Medieval Hearts - For My Lady's Heart Part 44

"Fool! Fool! If Gian comes now, he will flay the skin from thee alive."

"What matters it to thee, who hates and loathes me?"

She heard horses. Hoofbeats sounded in the courtyard, and the voices of men. "He is come!"

Ruck seized her tight. "Decide, my lady. It is beyond lies now."

"He is come!" she cried. She tore herself from him. "Go!"

"Is he you want, then?"

Her mastery shattered. "Go!" she screamed. "Thou simple, dost thou think it is between you? He will

slay thee-I cannot bear it, G.o.d curse thee, he has killed all that I ever loved only because I loved it. Go!

The kitchen, the postern door-"

But he did not go. Melanthe stood in the midst of the streaming light clutching the dagger, staring at the

blind shadow of him, hearing the sounds below. "He knows, he knows," she moaned. "He will find thee here-how didst thou come? Thou wast safe, I made thee safe, go, go now, if thou ever loved me ... please-I cannot bear it." She could see nothing, only light and the window, the last sun pouring past her in rainbow hues. "I cannot bear it."

He caught her wrist, wrenching the blade from her. His body made an outline against the light, the rays

shifting and dancing around him. She heard the knife clatter on the stone floor. "Melanthe-" He held her hands up, and she saw blood on them, felt the sting where she had cut herself. "He is dead." "Go," she whispered, but it was hopeless, too late. She could hear them in the hall and on the stairs. "Navona is dead, Melanthe." She shook her head. "He is not dead. He comes." "Nay, my lady." He held her hands. She couldn't see his face. She wanted to see his face, but tears and light and dark were all she had. "He comes." "No," he said. There was a scratch upon the door. She shuddered. She could not move. "My lady, thou said me once, ne'er was I to tell thee false. Gian Navona is dead. I saw him-my lady, my sovereign lady. Believe me. Thou need nought fear." "My brother, and Ligurio," she whispered. "And my daughter. And any friend I ever thought to have but Gryngolet. I did not mean to love thee. I did not mean to. It was so far away. I never thought he could find out." The sun rays shafted around him as he lifted his hands to her face. He smoothed her hair, his fingers catching in the net and pa.s.sing over the jewels. "She only had two years. My baby. And she was so fair. I always remembered how fair-and I thought-with thee-if G.o.d willed-" She licked tears from her mouth. "But then I was afraid." "I would thou had told me. Melanthe. If thou had told me!" "I was afraid." Her face crumpled, and she could not see again. "I was afraid for thee. And then Desmond came, and I knew that I had brought it all there, and I had to go away." She shook her head.

"Ne did I want to, but I could not say thee so, for thou wouldst come."

"I did come. How could I nought?" His hands squeezed tight on her shoulders. "How could I lose thee? Ah, Christus, a child ... Melanthe, my lady, my life-e'en that? And thou kept all from me, and made me think-" He shook her and then pulled her to his chest. "Helas, I have nought known thee; thou hatz blinded me."

The scratch came at the door again. She put her hands on him, closing her fingers.

"Gian is dead," Ruck said. "It is not Navona."

With an effort she released him. He let go of her and went away. She stood facing the shining window, the tall traceries of colored gla.s.s. Her hands stung and throbbed.

Behind her, someone spoke softly in French. Ruck answered them, the words too low to understand. Melanthe turned around, and for the first time she saw him clearly, not a shadow against glare, but real and distinct. He closed the door and came back to her.

His face in the light was sober, his black brows and lashes stark. He touched her hands gently, and then her cheek. "Is Allegreto below, and Navona's men." He took her wrists.

She lifted her eyes, a new terror rising in her. "Who killed Gian?"

"No one, lest it were the Arch-Fiend himseluen."

"Thou art certain he is dead?"

"Without nay, I am certain." He held her face between his hands. "Luflych, make thy soul easy." He gathered her close to him. "He is gone beyond where he can reach thee e'er-more."

A quiver ran through her. He held her harder, pressing his lips to her hair. The gentle kisses seemed to draw fear from her in a surge, breaching walls and barriers, transforming it into endless tears that spilled from her eyes and washed her cheeks and his black velvet.

"It cannot be." Her voice was hollow, m.u.f.fled against his shoulder. "It cannot. Art thou sure? Didst thou kill him?"

"Husht, Melanthe," he murmured. "Be still." He rocked her softly. "I haf said thee true."

She wanted to push back and look at him, to make herself believe that he was with her, but she did not want to leave his embrace. She closed her eyes and felt him instead, his broad back beneath her palms, the height of his shoulder and the breadth of his body. She pulled him into her as if she could make the steady rise and fall of his breath supplant the jolting sobs that shook her.

"Husht now." He drew her down onto the window seat. His arms enfolded her tight against him. He kissed the nape of her neck as she pushed her cheek to his chest. "My liege lady-my heart. Husht. Thou art safe with me."

