, out of the way as the Duke turned to Agravaine. He threw the corner of the cloak over the parts of the corpse and leaned against the edge of the table, thinking out loud. “Only a few days old,” he muttered. “He kills a mortal woman with my dagger, ignoring for the moment how he obtained that, does it in front of everyone as I come out of my audience hall. The lights mysterious blow out for the killing. Then, the next night, he is found in pieces by the canal. Waiting for someone, she said. Anger and betrayal. Obviously, this man was made to give him the speed and the ability to reach his target in the dark without being detected, then killed to keep him from telling who hired him.”
Agravaine growled, frustrated that they were no closer to the truth. He gestured, miming the dagger. The Duke nodded. “Yes, my friend. If only we knew who had taken and given him my dagger. It was put in a most unlikely place, though. I was nowhere near that amphora.”
“Perhaps,” Suri offered from her corner, “it was mea….” Her words crescendoed into a scream that was quickly muffled.
Agravaine, who had already been turning, saw the hands grabbing her from the opening in the wall. She reached back, clawing at the shadowed face, her golden eyes wide in terror. He lunged, caught the door to the secret passage before it could swing closed and grabbed her by the many folds of her tunic. He ripped her easily from the man’s grasp and propelled her to the floor at his feet in the narrow passage. He stepped over her huddled form easily, and caught the would be assassin as he turned to flee.
He pulled him roughly to his face, snarling, demanding who and why without possibility of being understood. The man’s eyes were glazed, wild, as Agravaine shook him. The body went limp in his grasp. He sniffed, looked down and saw the blossom of blood from his ribs, and the hilt of a dagger aimed upwards into his heart. Agravaine let loose a bellow of rage that echoed throughout that part of the keep, sending shivers up the spine of mortal and vampire alike. He hauled the corpse back up the passageway. The girl was still crouched on the floor where he had thrown her. He bent and lifted her up by the waist with one arm and carried her back into the room.
The Duke had several guards with him when Agravaine emerged. He growled as Agravaine threw the body down and set the girl to her feet.
“I needed him alive!” he snapped.
Agravaine only growled in response, gestured to the body and made a motion of stabbing himself. As he began to remove his arm from Suri’s waist, he felt her weight shift, her support gone. It was then that he noticed the roughly wrapped handle sticking out of her back under her shoulder blade. He held onto her, kept his arm securely around her waist and pulled the object from her body. Her hands held onto his arm, the grip tightening as the object was removed, but she did not cry out. He carefully lowered her to her knees, did not let go until her hands touched the floor to support herself. He looked down at the bloodied blade in his hands and was surprised to discover that it was no ordinary knife. The weapon was a piece of wood, roughly shaved down to form a blade, the thicker ‘hilt’ wrapped in rags to protect the assailant’s hand.
The Duke bent to Suri, to make certain she was all right. Her eyes were wild, and her veil askew. Her whole body shivered. “Hashishim,” she whispered.
“What? What is that?” The Duke looked up at the giant towering over her, confused. He knew by the man’s scowl that he, at least, had understood. “Agravaine, what is hasisheem?” he demanded, badly mispronouncing the Arabic word.
In answer, Agravaine showed him the dagger. The Duke scowled himself. He knew what the wooden blade meant. He moved aside as Agravaine knelt before her. The scent of lotus was distinctly tinged with real terror. He made her look up at him, barely touching her. He shook his head. ‘No Hashishim,’ he told her, mouthing the words as well as gesturing. ‘No assassin.’
Suri felt an intention of peace radiating from him, though it was tainted with his rage. He was trying to calm her, but how could he understand her fear? The fear every royal child lived with from an early age, the fear that she had faced fifteen years ago. As he drew her attention to the body, dressed in the common clothes of an English servant, and not the dreaded black robes of the order of assassins, she realized that the words his lips had formed had not been English, but Arabic. Before she could question this, he placed the dagger before her, the one he had pulled from her still burning shoulder. There was a stench about the crude wooden blade, other than her blood, and she bent to sniff it, still not touching the loathsome object. “Ajo?” she said, looking to the men for an explanation. “I am sorry, I do not know the English word.”
“Garlic?” the Duke said, sniffing. Agravaine twitched his nose minutely and growled with a nod. “Superstitious idiot,” he mumbled. “Go ahead and touch the blade, tell us what you see. Maybe we will at last have a face to this plotter.”
She shook her head, pulled back. “There is too much there. I… I am afraid….”
Agravaine made a low noise, drawing her attention to him, and tapped the cross on his chest, traced it with his finger. She lowered her head, duly chastised.
