Part 28 (1/2)

”You shouldn't have come,” Luke told him-in French, so the handful of Saxons standing behind them couldn't eavesdrop on their conversation. Lately, however, he'd taken to speaking English even with Alex, to encourage him to become more fluent in it.

”After three months of lazing about on that pallet, I needed a bit of exercise.” The note of strain in Alex's voice belied his lighthearted tone; he was in pain.

”You didn't come for the exercise,” Luke accused without wresting his gaze from Faithe, kneeling at the side of Caedmon's grave. ”You came because you were worried about me.”

Alex grinned humorlessly. ”The last time we were here, you caused a bit of a stir, as I recall.”

Luke grunted. A bit of a stir, indeed.

”When we rode away from here that morning,” Alex said, ”'twas one step ahead of these good citizens standing behind us right now. They were waving pickaxes and reaping hooks and looking for a Norman to hang-after some rather inventive punishments, no doubt.”

”They wouldn't mind hanging one still, I don't imagine.” Luke and Alex had been received with civility by the citizenry of Cottwyk only because they were accompanied by a beautiful young Saxon n.o.blewoman, who also happened to be the widow of the mysterious ”Caedmon” who occupied the lonely grave at the outskirts of the churchyard. Luke had a vivid mental picture of these same men standing in the mist over the wh.o.r.e's burnt remains that morning, brandis.h.i.+ng their crude weapons and promising retribution. He hadn't remembered that clearly until now. This visit to Cottwyk was bound to drag long dormant memories to the surface, just as his visit to Foxhyrst had; he'd best steel himself for them.

”Aye, they'd be ripe for a hanging,” Alex agreed. ”Which is precisely why I chose today for my reintroduction to the saddle.” Alex moved his sword aside to rub his hip.

”Sit down.” Luke pointed to a stump; Alex sat.

Faithe crossed herself and set about plucking the weeds from the ill-tended grave.

”No one will recognize us,” Luke said, unused to offering rea.s.surance to Alex; usually it was the other way around.

”Nay, no one saw us.”

Rather, everyone who'd seen them was dead. Luke had killed Caedmon, then the wench had tried to escape him, only to be felled by lightning.

”We're in no danger here,” Luke said as he watched Faithe tidy up the grave of the man he'd slain.

”None.” But Alex's hand stole to the hilt of his sword and remained there.

When the grave was finally stripped of weeds, Faithe painstakingly patted down the earth. Luke's heart twisted in his chest as he watched her.

She rose and returned to them, brus.h.i.+ng the dirt from her hands and kirtle. ”Those weeds will be back within days,” she said. ”I don't know why I bothered.”

But Luke did. She couldn't bear to think of the man she'd shared her life with for eight years spending eternity in such a piteous resting place. Retrieving his purse, he shook out a handful of silver and gave it to the priest, Father Tedmund. ”I want that wooden marker replaced with a proper headstone,” he said in English. ”A big one, with carvings. An important man is buried there.”

Father Tedmund eyed the coins with an expression of awe. ”I'll order it on the morrow, milord!”

”And see that the grave is properly tended,” Luke instructed. ”Have someone keep the weeds off it and put flowers there on holy days.”

”'Twill be done as you bid, milord.”

Faithe reached out and took Luke's hand. When he looked down, she gave him a watery little smile and glanced away.

Luke addressed himself to all the men. ”We have some questions about the man in that grave.”

”There was another fellow askin' about 'im,” said a big man in a leather ap.r.o.n, whom Luke took to be the village smithy. ”A ways back. Older gentleman. He even dug up the grave.”

Faithe nodded. ”Orrik.”

”Aye, that was his name. We told him everything we know.”

”Well, now you're going to tell us,” Luke said. ”When did Caedmon first arrive here?”

”'Twas at the end of Christmastide,” Father Tedmund said. ”I found him on the morning of Twelfth Day, sleeping in the back of the church.”

”Did he tell you anything about himself? Where he came from? How he happened to be in Cottwyk?”

All the men shook their heads. ”He didn't talk much about himself,” the priest said. ”But I gather he'd been wandering around for some time, and just happened upon Cottwyk. We... put up with him, and he stayed.”

”Where did he live?” Luke asked.

The men exchanged looks; several glanced anxiously at Faithe. Father Tedmund cleared his throat. ”Some nights he slept in the church.”

”And the other nights?”

The priest's corpulent face turned pink. ”Perhaps milady would like to take her ease in Byrtwold's inn while we talk.” He fixed Luke with a meaningful look.

”I'd rather stay out here,” Faithe said.

”Er...” Byrtwold, the innkeeper, fingered his ruddy jowls. ”My wife brews the finest ale in this part of Cambridges.h.i.+re, milady. And you must be tired after your long ride.”

”I'm not tired,” she said. ”I'm staying here.”

”They won't speak candidly with you here,” Luke told her in French.

”I'll tell them they may speak frankly.”

”Aye, but they won't. They'll want to protect your feelings. We won't learn anything.”

Alex hauled himself up from his stump. ”Come to the inn with me, Faithe. I'm tired, even if you're not, and thirsty as well. I don't want to sit there all alone.”

She hesitated, frowning.

”Luke is right,” Alex told her. ”They won't talk about... certain things with you here.”

”Fine,” she said with a decided lack of grace. ”But you must remember everything they say, Luke, and tell me later.”

”Of course.”

Alex escorted her across the road to the humble inn on the other side. Luke turned back to the men. ”I take it Caedmon stayed with a woman.”

”Helig,” the smithy said, ”the wh.o.r.e what was struck by lightning. But only sometimes, when she didn't have no other customers.”

”She felt sorry for 'im,” Byrtwold explained. ”Used to let him sleep by the fire.”

Luke rubbed his jaw. ”What did he do with his days?”

”Roamed here and there,” said Father Tedmund. ”Did odd jobs sometimes for meals when he was... himself. Other times, he'd beg for whatever could be spared. And when he was at his worst, someone would always give him something to eat, or buy him a pint.”