Chapter Twenty-seven.

The murmur of many lowered voices drifted to them in the stairwell. Ruck felt Melanthe's hand on his, colder than the stone walls. He stopped on the stair, enclosing her fingers between his palms to warm them. In the dim light he could barely see her face.

She rested against him for a brief moment, and then stepped down. At the foot of the stairs she paused, looking into the manor hall.

Silence fell over the gathering. In candlelight Gian Navona lay on a straw-covered hurdle, only the stone floor beneath him. He was white, his skin and his clothes, already an effigy with painted black features and gilt embellishment. A priest knelt beside him; the others left a s.p.a.ce about the corpse, standing back cl.u.s.tered in the corners and along the walls, except for Allegreto.

The youth stood beside his father's body like a white alaunt guarding its master. Ruck had not sensed the depth of resemblance between them before. In his frozen pallor Allegreto was a mirror of his father: comelier, younger, perfected. He still wore the milky livery, showing damp yet, as if no one had thought to let him change.

Beneath the rafters painted red and gold, against the dark slate floor, Allegreto and Navona and the priest were like a scene from a miracle play-only the look of Allegreto's face was no playing. His pitch-black eyes turned to Melanthe, watching her as she left Ruck at the screens and crossed the floor.

She stood looking down on the dead man for a long time. The priest murmured his prayer softly. Ruck could not see her face.

Navona's men waited, a score of them ranged beyond Allegreto. Most of Melanthe's retinue gathered nearer to Ruck, at the lower end of the hall. Set apart, an Englishman stood with another, unmistakably a clerk by his writing roll and pen. Local people pressed forward through the open door into the pa.s.sage, goggling and hushing one another, staring at Ruck harder than they stared at the corpse.

He jerked his head at them to leave. The ones in the front tried to comply, but the others behind jostled them forward. Melanthe turned, glancing toward the whispering spectators.

"Place a shroud on him," she said. She looked at her maids and spoke in Italian. One of them ducked a courtesy and went quickly out past Ruck.

"My lady," the Englishman said, stepping forward and speaking mannerly French. He sank to one knee and rose again. "With all reverence-John de Langley, our lord the king's justice of the peace."

"What happened?" she asked, lifting her chin. "How did he die?"

"Madam, I am-"

"He fell from our boat into the river." Allegreto's voice cut across the justice's, sharp and cold. Then despair seemed to burst from him. "My lady, I tried to save him. I tried!"

"Madam, I am-"

"Will you believe such a thing?" One of Navona's men stepped toward the justice. "Nay, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d speaks false- my lord never fell from that boat. They have murdered him, these three together!"

A murmur ran through the onlookers. "Madam," the justice said tightly, "I pursue an inquisition to determine this matter, whether it be an accident or a crime to be brought before the jury."

Melanthe said nothing. Langley inclined his head to her.

"I have found no witness but this youth, the name of, all-"

"Allegreto," she said. "He is Dan Gian's b.a.s.t.a.r.d son."

"Yea, my lady. And this is-?" He looked meaningfully toward Ruck.

"My wedded husband. Lord Ruadrik of Wolfscar."

The spectators didn't even attempt to remain quiet. A clamor broke out among them. Ruck walked to Melanthe's side.

"Yea, and so I have said," he declared, glaring about him to silence them. "I have defended my word before the king. The archbishop himself has heard my plea that my wife went in fear of her life from this man Navona, and could not say the truth." He faced the justice. "If this is not proof enough-that she speaks my name now, when he is dead-then will I gladly prove it by my sword again, against any who deny it."

"Hear him!" The single cry came from the pa.s.sage, and instantly all the English took it up. The hail even rose from outside, the sound of a substantial crowd. "Hear him, hear him!"

"Oyeh!" the clerk bawled. "Silence for my lord justice!"

They settled into muttered grudging. Langley made a courteous nod toward Ruck. "I hear your words, Lord Ruadrik. I was in attendance on your honorable combat. You will understand that I am justice of the peace. A complaint and accusation is lodged here, which I must see into. If I adjudge there is not evidence of a crime, then no arraignment be required."

"They have murdered my lord Gian, may G.o.d avenge it!" the Italian shouted. He pointed toward Ruck. "Look you, that this Ruadrik threatened my lord, and a.s.saulted him, and desired to steal his promised wife! All know it! Where has he been, this fine Lord Ruadrik, I ask you, that he was mourned for dead and now we find him here with her, almost in the very hour of the murder? They've conspired together, these vipers; Allegreto to have his own father's place, and those two to congress together as they will!"

"Where is the proof of this, I ask you once again," the justice said evenly.

"Will you not look to find another witness? Will you take the word of this lying baseborn?"

"He has spoken under oath," Langley said. "All this day I have conducted a search for other witnesses,

and found none to deny his story."