“You are right, Hospitaler. God forgive me.” She closed her eyes a moment, composed herself, drawing upon her faith to still the fear. She had no doubts that God had not forsaken her. What was there to fear that God could not help her to handle? She prayed for strength and reached out for the blade.
Agravaine almost snatched the crude dagger away from her when her head snapped back, her eyes, unseeing, opened, and a sharp breath escaped her. The Duke but a hand on his arm, stopping him, his eyes glued to her.
The images that assaulted her were swift and clear, running in a reverse order that threatened to confuse matters. The emotions, however, were strong, and it took all her power not to succumb to them. “Have to make it. Kill the Moorish witch. Kill the vampire whore. Suffer not a witch, suffer not…” she gasped, reciting the litany that had consumed the last thoughts its wielder had possessed. She closed her eyes, turned her head, forced herself to go farther, beyond the thoughts to what had put them there. But there was only a voice, a sibilant whisper which recited over and over the same words. “A wooden knife to kill the vampire. She’ll destroy everything holy. Stab the heart and burn the body, cut out the heart.”
She dropped the knife, leaning away from it as if it were a serpent. There were dark tears in her golden eyes. She shook her head as the Duke tried to comfort her, the coins at her brow ringing almost urgently. “Lo siento, Dueno. Eso es todo….”
“In English, Suri, please,” the Duke said.
Agravaine felt physical pain, watching the expression on the woman’s face. He pitied her, the things she must have seen in those moments, felt an overwhelming and inexplicable desire to comfort her. He tried to tell himself that it was only his sense of chivalry and Christian compassion. The thought of it being anything else confused and disturbed him.
“That is all I can see. There is no more. Just a voice insinuating those words, and… then his own mind repeating them as if they were some devilish command.”
“Indeed,” he muttered. He looked over at Agravaine, saw him tap his forehead and shrugged. “There are many of us who can place thoughts like that into a sleeping mind. No, that, though an important clue, is not our answer. But who ever it is now knows Suri to be one of the blood and wants her out of the way badly.”
Agravaine began signing in earnest, a thought having occurred to him. Suri translated for him, her voice growing slowly more steady. “Who among the blood would benefit most from your deposal, who would need such a circumspect route? Who inherits?” Agravaine nodded.
The Duke sat back on his heels, thought about the matter. He shook his head, “I would have to check the records.” He stood, reached down and helped Suri to her feet. “Agravaine, I want you to stay with her. I shall return as soon as I can, hopefully with some answers.”
Agravaine gave a low growl of disapproval of the idea, which the Duke promptly cut off.
“I am the only one who can go where those particular records are kept. I will take an escort with me, but they will only go so far. Remember, I am not the direct target here, she is. For now any way. And you are the only one I trust enough to guard her. The next attempt may be by one of the blood, and what mortal soldier could stop that?”
Agravaine sighed, nodded.
“Dueno,” she said softly. “You wished for me to work on a box for the Bishop. If you would show me the box, I could work on it whilst you search. The focus might help me.”
He nodded. “Not to mention, there are no secret passages where the box is. It will be easier for Agravaine to protect you.”
Agravaine actually sighed with relief at that, rose and followed behind her as she followed the Duke, first to his chamber to fetch the box of broken pottery and glass, then to a medium-sized room, lit only by racks of candles. There were shelves of books, of all subjects, nearly a hundred of them, some leather-bound, others mostly loose leaves held together by leather cords. It was a treasure trove. There were comfortable, leather covered chairs and tables for reading or writing.
The Duke opened a locked cabinet and took out a plain wooden box. He handed this to Suri. “Something religious, if you would. A cross or a Madonna, or angels.”
She took the box in her hands, bowing as she accepted it.
The Duke turned back to Agravaine. “There is only the one entrance. No one should be able to sneak upon you like before.”
Agravaine nodded, surveyed the room as the Duke left with a small contingent of guards. He chose a low table and moved it near the wall and gestured for Suri to work there. He pulled a chair beside and a little behind the table, where he could keep an eye on the door and her at the same time. Even if some unknown passage were to open in the wall, he was confident he could intercept quickly enough, even anticipate the attack now that he was concentrating on it
Suri bowed and set the boxes down, fetched a large cushion from one of the reading chairs and knelt behind the table, facing the door. She studied the box to be worked on for several minutes, trying to picture some image that would enhance it best. Setting that aside, she emptied the shards on the table and began to sort them by color and sizes. It was work which allowed her mind to wander, to think if she wished, or to meditate, which she attempted, trying to banish the thoughts that had flooded her mind from the poor servant who had tried to kill her.
Agravaine kept half an eye on her, watched the delicate hands swiftly shift and slide the pieces into sorted piles. He was not certain yet what to make of her. She was devout, like a nun, holy, that he could feel about her when he thought on the matter. Concentrating as he was, he could sense it almost as a physical shield surrounding her. He had felt that about few people: a young martyr he remembered from the holy lands, a handful of monks and a single nun that he had honor of protecting once. All of them Christian. That he felt that same divine presence about a Muslim girl confused him, went against almost everything he had been taught. He had learned ages ago that the appearance of a thing did not hold all its truth, but this, this made no sense. It forced him to consider possibilities the Church would consider heresy. But again, he had long ago learned that the Church was run by mortal men, fallible to a fault, and some of those not churchmen by the calling of virtue. Only God, the will of God and the word of God were infallible.
‘They worship God, do they not?’ he asked himself. ‘Albeit differently than Christians. They follow laws similar to our ten commandments. They have their ‘Christ’ in the form of Mohammed, though they do not claim him divine. They refuse to believe that Christ is the divine son of God. But they believe in alms and honor and holiness.’ He looked down at her, still working silently, now beginning to piece together an image from the fragments. ‘Perhaps… would it be heresy if I asked her about her faith? To determine our true differences? Much of what I have seen in my life, both on the field of war and in recaptured cities, and too, here in this small, golden creature in white, contradicts everything we are told about the Muslims and their ways.’
He felt someone approaching, lifted his eyes to the door as it opened. The vague sensation of threat he had felt was belied by the figure of the woman who entered. Lady Tremaine looked surprised and delighted to find Agravaine here alone. She never once looked in Suri’s direction. She set her candle upon a small table and glided across the floor and into a chair which she drew up to Agravaine’s. She purred as she leaned in towards him, the heavy, cloying scent of damask roses assaulted his senses. It was enough to weaken or entrance any mortal man, and he supposed that was the point, but he had the option of breathing or not, and so, found himself quite immune. He looked up at her through the rough mane of hair that had fallen loose of the leather tie he had it bound in. He grumbled a low, half polite greeting.
“Good even’ to you, handsome knight,” she purred. “What finds you sitting all alone here in this dark and dusty chamber? Hmmm?” She reached up with long, pale fingers and brushed aside the golden tendrils from his face, that he might gaze more fully upon her beauty.
Agravaine pulled away, gestured down to Suri and then struck his chest with his fist. She looked at the girl with disdain. “Let my cousin tend to his own slave,” she simpered, began tracing the muscles of his arm through his tunic sleeve.
He gestured again, more emphatically, mostly to get his arm out of her grasp.
“Guarding her?” she sneered.
On the floor, Suri shuddered suddenly. The litany that had driven one man to try to kill her began to run through her mind again, against her will.
“Humph, if she is trouble, chain her. Why waste as valuable a man as yourself protecting a pagan serf?”
Agravaine tried to control his temper. This was the Duke’s cousin, and a lady. Chivalry demanded courtesy, even though she did not deserve it. He signed more carefully, indicating with hands and moving lips the difference between guarding and protecting.
“Protecting?!” she exclaimed. “From what? Like anyone would….” The look in his icy eyes pulled her up short. She tried another tack. “Well, if she were dressed like the other serf women, no one would even see her, much less think twice about her. It is her oddity that drives men to try and take her, the lure of discovering that which is unseen. It is shameful, down right indecent.” She leaned closer, her cool breath caressing his ear as she whispered. “Be careful, my virtuous giant. My cousin no longer takes an interest in women. Take care she does not try to seduce you.”
She drew back as he began a low growl, deep in his chest. She was sorely testing his patience. He recited a prayer in his mind to help him to control it. She got up suddenly, stood in front of him and took his hands in hers, trying to draw him up from his chair. “I need some air. Come with me to the battlements,” she gazed at him coyly, her dark eyes sparkling. “I need someone strong and intimidating to protect me. Some of the soldiers… they look at me shamefully. Makes me fear for my virtue,” she added with a simpering pout.
Agravaine was not fooled, but quenched the unkind internal comments that threatened to form. He pulled his hands back, shook his head and pointed down at his charge again.
Lady Tremaine pouted, stamped her pretty foot. “Well, … bring her along if you have to. You are man enough to protect us both, I am sure.”
He shook his head again, his expression hardening. He signed, tried to make her understand that here he was ordered to stay and here he would remain. He knew the battlements were too dangerous a place to take the girl.