"My lord would not fall from a boat!" the man said fiercely. "He was no such fool."

"Verily, any man might lose his balance, I think. And he wears weight enough in gold to drag him under."

"Pah!" The Italian made a motion as if to spit at Allegreto, though he did not do it. "You know nothing! Ask him what he gains, this b.a.s.t.a.r.d! A fortune for himself, instead of a lawful born brother to take his place!"

"I did not kill my father," Allegreto said in a fragile voice. "Morello, you know I love him."

"Such love!" Morello snapped. "When he lies dead at thy feet!"

"I love him!" Allegreto cried, his anguish echoing back from the roof.

Melanthe's hand tightened for an instant on Ruck's arm. The whole hall was silent as the sound of the youth's grief died away. Ruck watched, afraid that Allegreto would break in his misery, losing his wits and his tale. But he only closed his eyes, and then opened them, with a long and unblinking gaze at Morello.

The man looked away. He muttered something viciously in Italian.

"And still I hear no credible proofs, to say the boy speaks false," Langley said. The justice turned to his clerk, requiring Bible and Cross. "Lord Ruadrik, will you take oath to your innocence in the matter?"

"Verily," Ruck said. He placed his hand on the holy book and swore by his soul that he had not killed Gian Navona. He kissed the rood and crossed himself. As he stepped back, the spectators murmured approvingly.

"My lady?"

Melanthe made a courtesy as they brought the Bible to her. In a clear, quiet voice she swore the same.

The justice leaned over and spoke in his clerk's ear. The man nodded, and nodded again. Ruck put his hand on Melanthe's elbow, holding lightly. The onlookers were so still that they seemed to hold in their breath.

"I find no cause to convene a jury," the justice said.

A hail burst from the English, and a shout of anger from the Italians, quickly subdued when Langley gave them a furious scowl and his clerk demanded silence.

"In the case of murder, we are advised never to judge by likelihoods and presumptions, or no life would be secure. Therefore, without a witness who is willing to step forward and swear otherwise, the accusation of murder appears unfounded. I have no material reason to doubt the drowning of Gian Navona was accidental, may G.o.d pardon his soul."

He had to pause once again until order was restored, with two of the Italians bodily restraining Morello. The justice looked on him with raised brows.

"My lord Ruadrik has said that he will uphold his sworn word by his sword, as he has done before. Do we understand then that you wish to fight him?"

Morello jerked himself free of his companions, glowering. He cast a glance at Ruck and said nothing.

"If not," Langley said, "then I declare that the king's peace be best served by the swift dispersal of those who have no business here-and by the absence of some two-score foreigners of Italy from my county on the morrow."

All the villagers had wanted to touch Ruck. In spite of the justice's command, they managed to crowd near him, until Langley shouted that they profaned the corpse with their disrespect and used his staff smartly against a few rumps.

Navona lay enshrouded in scarlet cloth and silence now, awaiting a lead coffin to take him back for burial to his own country. The priest and Allegreto kept vigil, Navona's men banished to uneasy, torchlit waiting by the river with Melanthe's retinue. She did not even keep a maid from among the Italians, but commanded them all to depart. Only the gyrfalcon and some chests had been brought back from the barks, and the bed, set up again in her chamber without its hangings. The boats were to leave as soon as the coffin could be placed aboard.

Ruck watched her face as she moved about giving direction and order to her distracted retinue. She was so much more slender than he remembered, brittle pale beneath her jeweled net, her rings and the golden b.u.t.tons lined down her sleeves the only flash of life about her.

When the gray friars came with a coffin of lead, she turned away and went upstairs. Ruck would have followed her, but he looked back and saw Allegreto standing alone, gazing at the friars as they began their work of washing the body and sewing it up in its shroud.

Ruck did not go to him, but stood by the screen until Allegreto saw him there. Ruck made a curl of his fingers to beckon. The youth seemed lost; he hesitated and then came quickly, like an uncertain dog that overcame its doubt, following Ruck into the shadowed pa.s.sage. He put his hand on Allegreto's shoulder. "Thou art still wet. Hast thou dry clothes?"

"On the boats." The boy looked up at him, his cloak of mastery vanished-strangely young, as if they had all forgotten that he was hardly yet more man than child. "Should I change now?"

"Yea. I'll have something brought up from the wharf for thee."

Allegreto caught Ruck's arm as he turned. "Cara?" he asked, the name a whisper.

Ruck paused. The youth looked off toward the pool of light falling into the pa.s.sage from the hall, where the friars did their work with quiet words and soft plashings. In the set mouth and proud chin, Ruck saw that it was no fear for the girl's telling tales that concerned him. "I took Donna Cara to her betrothed, as she asked me. They have left now with the horses."

The youth glanced at him coolly. "Where?"

"My lady's castle by the forest of Savernake, so they said me."