The lady stamped again, “You and your infernal sense of duty!” she scowled. She turned on her heel with a swirl of skirts and flounced to the door. She paused in the open doorway, looked back over her shoulder with a devious, seductive smile. “One day, Agravaine, you will meet a woman that will make you forget your precious Duty. I sincerely hope I am that woman.”
Agravaine merely growled, turning his attention from her before she had even left the room. He looked back down at what his charge was working on. She had been roughing out what seemed to be a trumpeting angel, only, strangely, she had stopped working. Her slim hands hovered over the table, a fragment of cobalt glass turning in her fingers.
Suri’s mind was a whirlpool of scattered emotions and thoughts which were not her own. She had been trying to put a face to the voice and the shadows in her mind. She knew they were important, vital. A life other than her own was at stake. But the words began to intrude, to become all there was in her mind, the sources and reasons for their presence forgotten. A wave of pure hatred, and malevolence washed over her suddenly, struck something deep within her, calling to a part of her she was trying to purge. That part of her answered, rose up and consumed her vision and self-control.
Something was wrong. Agravaine could feel it as well as sense it. A tiny line of blood appeared on her finger from the glass, unnoticed. He reached out, touched her shoulder gently. At that moment, Lady Tremaine slammed the door. Suri jumped, her head snapped in his direction, her golden eyes dark and glassy. With a feral snarl, she sprung at him, rising from her knees with near blinding celerity. Her hands stiffened into claws, the nails reaching for his face and throat. He brought his hands up, caught her easily. He grabbed her throat, and stood, pinning her against the wall, her kicking feet well off the floor.
She thrashed, clawed at his arm, snarling insanely for several minutes. Agravaine merely ignored the scratches, held her with silent patience. He growled to himself, trying to understand what could have turned the quiet, self-effacing holy woman into this spitting hellcat. He remembered the Duke had said she was sensitive, could sense things beyond the visible. Perhaps she was sensitive to hostility as well. Lady Tremaine had no doubt been giving off a large amount of that, and directed at Suri, for interfering with her plans for him. Either way, he had seen young ones of the blood go through fits of this sort from time to time, though never unprovocated. They never lasted long. He continued to hold her at arm’s length, patiently waiting her out.
Joseph stalked through the castle corridors, looking for Suri. He had just heard some rather unpleasant rumors about someone having tried to kill her and he was worried and angry. In his opinion, no woman regardless of her station had any business being near the room with a corpse in that kind of condition, much less being shown it. He saw Lady Tremaine coming towards him. She was scowling one moment, then melted into a warm and welcoming smile when she saw him.
“Sir Joseph!” she exclaimed with delight, reaching out to take his hands. “What a surprising delight!”
He kissed her hand properly, bowing cursorily. “Forgive me, my lady. But have you seen Suri? It is important….”
Her expression changed instantly. She snatched her hand away and gestured to a door down the corridor. “She’s in the library,” she huffed. She whisked past him, storming off down the passage.
Joseph silently chastised himself. It was not proper to ask one lady the location of another, especially when the first lady had her eye on you. Obviously, he had mistakenly led Lady Tremaine to believe that he was available, which, being a Templar still, he was not. He would have to rectify that later. Right now he headed for the indicated door.
Agravaine tried one last trick. There might still be enough of his blood within her to exert control. He reached out with his will and flooded prayers and calm through the weak link that existed. It seemed to him that her struggles were becoming more internal and less physical. The door opened. Agravaine turned to look.
Joseph stood frozen, unable to believe his eyes. This so-called exemplary knight held Suri pinned to the wall by her throat. She was struggling valiantly, but in vain. He started to cross the room. “You’re the one!” he snarled.
The gentle touch on his arm told Agravaine it was safe to set the woman down. He did so without taking his eyes from the Templar puppy marching over filled with righteous indignation and no forethought whatsoever. He gave a warning growl that any intelligent being would have heeded.
Suri did her best to shield herself from the barrage of negative emotions that bombarded her from all sides now. She had regained some measure of herself, but had no memory of what had just happened. She could guess though. She saw first the over turned table and the scattered mosaic, then Joseph pushing it aside to move against Agravaine. She jumped in between the two just as Joseph hit Agravaine full force in the chest with both hands, an attempt to push him back and away from her.
Joseph was surprised, but too deep in his anger to wholly take in the impact that his full strength blow had not even caused the giant to readjust his balance. It was like hitting a wall. Something was pushing him back. As he went to shove it away, he realized it was Suri. He grabbed her arms and pulled her away from Agravaine, tried to put her behind him, but she stood her ground stubbornly.
“Joseph, NO!”
“I saw what he did to you!” He snarled over her head at the giant who stood with his arms folded across his chest, just watching, waiting. “You call yourself a knight!?! Attacking a woman? Even if she is Muslim!”
“Joseph, listen to me! It happened again, …the madness!” He looked down at her. “He did not harm me, though I believe I tried to harm him.”
Agravaine’s brow arched. Again? Madness? This was interesting information.
Joseph did not want to believe. His eyes had told him one thing, she another. He wavered. “I had heard you were attacked.”
“I was. Agravaine saved me from it. The Duke has given him the duty of guarding me. The murderer does not want me to discover him, and knows I am of the blood now. I believe the killer is also of the blood and the Duke feels this knight is best able to protect me.”
“There are other ways to…”
“Joseph, my heart, please.” She lowered her voice, “He could have harmed me, not knowing what was happening or why. What man of war, having fought in the crusades, would not kill something even slightly Islamic without a second thought when it attacks by surprise?”
Joseph fell silent.
Agravaine saw the look in his eyes as Joseph gazed at her. He knew that look, had seen it before in others. He turned away from the pair, leaving them their privacy. This, at least, answered the thought that had been nagging at the edge of his mind since he had met her. How could this be the one, if her heart belonged to another? He reached for a book at random, began reading.
Joseph found his tongue, though gentled it. “Still, what were you doing in that chamber with a corpse?” he chided. “I heard its condition. You had no business there.”
She sighed. “Joseph, I was asked there by my master to do the job that I was given to him to do.”
“He still had no right asking it of you.” He continued to protest, holding her arms protectively.
She set a gentle hand over his still heart, lowered her eyes. “Joseph. Your love I will cherish, always, for the holy and pure thing that it is. But, you were supposed to give me up, for the sanctity of your soul. And how can you say that you have when you question every act my master has me do, a man who, I might add, you have accepted as your liege, however temporary that arrangement might be.” She looked up, saw the pain in his eyes and rest her head against his chest. “I am a slave now, for the salvation of my soul. Please, you have to accept that.”
Without another word, she pulled away from him. She set her table upright and knelt to collect the pieces that lay scattered upon the flagstones. Joseph stood there numbly watching her, his dismissal clear, and hating the wisdom of her actions. He was about to turn and leave when the Duke walked in, looked surprised to see him.
“What are you… never mind,” he muttered, still lost in his own thoughts. “It is fortunate you were here. My cousin seems to be in somewhat of a tiff. She is convinced that she might be the next target and insists upon some kind of guard.” He shook his head. “Why she thinks this, I do not know, something about using her to get to me. I would like you to keep an eye on her this evening, if you would? Keep her company and out of trouble? There are few of my men I would trust to be immune to her wiles, and being a Templar I am certain you are up to the task. And.. she seems to like you.”
Joseph frowned, but bowed. “As you wish, Sire. There was a matter I needed to discuss with her anyway.”
“I think she said she was headed for the west battlement.”
Joseph nodded and strode out the door with only a cursory glance at Suri.
The Duke took a moment to take the scene in: Suri on the floor picking up the fallen pieces of her artwork, and Agravaine at the back of the room putting a book away. He leveled his gaze at his first knight. "Any trouble?”
Agravaine shook his head, made a few small gestures to indicate that Joseph and Suri had talked, no more.
The Duke nodded. “Ah, yes. He must have heard about the attack. To my frustration, it seems half the castle already knows. He is the one who gave her to me, so it is no matter for wonder that he wished to check up on her. Anyway, I think I may have found what I was looking for, but the list is not exactly short.”
Agravaine thought a moment, gestured. Suri translated for him. “Your cousin?”
The Duke thought about it, frowning. “Well, she is on that list, but… I had not considered my cousin, not seriously. Why not?” he echoed Agravaine’s question which was crystal clear. “She is the one who made me, that is why. It makes no sense for her to make me and then eliminate me. No, it has to be someone else; besides, unless she were the mother of the only other male descendant… she could not inherit my place mortally. And I still think this had mortal as well as blood related motivations.” He shrugged, “Still, it is a start.”
Agravaine sighed, nodding. He signed something.
The Duke frowned. “The church? What about…? Suri… church, take? Oh, may you take her to the church.” Agravaine nodded. The Duke thought about it, mused, “It is only midnight, but… she has had a very full evening. It might be best. I still have contemplations, and unless anything new turns up I don’t foresee a need for her services. I can always send for you if I have need?”
Agravaine nodded, bent to help Suri put her things away. Silent, Suri bowed to the Duke before she solemnly followed Agravaine out of the room, taking the two boxes with her.
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